“He asked for no pickles”

aka my entry for @rottencandyapp1es DTIYS

aka the reason I was looking for to redesign these aqua sword wielding war gods

You cannot see them anymore, They are not there

- A series of vague thoughts and unanswered questions for an incomplete project.

‘There is no mysterious essence we can call a ‘place’. Place is change. It is motion killed by the mind and preserved in the Amber of memory’. J.A. Baker

The archipelago of St Kilda is situated 64 km W/NW of the island of North Uist and is made up of the most westerly islands of the Outer Hebrides. Inhabited for well over two thousand years, the last inhabitants of St Kilda were evacuated in 1930. This much is true(ish) but statements and even definitions of St Kilda tend to be littered with words and adjectives such as ‘remote’ and ‘isolated’ that do nothing other than distort our perspective. Each comes loaded with its own narrative that perhaps says more about the onlooker than anything else. Each tempers their gaze as they become the latest in a long line of observers who have poked and prodded at the notion of St Kilda over the centuries.

I am somewhere there too.

Yet we cannot be anything other than onlookers, each of us constructs our own sense of place projecting it like so many flickering Edwardian newsreels onto the cliffs and sea-stacks of St Kilda as they rise from the waters of the North Atlantic. Never visiting, I have poked and prodded at St Kilda remotely. For almost fifteen years I lived on North Uist and from the top of Mullach I would watch Hirta and Boreray as they breached beyond Heisker, those 64 km distant. St Kilda's existence spoke to me of an internal geography as much an external one. St kilda and the St kildans haunted the books I read, the conversations I had. I became fascinated by the relationship we have with a landscape in terms of place and memory and how transient and abstract that relationship can be.

Islands of course are different and St Kilda is different again.

If you choose to live on an island there always seems to be a point when your sense of being from, of belonging to, becomes blurred. It's the same way that English becomes blurred when spoken by someone who has had Gaelic all their life. When I lived on North Uist I remember being asked if my parents would be returning home this summer. With that one question, notions of belonging and home were turned upside down. North Uist wasn't their home, it wasn't even my home in a familial sense. Yet in that question the act of returning, to visit the island, was seen as an act of homecoming for all. It doesn't happen this way on St Kilda. They are not there anymore. We are forever the onlookers now, the only return gaze is from the photographs that remain and the questions they pose as we look. For me there was a challenge in that gaze, I felt uncomfortable being the onlooker, unsettled by the act of looking. I am aware that none of the drawing for this piece was done when I lived in The Western Isles. Perhaps it needed to be that way. I seem to remember David Hockney talking once about drawing as reportage, that his instinct was always to respond after the event.

Perhaps there is something in that. Perhaps this project is a response that could only have happened once I moved away. I live in the north east of Ireland now, still surrounded by the sea (it was never going to be otherwise) I remember being told once that it took 12 hours to skipper a fishing boat from Ireland to Barra Head. Maybe I needed those 12 hours in order to start drawing. That distance has become another lens, another layer of looking. The layers were what interested me. I draw in layers, always starting with a sketchbook, always rubbing out and drawing over, changing. I scan things and create more layers on a computer. I rub into them again, uncovering, allowing space for random marks. For me there needs to be a point where a drawing stretches it's own wings and takes on a momentum of it's own.

That's the important part.

My drawing is unsettled.

In his poem 'In Praise of Walking' Thomas A. Clarke says that a walk is it's own measure, complete at every point along the way. It's the same with this, l am aways going over things, revisiting. As a piece 'You Cannot See them Anymore' has been shaped by this process. It's beginnings were in a small insignificant 'zine that I produced some years ago. The 'zine is still is still there but it troubled me, I worried that it was a singular way of seeing. I was not interested in subsuming existing narratives, the story of St kilda is long and complex and it doesn't need me churning its waters.

So I am content to draw, each drawing a provocation, another layer in an ongoing process of poking and prodding at notions of place and landscape and in that sense I am content to let things drift.

Words and Music

MacLean M. & Carrel C. (Eds.) (1986) As an Fhearann From the Land Mainstream Publishing Edinburgh, an Lantair Stornoway, Third Eye Centre Glasgow Gannon A. & Geddes G. (2015) St Kilda, The Last and Outmost Isle Historic Environment Scotland Edinburgh Neat T. (2000) When I was Young, Voices from lost Communities in Scotland, The Islands Birlinn Limited Edinburgh White K. (1989) Travels in the Drifting Dawn Mainstream Publishing Edinburgh Alastair Roberts & Robin Robertson (2013) Hirta Songs Stone Tape Recordings/ STR-006LP Erland Cooper (2018) Solan Goose Phases Gayle Brogan (2008) The All-Alone Stone Curiously Euphonic Record

All Men Have Limits - IX

Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.

Word Count: 2,800+

Warning: Violence, Mentions of past domestic abuse

Previously on…

A WEEK LATER...

Of course it had to be raining the night they needed to execute their plan. 

Y/N didn’t know if she was shaking because she was freezing or because she was so nervous. Even with all the layers and her knit hat, she couldn’t seem to warm up.

Y/N had been walking around for half an hour. They’d mapped out her route so her face would get picked up by as many street cameras as possible. If The Court was as sinister as rumored, they���d be watching.

“Scratch your nose if you’re doing alright,” Dick said in Y/N’s ear.

The whole family had explained how imperative it was for Y/N not to speak. They had to assume that Y/N was being watched the moment she left the manor. And if her lips moved, the Talons would know something was up.

So Y/N scratched her nose and looked over her shoulder suspiciously, just like they had talked about.

“Remember: you want out at any moment, just press the distress button on your watch,” Dick added for good measure.

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes at his worry and overprotectiveness, and say, ‘I know. I know.’ But she knew better than that.

“Someone’s tracking her,” Jason spoke up in the comms. “Civilian clothing.”

Jason started calling out the identifiers to his family, and in 30 seconds everyone spotted the man that was tailing Y/N.

But this was all part of the plan.

“I still don’t like this,” Dick muttered to his family, making sure he cut Y/N’s connection off so she didn’t hear his nervousness.

“’Course you are. We’re throwing your girlfriend to the wolves,” Jason commented.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Dick muttered with annoyance.

“Focus,” Bruce chimed in for the first time.

“She’s stuck to the route we gave her,” Tim commented. “All well-lit and crowded with people. They won’t make a scene with this many witnesses.”

The family moved across rooftops, following Y/N’s path from their designated points.

Dick and Bruce both hated this plan, but they were handling it in different ways.

Bruce had become almost mute with focus. He didn’t want a single thing to slip past him. His senses were acute as ever. He was barely communicating with them because he was too busy keeping an eye on Y/N. His eyes hadn’t stopping shooting around, making sure to cover all angles.

“She’s entering the warehouse,” Damian announced.

Everyone shifted their focus and made their moves.

Y/N stopped at the computers she had set up. Or really that Bruce had hired men to set up for her.

She started typing away rapidly, not sure how much time she’d have before deadly ninjas would start dropping on her.

With one final slam of a key, she let out a shallow breath. “Signal’s been sent out. We’re live.”

“Nice!” Tim answered.

Jason started to chime in, but suddenly his voice became crackly and then the line went silent.

“Red Hood?” Y/N asked.

Nothing.

“Anyone read?”

Nothing.

Y/N felt a chill go up her spine.

She whipped around to find three Talons awaiting her attention.

Y/N quickly took a step back and pressed the panic button on her watch. She hoped The Court hadn’t somehow intercepted that signal as well.

“You were lucky with our last encounter,” a Talon stepped forward to speak.

Y/N ignored him and took out both of the guns that had been hiding in her trench coat.

He laughed at the weapons. “Have we not already tried this?”

“At least I’m not a coward hiding behind a mask. Won’t even let me see the faces of the idiots who want to kill me?”

They all ignored her attempt to get them to unmask themselves, but started stepping toward her. “Not want. We will kill you this time.”

But before Y/N could answer or the Talons could get any closer, a smoke bomb was dropped in the space between her and her enemy.

Just as it erupted, Dick dropped down from the bannister above and shoved a gas mask over Y/N’s face.

This wasn’t just any usual gas bomb that Batman and the family used as a distraction. No, this was a special formula designed to burn eyes and cause coughing fits.

One thing was made quite clear, the Talon’s masks were not used to protect them from such attacks. They were meant to hide their identity and nothing else.

Y/N smirked when she heard the sudden coughing and groans of pain. They weren’t muffled by fabric, meaning they had no choice but to remove their masks.

“Stay back,” Dick warned her before lightly pushing her behind a pillar as the smoke bomb started to settle.

Barely giving them a chance, Dick attacked the weakened Talons.

But now the three of them were unmasked. Their eyes were burned red and watery with tears.

And their faces were exposed. 

Y/N’s stomach dropped as she saw Dick flip to them and attack.

But she had a job to do and started tapping away on the high-tech watch around her wrist. She was walking backwards, staying away from the fight, just as Dick had instructed. 

But then she backed into a body.

“Fuck,” Y/N muttered as she froze and her eyes widened in panic.

She whipped around to find a Talon with his sword drawn.

Then other blurs were dropping down from the banisters, more were joining the fight.

Y/N reached for both of her guns and was ready to start firing – despite that not benefiting her in the slightest bit last time.

But before she could take even one shot, someone dropped in front of her protectively.

Bruce was a like a wall of shadow, blocking Y/N from the enemy.

“Run, Y/N.” He demanded without breaking eye contact with his opponent.

She knew better than to fight him on it. This was what they had agreed upon: Y/N was to be used as bait and do her job, then get the hell out.

“No matter what you hear or see, you run like hell,” Dick had told her. His eyes had been desperate and his grip on her shoulders had been tight. Y/N hadn’t been able to find it in her to do anything but give a slow nod.

Barely a second passed after Bruce’s warning before multiple Talons were on him. But Bruce was a worthy opponent and was able to distract them enough for Y/N to get away.

She ran for the nearest exit.

But the warehouse was now crawling with Talons.

Two more blocked her path, making her screech to a stop and turn around, facing Jason.

“Get down,” he told her calmly as he raised two guns.

She dove to the ground and covered her ears as Jason cleared out his ammo.

Without waiting for further instruct, Y/N jumped back onto her feet and tried to find the least chaotic route out.

Tim was using his bow staff almost like a windmill, taking out multiple Talons at a time with just a simple swing.

Y/N looked across the warehouse to see Damian and Dick fighting alongside each other. Despite Damian’s capabilities, Dick couldn’t help but look out for the boy, and he was never far from his side during a fight.

Damian slashed down opponent after opponent with his Katana sword. Meanwhile, Dick had the boy’s back, using his escrima sticks and countless acrobatic kicks and flips.

They were all holding their own, which further urged Y/N to get out of the way.

‘Run, Y/N. Run!’ Her brain screamed at her.

She spotted her opening and sprinted for it.

With only a few yards to go, Y/N felt a sting in the back of her leg.

No.

It was more than a sting. It was a lightning strike of pain that threw her to the floor.

As she sat up, Y/N looked up to see that a knife had clattered to the floor with blood staining it. Her blood.

Then she looked at the back of her thigh to see that she was bleeding from an open wound. It could’ve been worse. The knife could’ve embedded into her muscle and flesh. But she had gotten away with a graze – but one that brought her to the ground.

It all happened so quickly.

One moment Y/N was looking at the blood dripping from her leg. And the next, there was a Talon standing above her – unmasked – with his sword about to swing down on her.

Y/N winced and shielded herself as best as she could. But there was no saving her from such a blade – and a blade wielded by a Talon of The Court.

Just when Y/N thought she’d feel the sword strike her, a presence flew between them.

Y/N opened her eyes when she heard the sound of metal clashing with metal.

Bruce’s forearms were crossed into an X, with his gauntlets intercepting the Talon’s sword swing.

Y/N crawled back to get out of the way, ignoring the screaming pain from her leg.

All she could do was watch as Bruce now fought the Talon one on one. They wielded two katana swords – one in each hand.

Meanwhile, Bruce was using his gauntlets and therefore could really only be on the defense.

It was clear that he was trying to disarm them and make the fight even.

Eventually, through many complicated maneuvers, Bruce knocked one of the swords out of the Talon’s grip. He picked it up.

Y/N didn’t know why it was so surprising to see Bruce wield a katana. Of course he had been trained in sword fighting. That just wasn’t his chosen weapon. It didn’t stop her from being amazed by his skill with the blade. 

But Bruce was getting tired. Y/N could see it.

His movements were still quick, but they had slowed since the beginning of this particular fight.

Y/N managed to clench her teeth and fight through the pain of her leg, slowly bringing herself to a standing position.

But just as she did so, Bruce’s sword was knocked clear out of his hands and the Talon followed it with a kick to Bruce’s abdomen and a punch to his face.

Y/N’s stomach dropped at seeing the infamous Batman get knocked to the ground.

Of all the footage she’d seen, Batman always seemed to have the upper hand. She never doubted that he was going to win a fight – and he was going to do so without killing the enemy, which as always impressive.

“Get up, get up,” Y/N hissed to herself as she watched Bruce struggle to get back on his feet.

“So much time spent protecting her,” the Talon patronized. “Such a waste.”

He landed yet another punch across Bruce’s face. A punch that was harder than anything Y/N had seen before. 

And it knocked Bruce out cold.

Y/N felt it – the death in the air.

Time seemed to slow.

She was about to watch Batman get slaughtered right in front of her.

Her eyes raced around her, looking for one of the boys to call for help or anything that could be used as a distraction. But Dick and Damian were suddenly being overpowered. Tim wasn’t even in Y/N’s eyesight. And Jason was failing to shoot every Talon that surrounded him.

Then Y/N saw the katana that had been ripped from Bruce’s grip. It lay just a foot away from her.

Without thinking, Y/N picked it up.

She lunged forward just as the Talon was bringing his sword down to finish Bruce.

With just an inch away from his victim, Y/N’s sword intercepted the final attack.

The Talon gaze whipped to her. And Bruce was oblivious to his life being saved.

Y/N’s eyes widened, realizing she acted without any sort of plan. And now she had the Talon’s full attention and she had no clue how to wield a sword of any kind – or how to physically offend herself to any degree. 

“You have been a nuisance long enough,” the Talon growled.

“Oh, but I’m not even done yet,” Y/N smirked wickedly.

He tilted his head to the side, choosing to amuse her instead of strike her down immediately.

“You really think I can hack the oldest and most powerful secret, but not every major news network in the country?” She asked offensively.

But then she smiled and tapped a button on her watch.

The screens in the warehouse flickered to life and their volume was turned all the way up.

Everyone ceased their fighting.

Each screen showed that every network was hacked, their signals interrupted with Y/N’s own broadcast.

It was live footage from inside the top secret base for The Court of Owls. All of its members were unmasked, either being gathered by FBI and Gotham PD or pinned to the floor, getting handcuffed.

“That’s not possible,” the Talon gasped.

Y/N tapped her watch and a tiny drone, almost the size of a bumblebee zoomed in front of his face. Then his face was being broadcasted across the world.

“Say hello to America, Calvin Rose,” Y/N announced as her face-recognition system instantly identified him and his name appeared on her watch.

Then the camera moved to another unmasked Talon in the warehouse. “William Cobb,” Y/N announced, adding his name to the screen when he appeared.

As her footage was live-streaming on all major networks, the names of each member were appearing on the screen as well.

Calvin Rose screamed in frustration. 

“Detonate the bomb!” He yelled to his men.

“You mean the bomb you first threatened me with?” Y/N cooed.

He whipped back around to glare at her, not understanding her meaning.

“You really think we wouldn’t be able to find it? After you gave us weeks to track it down?” She teased. “The bomb is in the possession of the FBI, safely neutralized. But not before I helped them reverse trace a signal back to the detonator.”

They knew they lost. But they had not only lost, they had been discovered.

There would be no recovering from such exposure.

And Y/N hadn’t even told them about all the evidence she had stored that tied The Court of Owls to every corrupt act they had performed in the last 20 years.

Sirens suddenly blared in the distance.

All the boys had stopped to look at Y/N, realizing that their plan was coming together.

“You lost,” Y/N declared as she lowered the sword to her side. “And they’re coming for you, too.”

That was finally what set him off.

He growled before stomping to her.

Y/N was surprised by this new attack and quickly stepped backwards, but not nearly fast enough. 

In one motion, he grabbed Y/N by the neck with one hand, lifting her off the ground with his sheer strength and rage.

Not a second later, he shoved his sword into her abdomen.

It seemed like the sound of metal cutting flesh and muscle echoed through the entire warehouse.

“No!” Dick screamed shoving his way across the warehouse to get to her.

In the same moment, Y/N was dropped to the ground like a rag doll.

Chaos had erupted around her, a new fight had begun. But she heard none of it.

Her hands warmed from the blood that was leaking from her abdomen.

The pain was something different to her.

She couldn’t even put a number on how many times her father beat her to a pulp. Nothing could ever compare to the pain of being physically hurt by the person who was supposed to love you the most in the world. This was nothing.

Y/N was just happy she’d die doing something good for the world. A final act of sorts.

Just as she was about to succumb to the tired and dark feeling threatening to envelop her, she felt a warm presence next to her.

“Y/N!” Dick yelled when he reached her side. “You’re OK.” His voice started to shake. “You’re gonna be OK. Y/N, I need you to hold on.”

Police and FBI agents flooded the warehouse as Dick pulled Y/N into his arms.

Y/N looked up to see tears had filled his eyes.

“It’s OK, Dick.” She tried to tell him. “I’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

But when she reached up to cup his cheek, she stained his skin with her own blood.

Y/N was starting to lose her grip on life.

She swore she could feel Jason and Damian’s presence move her side, and then hear Tim talking to the cops. But she could also be imagining it. She could be imagining it all. Maybe she had already died and this was just how she had wanted to go, her mind giving her that final wish.

Things went from being so loud and warm to cold and silent.

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

Part 10

I edited this really quick. And for that, I apologize. 

Black Daisies: Chapter 1

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23. 

Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings. 

TW: violence, death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. 

Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here--they’re all sweetiepies that need to be protected! 

That’s all! Enjoy! 

Slight static sounded from the earpiece as the woman behind a computer pressed a small button to activate it. A few miles away from her, the same low hum could be heard from the ear of a young man as the line came alive. The boy barely moved from the shadows where he was crouching, his head twitching just a little bit at the alert. 

“Haechan, target just entered from the main hall, door A,” a voice sounded from the small electronic bud attached to his ear. His eyes lifted to look at the shadowy pillars above his head where a quick glint of light confirmed that another boy hidden there heard the same words. 

“Got it, noona. Plan C?”

“Plan C. Where are Jisung and Chenle?”

“Two floors down from us. Jaemin’s with them. Renjun’s done with the wires.”

“Jeno, you good?”

Up above the rafters from Haechan’s head, a darker shade of shadows moved. The metallic glint flashed again, followed by a low sigh that could be heard from the earpieces of the two people involved in the conversation.

“So I can’t use my gun again?”

“No. I already told you, right? What’s family rule number 2?” The female voice answered from the other end of the line, a tinge of laughter lacing her tone. Haechan giggled softly from beneath the rafters, enjoying the banter. 

“....we don’t shoot people in the head and kill them.” 

“That’s right.” From her screen, the woman’s eyes followed the movements of their targets as the man boarded the elevator that would take him straight to the penthouse of the high rise building. Her nose wrinkled a bit as she watched him wound his arms around two giggling women who look half his age. 

Disgusting. 

“...there’s something we can do though…”

Haechan tightened the scruff of his gloves as he heard the soft hum of the elevator climbing closer to where he and Jeno are. He smirked slightly to himself as the welcome ding from the penthouse reverberated just one floor below them.

“We put them in their right place.”

“Good luck, boys.” 

A soft buzzing sound indicated the earpiece temporarily being turned off the same time loud explosions sounded from the floor and roof of the penthouse.

“Noona!” 

I whipped around on my creaky swivel chair to face the group that just bounded through the door, wide grin plastered on my face. The blonde boy who called my name closed the distance between us with his long, excited strides, cheeks plump from his smile. 

“Look what I got you! Pretty nice, eh?” He asked with pride as he took a seat beside me, opening his palm to show a blood red stone nestled there. I moved a little forward to squint at it before gingerly picking it up. 

“Red diamond. I think two carats, at least. Wow, that’s impressive, Chenle! Thank you.”

The boy’s grin widened as he turned to the others who just settled on the scattered chairs and bean bags across the plain cement floor. 

“See? I told you she’d like it!” 

“We almost got busted because he wanted to take it.” Another boy with light purplish hair piped up from one of the bean bags on the ground. It’s adorable how only half of his body could fit on it, leaving him with no choice but to splay his long legs on the floor. 

“Did not.” 

“Did yes.” 

“Shut up, Jisung. You’re just jealous I’m the one who got it for her tonight.”

I chuckled from my seat, rolling the princess cut diamond against my palm. The kids always do this--if it’s not Chenle who is giving gifts from their little rendezvous, it was the others. It was a sweet act, at least if anyone counts out the fact that it came from ransacking a high profile businessman’s penthouse.

“Who wants some ramen? I’m starving.” A black-haired boy asked from across the room where a counter was set-up to serve as the headquarters’ kitchen. Five heads whipped up and gave various forms of yes, making him turn towards the group, one hand on his hip. 

“Yah, Lee Haechan. Help me cook.”

A groan sounded from the leather couch as the boy in question winced at the request.

“But I’m tired. I detonated two bombs today!”

“And I had to unlock three high-security safes. Come on.” 

I chuckled as I watched Haechan pull himself up from the couch, his boots still on. Three consecutive beeps from the monitor behind me made me turn back towards the table again, fingers tapping over some keys to review the message.

“Noona, how about you? You want some?”

“No, thanks, Jaemin. Just ate,” I flashed him a quick smile before turning to read the notification on the screen. Slowly, the corners of my lips lifted into a full grin as my eyes finished scanning the words. 

“127’s back from Tokyo. They got the goods well and secured.”

“Whoah, really? I gotta ask Mark-hyung if he was able to get me my favorite chips!” A boy with black and white hair said as he swiped his phone up from the back of his pants pocket to send a quick message. Beside him, Jeno propped his head up from one of the love chairs, looking at me. 

“Who sent the message?” 

“Doyoung.” 

“Did he--”

“P.S. Tell Jeno I got him the silencer he wants,” I read the closing note on the message with an amused eye roll and a smile. Jeno gave an excited whoop from behind me, clearly excited over his new toy. 

I quickly shot a reply to the message, making sure to give them a quick update from my end. A green logo flashed after I hit send, a special kind of cyber filter that automatically deletes all traces of conversation that passes through my computer at my command. My eyes registered the familiar three letters before it flickered and glitched to black. 

NCT. 

For anyone living a mundane life, those three letters might be senseless. However, it’s a different case altogether for anyone who is in any shape or form involved with the underground. It’s a name that is often said in low whispers of reverence… or spat with spite. Whichever of the two, the name itself only means one thing to those who know it: the top mafia group ruling the underground of Seoul--if not the whole of Korea. 

The “family,” as I’d  like to call it, is divided into three different smaller sub-groups of varying specializations and activities. First is 127, the primary group in power over Seoul. The unit specializes in drug dealings, assassinations, and smuggling of firearms, and its members are also the ones managing the many businesses (both legal and illegal) falling under the protection of NCT. As the group with the most experienced members, they are also the ones who often go across countries like Japan where they also have their own hold. Limitations and Prohibitions: none.

The second group; Dream. Despite having the youngest members, the sub-group also has its own chokehold over the city of Seoul. Specialization: Heists and Ambushes. It doesn’t matter if it is a high-tech bank or a high-walled fortress like Alcatraz--once Dream sets its sights on a bounty, they’ll make sure to get it. Limitations and Prohibitions: no killing allowed. 

Finally, the third cluster: WayV; the current ruling crime group of China. Specialization: Organized Cyber crimes and biological warfare . While the sub-group has its original roots in Korea, it didn’t have any problem taking over Beijing’s underground in a few years time. They are considered the visionaries of the family--always one step ahead when it comes to anything technology touches and influences. Limitations and Prohibitions: none.

I leaned back against the chair and gave a soft sigh. Compared to the others, I don’t have as much exposure to the so-called thrills of the job. Still, I do admit that being the eyes and ears of the whole group is not a leisurely walk in the park. It’s been a few months of being temporarily assigned to Dream, but with 127 back, work will surely double again in no time. Not that I’m complaining with how well the job pays, of course--I did get a blood red diamond today, after all--but things sure can get tough sometimes. 

Lifting my arms up, I gave myself a well-deserved stretch before kicking back from the desk. The smell of ramen hit my nose, making me smile. Another day, another job well done. 

“Hey Jaemin, changed my mind about that ramen. I think I’ll have it after all.” 

Chapter 2: Overture

The Rise & Fall of Joss Whedon; the Myth of the Hollywood Feminist Hero

By Kelly Faircloth

“I hate ‘feminist.’ Is this a good time to bring that up?” Joss Whedon asked. He paused knowingly, waiting for the laughs he knew would come at the creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer making such a statement.

It was 2013, and Whedon was onstage at a fundraiser for Equality Now, a human rights organization dedicated to legal equality for women. Though Buffy had been off the air for more than a decade, its legacy still loomed large; Whedon was widely respected as a man with a predilection for making science fiction with strong women for protagonists. Whedon went on to outline why, precisely, he hated the term: “You can’t be born an ‘ist,’” he argued, therefore, “‘feminist’ includes the idea that believing men and women to be equal, believing all people to be people, is not a natural state, that we don’t emerge assuming that everybody in the human race is a human, that the idea of equality is just an idea that’s imposed on us.”

The speech was widely praised and helped cement his pop-cultural reputation as a feminist, in an era that was very keen on celebrity feminists. But it was also, in retrospect, perhaps the high water mark for Whedon’s ability to claim the title, and now, almost a decade later, that reputation is finally in tatters, prompting a reevaluation of not just Whedon’s work, but the narrative he sold about himself. 

In July 2020, actor Ray Fisher accused Whedon of being “gross, abusive, unprofessional, and completely unacceptable” on the Justice League set when Whedon took over for Zach Synder as director to finish the project. Charisma Carpenter then described her own experiences with Whedon in a long post to Twitter, hashtagged #IStandWithRayFisher.

On Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, Carpenter played Cordelia, a popular character who morphed from snob to hero—one of those strong female characters that made Whedon’s feminist reputation—before being unceremoniously written off the show in a plot that saw her thrust into a coma after getting pregnant with a demon. For years, fans have suspected that her disappearance was related to her real-life pregnancy. In her statement, Carpenter appeared to confirm the rumors. “Joss Whedon abused his power on numerous occasions while working on the sets of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and ‘Angel,’” she wrote, describing Fisher’s firing as the last straw that inspired her to go public.

Buffy was a landmark of late 1990s popular culture, beloved by many a burgeoning feminist, grad student, gender studies professor, and television critic for the heroine at the heart of the show, the beautiful blonde girl who balanced monster-killing with high school homework alongside ancillary characters like the shy, geeky Willow. Buffy was very nearly one of a kind, an icon of her era who spawned a generation of leather-pants-wearing urban fantasy badasses and women action heroes.

Buffy was so beloved, in fact, that she earned Whedon a similarly privileged place in fans’ hearts and a broader reputation as a man who championed empowered women characters. In the desert of late ’90s and early 2000s popular culture, Whedon was heralded as that rarest of birds—the feminist Hollywood man. For many, he was an example of what more equitable storytelling might look like, a model for how to create compelling women protagonists who were also very, very fun to watch. But Carpenter’s accusations appear to have finally imploded that particular bit of branding, revealing a different reality behind the scenes and prompting a reevaluation of the entire arc of Whedon’s career: who he was and what he was selling all along.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer premiered March 1997, midseason, on The WB, a two-year-old network targeting teens with shows like 7th Heaven. Its beginnings were not necessarily auspicious; it was a reboot of a not-particularly-blockbuster 1992 movie written by third-generation screenwriter Joss Whedon. (His grandfather wrote for The Donna Reed Show; his father wrote for Golden Girls.) The show followed the trials of a stereotypical teenage California girl who moved to a new town and a new school after her parents’ divorce—only, in a deliberate inversion of horror tropes, the entire town sat on top of the entrance to Hell and hence was overrun with demons. Buffy was a slayer, a young woman with the power and immense responsibility to fight them. After the movie turned out very differently than Whedon had originally envisioned, the show was a chance for a do-over, more of a Valley girl comedy than serious horror.

It was layered, it was campy, it was ironic and self-aware. It looked like it belonged on the WB rather than one of the bigger broadcast networks, unlike the slickly produced prestige TV that would follow a few years later. Buffy didn’t fixate on the gory glory of killing vampires—really, the monsters were metaphors for the entire experience of adolescence, in all its complicated misery. Almost immediately, a broad cross-section of viewers responded enthusiastically. Critics loved it, and it would be hugely influential on Whedon’s colleagues in television; many argue that it broke ground in terms of what you could do with a television show in terms of serialized storytelling, setting the stage for the modern TV era. Academics took it up, with the show attracting a tremendous amount of attention and discussion.

In 2002, the New York Times covered the first academic conference dedicated to the show. The organizer called Buffy “a tremendously rich text,” hence the flood of papers with titles like “Pain as Bright as Steel: The Monomyth and Light in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’” which only gathered speed as the years passed. And while it was never the highest-rated show on television, it attracted an ardent core of fans.

But what stood out the most was the show’s protagonist: a young woman who stereotypically would have been a monster movie victim, with the script flipped: instead of screaming and swooning, she staked the vampires. This was deliberate, the core conceit of the concept, as Whedon said in many, many interviews. The helpless horror movie girl killed in the dark alley instead walks out victorious. He told Time in 1997 that the concept was born from the thought, “I would love to see a movie in which a blond wanders into a dark alley, takes care of herself and deploys her powers.” In Whedon’s framing, it was particularly important that it was a woman who walked out of that alley. He told another publication in 2002 that “the very first mission statement of the show” was “the joy of female power: having it, using it, sharing it.”

In 2021, when seemingly every new streaming property with a woman as its central character makes some half-baked claim to feminism, it’s easy to forget just how much Buffy stood out among its against its contemporaries. Action movies—with exceptions like Alien’s Ripley and Terminator 2's Sarah Conner—were ruled by hulking tough guys with macho swagger. When women appeared on screen opposite vampires, their primary job was to expose long, lovely, vulnerable necks. Stories and characters that bucked these larger currents inspired intense devotion, from Angela Chase of My So-Called Life to Dana Scully of The X-Files.

The broader landscape, too, was dismal. It was the conflicted era of girl power, a concept that sprang up in the wake of the successes of the second-wave feminist movement and the backlash that followed. Young women were constantly exposed to you-can-do-it messaging that juxtaposed uneasily with the reality of the world around them. This was the era of shitty, sexist jokes about every woman who came into Bill Clinton’s orbit and the leering response to the arrival of Britney Spears; Rush Limbaugh was a fairly mainstream figure.

At one point, Buffy competed against Ally McBeal, a show that dedicated an entire episode to a dancing computer-generated baby following around its lawyer main character, her biological clock made zanily literal. Consider this line from a New York Times review of the Buffy’s 1997 premiere: “Given to hot pants and boots that should guarantee the close attention of Humbert Humberts all over America, Buffy is just your average teen-ager, poutily obsessed with clothes and boys.”

Against that background, Buffy was a landmark. Besides the simple fact of its woman protagonist, there were unique plots, like the coming-out story for her friend Willow. An ambivalent 1999 piece in Bitch magazine, even as it explored the show’s tank-top heavy marketing, ultimately concluded, “In the end, it’s precisely this contextual conflict that sets Buffy apart from the rest and makes her an appealing icon. Frustrating as her contradictions may be, annoying as her babe quotient may be, Buffy still offers up a prime-time heroine like no other.”

A 2016 Atlantic piece, adapted from a book excerpt, makes the case that Buffy is perhaps best understood as an icon of third-wave feminism: “In its examination of individual and collective empowerment, its ambiguous politics of racial representation and its willing embrace of contradiction, Buffy is a quintessentially third-wave cultural production.” The show was vested with all the era’s longing for something better than what was available, something different, a champion for a conflicted “post-feminist” era—even if she was an imperfect or somewhat incongruous vessel. It wasn’t just Sunnydale that needed a chosen Slayer, it was an entire generation of women. That fact became intricately intertwined with Whedon himself.

Seemingly every interview involved a discussion of his fondness for stories about strong women. “I’ve always found strong women interesting, because they are not overly represented in the cinema,” he told New York for a 1997 piece that notes he studied both film and “gender and feminist issues” at Wesleyan; “I seem to be the guy for strong action women,’’ he told the New York Times in 1997 with an aw-shucks sort of shrug. ‘’A lot of writers are just terrible when it comes to writing female characters. They forget that they are people.’’ He often cited the influence of his strong, “hardcore feminist” mother, and even suggested that his protagonists served feminist ends in and of themselves: “If I can make teenage boys comfortable with a girl who takes charge of a situation without their knowing that’s what’s happening, it’s better than sitting down and selling them on feminism,” he told Time in 1997.

When he was honored by the organization Equality Now in 2006 for his “outstanding contribution to equality in film and television,” Whedon made his speech an extended riff on the fact that people just kept asking him about it, concluding with the ultimate answer: “Because you’re still asking me that question.” He presented strong women as a simple no-brainer, and he was seemingly always happy to say so, at a time when the entertainment business still seemed ruled by unapologetic misogynists. The internet of the mid-2010s only intensified Whedon’s anointment as a prototypical Hollywood ally, with reporters asking him things like how men could best support the feminist movement. 

Whedon’s response: “A guy who goes around saying ‘I’m a feminist’ usually has an agenda that is not feminist. A guy who behaves like one, who actually becomes involved in the movement, generally speaking, you can trust that. And it doesn’t just apply to the action that is activist. It applies to the way they treat the women they work with and they live with and they see on the street.” This remark takes on a great deal of irony in light of Carpenter’s statement.

In recent years, Whedon’s reputation as an ally began to wane. Partly, it was because of the work itself, which revealed more and more cracks as Buffy receded in the rearview mirror. Maybe it all started to sour with Dollhouse, a TV show that imagined Eliza Dushku as a young woman rented out to the rich and powerful, her mind wiped after every assignment, a concept that sat poorly with fans. (Though Whedon, while he was publicly unhappy with how the show had turned out after much push-and-pull with the corporate bosses at Fox, still argued the conceit was “the most pure feminist and empowering statement I’d ever made—somebody building themselves from nothing,” in a 2012 interview with Wired.)

After years of loud disappointment with the TV bosses at Fox on Firefly and Dollhouse, Whedon moved into big-budget Hollywood blockbusters. He helped birth the Marvel-dominated era of movies with his work as director of The Avengers. But his second Avengers movie, Age of Ultron, was heavily criticized for a moment in which Black Widow laid out her personal reproductive history for the Hulk, suggesting her sterilization somehow made her a “monster.” In June 2017, his un-filmed script for a Wonder Woman adaptation leaked, to widespread mockery. The script’s introduction of Diana was almost leering: “To say she is beautiful is almost to miss the point. She is elemental, as natural and wild as the luminous flora surrounding. Her dark hair waterfalls to her shoulders in soft arcs and curls. Her body is curvaceous, but taut as a drawn bow.”

But Whedon’s real fall from grace began in 2017, right before MeToo spurred a cultural reckoning. His ex-wife, Kai Cole, published a piece in The Wrap accusing him of cheating off and on throughout their relationship and calling him a hypocrite:

“Despite understanding, on some level, that what he was doing was wrong, he never conceded the hypocrisy of being out in the world preaching feminist ideals, while at the same time, taking away my right to make choices for my life and my body based on the truth. He deceived me for 15 years, so he could have everything he wanted. I believed, everyone believed, that he was one of the good guys, committed to fighting for women’s rights, committed to our marriage, and to the women he worked with. But I now see how he used his relationship with me as a shield, both during and after our marriage, so no one would question his relationships with other women or scrutinize his writing as anything other than feminist.”

But his reputation was just too strong; the accusation that he didn’t practice what he preached didn’t quite stick. A spokesperson for Whedon told the Wrap: “While this account includes inaccuracies and misrepresentations which can be harmful to their family, Joss is not commenting, out of concern for his children and out of respect for his ex-wife. Many minimized the essay on the basis that adultery doesn’t necessarily make you a bad feminist or erase a legacy. Whedon similarly seemed to shrug off Ray Fisher’s accusations of creating a toxic workplace; instead, Warner Media fired Fisher.

But Carpenter’s statement—which struck right at the heart of his Buffy-based legacy for progressivism—may finally change things. Even at the time, the plotline in which Charisma Carpenter was written off Angel—carrying a demon child that turned her into “Evil Cordelia,” ending the season in a coma, and quite simply never reappearing—was unpopular. Asked about what had happened in a 2009 panel at DragonCon, she said that “my relationship with Joss became strained,” continuing: “We all go through our stuff in general [behind the scenes], and I was going through my stuff, and then I became pregnant. And I guess in his mind, he had a different way of seeing the season go… in the fourth season.”

“I think Joss was, honestly, mad. I think he was mad at me and I say that in a loving way, which is—it’s a very complicated dynamic working for somebody for so many years, and expectations, and also being on a show for eight years, you gotta live your life. And sometimes living your life gets in the way of maybe the creator’s vision for the future. And that becomes conflict, and that was my experience.”

In her statement on Twitter, Carpenter alleged that after Whedon was informed of her pregnancy, he called her into a closed-door meeting and “asked me if I was ‘going to keep it,’ and manipulatively weaponized my womanhood and faith against me.” She added that “he proceeded to attack my character, mock my religious beliefs, accuse me of sabotaging the show, and then unceremoniously fired me following the season once I gave birth.” Carpenter said that he called her fat while she was four months pregnant and scheduled her to work at 1 a.m. while six months pregnant after her doctor had recommended shortening her hours, a move she describes as retaliatory. What Carpenter describes, in other words, is an absolutely textbook case of pregnancy discrimination in the workplace, the type of bullshit the feminist movement exists to fight—at the hands of the man who was for years lauded as a Hollywood feminist for his work on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.

Many of Carpenter’s colleagues from Buffy and Angel spoke out in support, including Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar. “While I am proud to have my name associated with Buffy Summers, I don’t want to be forever associated with the name Joss Whedon,” she said in a statement. Just shy of a decade after that 2013 speech, many of the cast members on the show that put him on that stage are cutting ties.

Whedon garnered a reputation as pop culture’s ultimate feminist man because Buffy did stand out so much, an oasis in a wasteland. But in 2021, the idea of a lone man being responsible for creating women’s stories—one who told the New York Times, “I seem to be the guy for strong action women”—seems like a relic. It’s depressing to consider how many years Hollywood’s first instinct for “strong action women” wasn’t a woman, and to think about what other people could have done with those resources. When Wonder Woman finally reached the screen, to great acclaim, it was with a woman as director.

Besides, Whedon didn’t make Buffy all by himself—many, many women contributed, from the actresses to the writers to the stunt workers, and his reputation grew so large it eclipsed their part in the show’s creation. Even as he preached feminism, Whedon benefitted from one of the oldest, most sexist stereotypes: the man who’s a benevolent, creative genius. And Buffy, too, overshadowed all the other contributors who redefined who could be a hero on television and in speculative fiction, from individual actors like Gillian Anderson to the determined, creative women who wrote science fiction and fantasy over the last several decades to—perhaps most of all—the fans who craved different, better stories. Buffy helped change what you could put on TV, but it didn’t create the desire to see a character like her. It was that desire, as much as Whedon himself, that gave Buffy the Vampire Slayer her power.

Villian-Sicle | Part 5

I feel like now would be a pertinent time to mention that this is my first attempt at writing a sort of drabble series. The majority of my work is 50k-100k word nerd ass novels, and I think that this part will make that unfortunately abundantly apparent. I’m sorry for just how long it is, but I’ve absolutely loved writing these characters, and I got a little bit carried away with fleshing out the world a bit more ^^

Also, I feel I should probably mention that, though characters in this story speak Latin, I do not know any Latin. I wrote this using dictionaries and very basic grammar guides, and I sincerely hope I did not mess up too bad.

Thank you for reading! It’s a long one, but I hope you’ll enjoy.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, hypothermia, military setting (kinda), pet whump, dehumanization, past trauma, muzzles, restraints, conditioned whumpee, depiction of an implied panic attack, denial of water

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

Villain couldn’t help but shake and buck their head as a corrugation of metal and leather was slipped over their face, securing their jaw in its current position and forcing them to bite down against the pressure. It had been fitted since last time, they noted rather hollowly-- with a piece of padding now standing between the bridge of their noise and the harsh metal wires. Regardless of how many adjustments were made to the piece, however, making it comfortable seemed beyond their ability.

They, in this specific circumstance, referred mainly to the two soldiers before Villain. Trainer was the only one of the two that they knew the name of-- though they were nearly unrecognizable beneath the layers of gear shrouding their appearance.

The helmet they wore resembled more so that of a motorcyclist rather than that of an armed combatant, but the rest of their kit was far more military. Beneath their uniform bulged the clear outlines of a tac-vest, with their hands shielded by Kevlar gloves, constructed of an intricate mesh of triangular pieces, in a similar manner to chain-mail.

The other soldier was dressed in nearly identical kit, just without the gloves-- those were for handlers, which this other soldier must’ve surely not been. They turned to Trainer, noises in an odd language curling off their tongue. Trainer replied with a laugh.

With practiced hands, Trainer took the muzzle’s straps and secured them behind Villain’s head, tightening the metal until it dug into their skin, tearing at old sores created by the same device. Their leash was quickly hooked to a ring protruding from the muzzle’s wires.

“Manibus.” Trainer’s voice spoke. They nearly flinched at the sheer speed at which Villain offered their hands. Momentarily, Trainer ghosted their fingers over the leather mitten restraints that kept Villain’s fine motor abilities under control. They checked the wrist straps, ensuring their tautness, nodding their approval.

“Abeamus?” The other soldier suggested, to which Trainer gave another nod. They wrapped Villain’s leash around their wrist, halving its length, until there was negligible slack in the line.

Another group of soldiers, all dressed in military-style garments of their own, loitered together by the door to the staging room. They looked to Trainer, marginally straightening their postures, and, presumably, minimizing the amount of swearing in their speech.

With a few words and a flick of the wrist, the squadron was off.

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Leader couldn’t stop looking at Villain’s eyes.

They weren’t quite certain what had pulled them into such an odd trance. It was nothing about color, certainly, nor anything else physical or inherent-- they were unremarkable, in such respects. No, it was certainly something about the expression they portrayed.

A moment ago, they’d seen shattering fear turn to fury in these eyes. Now, they seemed blank, as though constructed of glass and merely painted upon. There was no expression beyond them, no recognition, no indication that Villain’s mind was occupied by anything at all. Their gaze stared straight through Leader, through the ceiling above as well.

Leader was torn from their daze by a commotion from behind them as the door was thrown open. Medic was nearly knocked over as Hero burst in, followed more ploddingly by Counselor.

“Be careful.” Leader warned, looking up and turning to the group. “There’s broken shit everywhere.”

Hero’s eyes darted around the room, seemingly taking in the mess. Broken glass coated the tile floor in a thin dusting of shards, while various mechanical parts still smoked in whatever place they had happened to end up. The lights had been blown out completely, leaving the lighting in the room to be provided by a flashlight laid on a countertop, as well as, now, the light soaking in from the hallway.

After their panicked scan, Hero settled their gaze on Villain.

“Are they...”

“They’re fine.” Medic interrupted.

“They’re not moving.”

“Well... I’m going to hazard to say that that’s a good thing. If I had to guess, it seems like a shock response. It’s not exactly my biggest concern, right about now.”

“What about the, uh, bleeding hole in their chest?”

“That would be my biggest concern.”

Medic grabbed a variety of, miraculously undamaged, medical supplies from a cupboard, setting to work at Villain’s wound. It was small, deliberate, having been incised to be used as an access point for the dialysis machine, but Leader had a feeling that even minor blood loss could be a death sentence, at this point.

Hero and Counselor hovered, for a moment, at Villain’s bedside, while Medic did their work. Leader stood back, nearly having to forcibly tear their gaze from that of Villain.

That odd sort of silence remained for several moments, if not minutes, as Medic’s deft hands worked to close the wound. It was only when the last suture was tied that Counselor spoke up-- one of the only times they had done so for the whole mission.

“Leader?”

“Hm?”

“What’s our plan, exactly? What are our orders?”

They raised a brow. Counselor was never that direct-- nor that military.

“Um...” It felt quite stupid, being caught unprepared like this, but in their defense, they had nearly just been killed by an exploding air conditioner. “I... I don’t want to hazard doing anything until Villain is stable.”

“That was your plan before.” Medic muttered as they pried latex gloves from their hands. “It almost got us killed.”

“Right. Yeah, um, are they stable enough? For transport?”

“They’re not going to bleed out, if that’s your concern. Physically, I’d say they’re stable. Mentally? I think we need to get them to a secure location before they snap out of this fugue state.”

“Alright.” Leader chewed their tongue. “Let’s get the van ready, then.”

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The ship’s deck was notably busy, despite the fact that it was relatively late at night. The vessel’s skeleton crew hurried about, keeping it afloat and on track, while outdated Humvees drove in chaotic paths. What the commotion was about was beyond Villain’s knowledge, or their capacity to care. All that mattered was fighting their instinct to cover their ears, and ensuring that they were keeping up with Trainer.

They could feel it-- the boat-- beneath them. The millions of systems and circuits and electrons, thrumming and being jolted about by a swaying sea.

The small company that Trainer had gathered made their way to the far end of the deck, where a VTOL plane was already humming, waiting for its crew to board. They did so, clustering themselves into the compact cabin. There was, notably, no room the vessel for a pilot-- all steering operations would be handled by an artificial intelligence of sorts. Villain greeted the computer program, but it did not respond.

Trainer settled themself into a middle seat at the front of the cabin. Villain sat obediently at their side, at which point their leash was secured to a handrail sticking out of the wall. They rested their head against the window. Though the cabin was crowded, at the very least, Villain was no longer forced to make the trip in the K9 compartment.

Once every member of the company was settled and seated, the VTOL’s doors slid shut, and the engine thwapp-thwapp-thwapped until the aircraft was off the ground. It shot upwards for a second, traveling several hundred feet in the time, before entering a linear dive and settling for a position around fifty feet above the choppy waters.

Villain closed their eyes, allowing their mind to wander to the creature around them. The VTOL contained what was likely the most complex computer program that the Organization had. Despite all its bells and whistles, however, it paid no mind to Villain’s prodding and wandering.

The plane’s route was not awfully complex. The vehicle was designed, surtout, for water-based travel. Though it could move over land, it struggled to rise above three hundred or so feet, making it useless for far-inland routes. Wherever it was going today was, luckily, on the coast-- somewhere in the forests of Washington state.

If they so wished, Villain could alter the route in any way they so pleased. They could send the aircraft into the ocean below, or back into the ship, or into the first land they saw. It would be simple-- all their problems gone in a moment.

Once the plane’s angle had leveled out, Trainer stood, moving to the front of the plane. Villain gnashed their teeth, attempting to rise from their seat, but finding themself limited by the taut leather line on their muzzle. They were too far, they were on mission, they shouldn’t have been so far, come on, come on. The leash refused to give way, however, leaving them firmly affixed in position.

Trainer cleared their throat, drawing the attention of the gathered company. They began to speak, words taking on quite a commanding air, though Villain only understand a few choice phrases.

“Incursus” was the one that made them prick their ears. They had heard it only a few times before. In conversation, once or twice, but more notably during mission briefings. The last time they had heard it... several missions ago, before they had been briefly confined to the medical wing.

The word itself was meaningless-- its implications less so.

Villain gulped, their jaw straining against the wires of their muzzle.

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Leader walked at the side of the gurney, ghosting a hand over one of the siderails all the while. A pair of doctors pushed the gurney itself, with Medic trailing close behind, and Hero and Counselor at their sides.

In contrast with the upper floors, the hospital’s lobby floor was brightly lit, almost overwhelmingly so, with expanses of floor-to-ceiling windows. The beige carpeting was bathed with the last remnants of sunrise orange-- it had been a long night.

The few patients in the hospital at such as hour were hurried out of the way as the gurney moved through. A scattering of nurses and varied hospital personnel were littered about, watching the Heroes’ procession, but staying several yards away, unwilling to even be in Villain’s vicinity.

Leader looked down at the gurney. A blanket had been draped over Villain, working to keep them at a stable temperature. Their fabric and webbing restraints had been replaced by those made of metal.

Their eyes were open. They had been the whole time. Despite, they had yet to struggle in any form.

The automatic doors at the front of the lobby rumbled open, allowing the gurney to be pushed through. A team of doctors and Leader’s own personnel stood outside, gathered around an ambulance with its back doors hanging open. The doctors pushing the gurney passed it off to some of the stronger personnel, who lifted the contraption into the vehicle’s back, securing it.

Leader nodded their thanks, and moved to get behind the vehicle’s wheel.

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The ship hadn’t been too far off of the East coast to begin with, making the trip to Washington a relatively short one. It took one hour, thirty-six minutes, and eighty-two seconds, to be exact-- far more amicable than the 16-hour trips they had endured in the past.

The VTOL had made a measured descent into a forest clearing, shredding the grass below with its landing gear. With the doors open, the company had scrambled out; Trainer taking Villain’s leash in hand once more.

In the clearing, there had been no sign of life besides a scurrying songbird or two. Villain had only then realized a far more unpleasant aspect of the mission.

They were going to be marching.

Not marching, exactly, they supposed. There was no regimented order to it, it was more like hiking. Just... hiking for hours. The VTOL couldn’t go too far inland, and landing it close to a target was often impossible.

So, they marched.

Sometimes, heaven would be merciful, and the trek would be short, of only a mile or so. On crueler days, though, they would move for hours-- breaking only for water, which Villain would watch the soldiers drink with a parched throat.

Even just from the look of the clearing, and its location, however, Villain had been able to tell that today was not one of those more merciful occasions.

When the plane had landed, the moon at been at its highest point--signifying that midnight had struck. For the first few hours, they walked in darkness, until dawn slowly began to creep up.

All in all, the trek had taken four hours, most of which were spent walking. By the time the group stopped and crouched down, Villain felt their legs were about to snap. It had been far too many hours and far too many miles since they had cared to look at their surroundings. All that mattered was Trainer, and staying awake.

The company made themselves small among an area of heavy undergrowth. Trainer let Villain’s leash loosely hang around their wrist. Even if the technopath had any desire to flee, they doubted they could even get their legs back under them.

One of the soldiers spoke up, somehow sounding hardly winded. Though most of their words served as nonsense to Villain’s ears, one did stick out: Scopum. It was one of the words Trainer had used, back when they were teaching Villain how to search and retrieve objects.

Trainer nodded, took a drink of water from a canteen, and got to their knees. They pointed to something behind the bushes-- Villain got on their knees to look at well.

Over the wall of undergrowth, a building could be seen. It wasn’t particularly notable-- it would be best described as a cabin, with rustic architecture and an array of out-of-season Christmas lights. It seemed to be a vacation home of sorts; large enough to fit a family, certainly, but not a place anyone would live permanently.

Was this their Scopum? Their goal?

Trainer took hold again of Villain’s leash and stood. The real mission was just about to begin, and Villain could hardly stand.

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The drive from the hospital to their base was longer than Leader would have preferred, enough to make them nervously request updates every few minutes, much to Medic’s distaste.

The base stood at the edge of one of Washington’s denser forests, about half an hour out from the city proper. The location provided security, and in their group’s early days, secrecy, but it made transport difficult.

“Hey, Medic?” Leader started.

“Villain is fine. They’re still out of it. Cabin temperature is staying steady at 70, their body temperature is just about where it should be. Keep your damn eyes on the road.”

Leader nodded, biting the inside of their cheek. City traffic had been left behind a few miles ago, leaving only empty back roads. Seven minutes to go, the GPS diligently reported.

“We’re close now, then.” Medic spoke, starting the conversation for once. They weren’t usually the one to do such a thing, but Hero and Counselor were in the ambulance’s back. “What are you thinking?”

“Thinking?”

“Your plans. Please don’t forget that you’re the leader around here, you give the orders. What do we do, when we get back to base?”

Leader bit their tongue to prevent themself from snapping at that passive insult. They were glad for the change in topic, at least.

“Our first priority is keeping ourselves safe. Villain’s safety is second priority-- I’m not sacrificing anything to keep their wellbeing. But I wouldn’t consider them a threat, right now. I assume you would like to keep them in the med bay?”

“For now, at least. They’re stable, but the fact that they’re still breathing is a miracle. I want to have my equipment nearby if they crash.”

“As long as it’s safe, then.”

“And then what?”

“Then... they’re still a prisoner, injured or not. Then we put them in the cells.”

“We don’t have any cells?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The company moved swiftly, forcing Villain’s legs to wake up to the horrible feeling of pins and needles. Trainer remained at the group’s head, leading them forth to the cabin.

It must have looked quite ridiculous, to an outsider. Villain would have laughed if they were able.

The group stopped before the quaint structure.

“Aperire.” Trainer ordered. Villain gnashed their teeth.

The command was a simple one, generally. It meant that they were to open something-- usually a door, or a box, or an encrypted device. The wooden door before them, however, had no electric component; it didn’t even seem to have a lock at all.

Still, they dove into the few electronics that the building did host. The Christmas lights seemed to be meaningless noise-- they tore through those, searching instead through the inner electronics. They were uncomplicated, so much so that their purpose couldn’t be so much as guessed.

Villain panicked, gnashing their teeth, shaking their head against the muzzle. They didn’t know what to do. They could feel their heartbeat, pounding in their head, throbbing.

“Aperire.” Trainer repeated. It only increased Villain’s heartrate-- what were hey doing wrong? Please, what were they doing wrong? They dove back into the systems. There was no door to be seen, just the lights, just some random system. They decided on the latter, tripping the system, just as they drew blood from biting down on their own tongue.

The house rumbled.

Instead of opening as a door should, the rustic home’s door slid into the wall, revealing a brightly-lit interior-- devoid of both furniture and interest.

The only point of interest was at the very center of the floor: A ramp, leading downwards.

Villain gulped. With rougher hands than before, Trainer yanked at their leash, forcing them forth. Together, the two descended, the company right on their heels.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

The base-- it had no real name, it was simply “the base”-- was an uncomplicated corrugation of concrete walls and sparse entranceways. It had been constructed as the shell of a factory, years ago, a factory which eventually fell through. Since then, Leader had organized quite a renovation of the property.

They drove the ambulance to the base’s parking lot, backing up to the curb as near to the entrance as they could.

“You worried?” Medic asked.

“Mhm.” Leader nodded, hopping out of the cockpit and to the asphalt below. The ambulance’s rear doors had already been swung open, with Hero and Counselor working to guide the gurney from it.

Villain still laid on the bed, shrouded with blankets, nearly comatose.

Their eyes moved.

Leader did a double-take, looking back to the figure on the gurney. Villain’s gaze had moved, now directing itself straight at Leader. Whatever expression they were portraying... it looked like fear.

Leader frowned. They moved to the transport bed’s side, placing their hands on the rails.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The ramp descended at least a story into the earth.

With every step they took, Villain could feel their mind become more and more cluttered. At first, they could only hear the simple lighting and ventilation systems, but as they grew deeper, more noises joined the cacophony. Computers and servers, medical equipment and weaponry, it all blended together, all humming, all whirring, all chanting until it made Villain’s head hurt.

At the base of the ramp, which they only reached after what felt like an eternity, stood a simple door. Nothing more than a steel barrier.

“Perdere.”

That command was about as simple as they came. Within a split second, the door, and half of the wall, before Villain had been decimated to rubble.

On the other side of the newly-torn door, a figure moved. Villain flinched, gnawing again on their bloodied tongue. Trainer forced them forward.

The room was empty, devoid, as the past one had been. There was no furniture, no weaponry, no defense. Only a person, standing squarely before the door at the far end.

Their wings brushed the room’s walls.

Leader glared.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

As they leaned over Villain’s bedside, Leader smiled-- an expression as gentle as they could make it. They weren’t sure what had suddenly turned them so soft. Pity, maybe? Somehow, though, it tugged at them in the same way as nostalgia.

They brushed a hand over Villain’s shoulder.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay.”

The next part was the stupid one. The soft one, the one that would have made anyone in any faction laugh. One that, if anyone had heard it, Leader surely never would have lived down. Even they were not sure why they spoke it.

Five simple words. Five words without meaning.

“Welcome to your new home.”

In the years leading upto the Battle of Plassey , Bengal was going through some extremely tough times . Accounts by contemporary writers describes vividly the problems faced by the common man .  This was a period when the East India company was gaining more political power . The true ruling class , the Nawab of Bengal and his aides immersed themselves in luxury and debauchery . On the other hand infamous zamindaars such as Devi Singha made life miserable for the common folk . And then there was famines , epidemics , droughts and inability to pay taxes . But still the people fought on with a smile on their lips . But even that seemed to disappear with the onset of Maratha raids into Bengal in mid 18th century . The “bargee” attacks , as they became popularly known , was so devastating and horrifying that they have been permanently etched in Bengali memory in form of lullaby songs . Even today bengali mothers lull their babies to sleep singing “ Sleep fast my child , for the bargees are coming ! The bulbul birds have eaten all crops , how are we going to pay taxes ? “But who were these ‘bargees’ ?The word bargee is thought to derive from Persian ‘Baargee’ which denoted a cavalry soldier . The other type of  cavalry men used to be called Shiledaars . The government used to provide horses and weaponry to the baargees . The shiledaars on the other hand had to source these themselves . In those times , the sultans of Ahmednagar developed the art of sudden stealth attacks , which came to be known as ‘baargeer-giri’ . This mode of guerrilla warfare was effective and gained massive popularity all throughout the Deccan , including Maharashtra . In the year 1740 Alivardi Khan defeated and killed his master and the then Nawab of Bengal , Sarafaraz Khan and himself sat on the throne of Bengal . But the brother in law of Sarfaraz , Naib Nazeem of Orissa Rustam Jung turned against Alivardi to avenge the wrong done to his brother . Alivardi defeated Rustam Jung and dethroned him from his Orissa office . In retaliation , Rustam Jung went to Nagpur  and sought the help of Raghuji Bhonsle , the then ruler of the region . Raghuji Bhonsle’s Diwan , Bhaskar Kolhatkar AKA Bhaskar Pandit launched an attack on Bengal with all his might . The raids continued for a period spanning 9 years and according to contemporary Dutch estimates , four lakh people died in the bloodbath . It devastated the economy of Bengal and created a period of anarchy and terror . The bargees gradually approached uptill the capital at Murshidabad and sacked the city and plundered the houses of the rich . The Britishers of East India Company on the other hand became anxious about a possible attack on the emerging prosperous city of Calcutta , their main hub . To deter any attack , they began digging a giant moat around the entire town . Luckily the bargees did not attack Calcutta and the work on the moat was discarded midway . The moat was eventually filled up in 1890s and made into upper and lower circular roads ( Acharya Jagadish Chandra Bose road & Acharya Prafulla Chandra road presently ) A certain poet named Gangaram composed a poetry describing the affairs of the bargee raids in his book called “Maharashtra Puran” . Parts of it describe the horrors faced by civilians in those times – “ They round up everyone and loot their gold and silver . They cut off the hands of some . To others they cut off the nose and the ears . For the rest they simply chop off their heads . The pretty ladies they take away and tie them up . Then they take turns to rape until they start crying to be spared . The set the homes of the rich on fire and destroy all the temples of Vishnu . They tie up their captives , fold up their hands and kick on their chest with their heavy boots . Those who have money give it to them and escape death . Those who don’t have money have no other option other than to surrender to death . The Brahmins flee with their sacred books under their arms ! The goldsmiths flee with their measuring insruments . The shopkeepers flee with their wares . The metal workers flee with their copper and brass . The blaksmiths flee along with earthen pot makers . The fishermen flee with their nets . Rich men’s wives unaccustomed to walking flee with loads over their heads ! The khetris and the rajputs also flee in fear dropping their swords . The gosais and the mohants of temples flee on palanquins . The Mughals , sayeds and sheikhs also flee in terror hearing of the bargees . The pregnant women are forced to deliver their child along roadways . “None managed to escape the wrath of the bargees. Numerous temples of Bengal were looted and plundered . Fables narrate how the iconic neem wood deity of Dhameshwar Gouranga ( Chaitanya mahaprabhu ) , worshipped by Bishnupriya ( Consort of Mahaprabhu himself ) also had to be buried for quite a few years to save him from the bargee raids! Such lawlessness continued for almost 9 years . In the end , the nawab of Bengal entered into a pact of truce with the bargees conceding Orissa to them on the condition that they would never return to Bengal . During such tumultuous times , the bargees reached upto the capital of the Malla dynasty kings – Bishnupur . Mallas have been a dominant power in that part of the state for more than a 1000 years ! When the bargees approached , the people panicked and started praying to the presiding deity of the town , Madanmohan . It is said that during this time people saw Madanmohan manifest and rush into battlefield ! He lifted up a giant iron cannon and started firing into the bargee hordes that were trying to enter the city . The cannon would later get the name ‘Dala-mardana’ or “destroyer of hordes” and can still be seen in Bishnupur . Madanmohan successfully defeated the bargees and protected his devotees . This tale has been narrated for centuries in Bishnupur and has become one of the popular religious folklores of Bengal .  But this Madanmohan is not originally a deity of Bishnupur . He is said to have been brought to Bishnupur from elsewhere by Malla king Bir Hambir .One source opines that Madanmohan originally resided at the ShriPaat Chaatraa of Srirampore . This was the residence of Kashishwar Pandita , one of the associates of Chaitanya . Bir Hambir brought Madanmohan to his kingdom and after installing a new deity of Radharani beside him , honoured him with the status of ‘Nagar devata’ of Bishnupur . The entire story raises some fundamental questions and doubts – The first question is , if the marathas are considered the champions of Hinduism and viewed largely as upholders of indian valour , why did they plunder and loot the Bengali temples  ?! The second question that may arise is , did Madanmohan indeed manifest and do this impossible act ? In order to answer this , one must understand that history is never unidimensional and one pointed as we tend to think . History has many complex layers . As the saying goes – “ history is written by victors “ . If we twist it slightly it would be safe to say that history is written by the privileged . Or perhaps , History is most often written with an agenda ! Therefore history , by its very nature , can never be complete nor foolproof . We tend to overlook the fact that in history two opposing ideas can also be true simultaneously . Therefore , every Brahmin need not be a tyrant evil oppressor nor every low caste an oppressed . Every deity taken away from a temple may not amount to a sacrilege and dishonour of hinduism . Taj mahal is not a name changed hindu shaivite temple . Gyan Vapi is not a mosque built on virgin soil . A thousand such historical over simplifications or agenda driven narratives have done more damage to true history than good . It is very necessary to have an open mind while discussing such a tricky subject as ‘bargee attack’ . I will lay down some points which will provide the readers with food for thought . But it is upto them to interpret why the bargees did what they did .1 – Bhaskar pandit organised a full fledged Bengali styled Durgotsav in Dainhaat of Bardhaman district . New pratima was built , new chandi mandap temple constructed and  thousands of sacrificial animals were brought in and grand preparations were begun . But in the night of MahaNavami , Alivardi Khan sent a message of truce and took Bhaskar Pandit into confidence and had him killed . The puja remained  unfinished . Even today ruins of the chandi mandap can be seen at Dainhaat . Understandably , Bhaskar pandit was not anti bengali or anti hindu per se and he embraced Bengali customs and culture . In this context it is worth remembering that the cult deity of Marathas , Tulja Bhawani ( from whom legend says Chatrapati Shivaji received his sword ) is also an image of Mahishamardini . Presumably , the marathas quickly saw the sameness in the rituals and ideas and were glad to adapt . 2- Just like the Mughal army had hindus in their ranks or the british indian army was largely constituted of the Indian soldiers , in the same way the bargees also had men of all castes and religions in their ranks . They even had large battalions of muslim men . It would be unfair to expect that the Islamic bargees would be respectful towards bengali idolators and their practices . 3- human ethics and moral values have underwent massive changes in recent times .  In ancient times , we did not have human rights commission , supreme court or the like . Survival of the fittest was the mantra for the times . In an event of attack it was normal for the army to indulge in plunder and loot . The rulers unofficially allowed their men to have a free hand in ‘exploits of war’ after a hard earned victory . This was a sort of incentive for the men ! Remember in those days warfare had more to do with brute strength and direct combat than with intelligence as it has become nowadays after advent of computer controlled war machinery ! During such post war plunders , rape , looting , rampage and selling humans into slavery became the norm .This was true for the entire world throught history !4 – The temples in Bengal which harbour tales of bargee attacks are mostly vaishnavaite shrines , namely Radha Krishna or Gouranga ( Chaitanya ) temples . Both these divinities would have been unknown to the Marathas whose own brand of Vaishnavism were centered around Vithhal , Rukmini and Satyabhama  . It is possible that unknown gods attracted more wrath .5- But interestingly the marathas were also one of the chief patrons of the Puri Jagannath temple . The hati vesha or Gaja vesha of Jagannath was directly due to Maratha influence over Jagannatha cult .  The  form of Jagannatha too would have been largely unknown to the marathas . That being said , they would have definitely been aqquianted with the tirtha mahatmya of Puri and the name of Jagannath from the puranas and scriptures . 6- In all probabilities Bhaskar Pandit did receive some support from the local hindu populace . The records of his durgotsav mentions throngs of villagers coming to participate in his puja . Presumably , there was both an element of fear and awe working amongst the masses . 7- It is hard to answer whether Madanmohan manifested in form or not , from a point of view of history . Such things are matters of faith and are best left untouched by history ( or even historians ) . However if we introspect purely from a historical perspective some hypothetical probabilities may be suggested . In hindu society when a man narrowly escapes a danger , he often attributes his miraculous escape to the mercy and compassion of his cherished deity . Its common for such a bhakta to say – “ I got saved due to intervention or madanmohan “ . It is very much possible that the Malla dynasty kings who ruled over a jungle infested tricky terrain and whose subjects largely comprised of martial races and tribes , overrun the bargees by their military strength and the pious king attributed the win to the mercy of Madanmohan . In due course of time this popular way of saying aqquired more realistic and literal connotations and became etched in collective memory as madanmohan manifesting in person ! Just a “what if” …. but worth a thought nonetheless !8 – It is also possible that the bargees themselves chose not to attack the malla kings , who in any case had been famous as champions of Hinduism for the last 1000 years . I have laid out the points to contemplate on . It is upto you to draw the final conclusion . History is never straightforward . All we can do is record and mention the loose ends . If the ends meet , well and fine . If they do not , it is best to be honest and admit that history is unclear thereafter  , rather than to try make them meet by force and end up projecting a personal political or sociological agenda unto history . But even after so much , the people of Bishnupur could not keep their beloved Madanmohan in their town . Malla Raja Chaitanya Singha got into a financial debacle and had to take a loan of a thefty sum of money from rich zamindar businessman Gokul Mitra of Calcutta . By this time , the sun had already began to set on the glories of Malla dynasty and Calcutta had begun to emerge as the next economic and political capital of India . In exchange of the money , Chaitanya Singha mortgaged his nagar devata Madanmohan to Gokul Mitra . When Malla king was unable to return the money back in due time ,  Madanmohan was left back at disposal of Gokul who went to build him a grand new temple . Even today visitors to Kumartuli in Calcutta can see the grand temple of madanmohan built in typical greaco roman neoclassical colonial style . At Bishnupur a replica deity was installed which also got stolen a few decades back . A second replica of Madanmohan is presently housed in the original temple back at bishnupur . So did Madanmohan really manifest ? Well, the eyes of a rationalist seek out different things from the eyes of an artist . To an artist , his divine manifestation is of much more importance because it has ‘rasa’ . It has the power to soothe the mind and senses from the drudgery of daily monotonous existence . To the artist , the supernatural is more appealing than the natural . But then again it is the ‘natural’ that gives birth to the ‘supernatural’ .  In this painting I have strived to bridge the gap between the two with the string of bhakti . Jay Madanmohan .

Text an art by Halley Goswami

The Good Lines (3/3)

Trapped in an unfamiliar world, Alcor finds that he doesn’t mind the loneliness. He doesn’t care about finding a way out. He doesn’t even care about Mizar. All he cares about is solving puzzles, and drawing the good lines.

(or: I Think Dipper Should Play The Witness)

Chapter 3: Challenge (link to chapter 1) (2)

(See the most updated version on AO3!)

===

The Challenge was every bit as much of a thrill as Alcor expected it to be. It was a little adventure to be soaring around the cave, looking for his next task. The time limit gave him a real sense of excitement; filled him with adrenaline whenever he finally managed to solve a puzzle. And even when he did fail, he knew the next try would be just as invigorating because the puzzles were never the same.

He’d never get bored. Finally, something he could set his mind to that wouldn’t just wither away and die before his eyes.

Unfortunately, long before he got bored, he got frustrated.

Music pounding in his ears, Alcor drew another incorrect line and cringed at the sound of the panel turning off, all but calling him a failure in its electronic voice. He raced back to the previous puzzle, to solve it again so that he could make another attempt at the one he failed, but just as he had his finger on the start point, the music stopped and the Challenge was over.

Time after time he drew the lines, using all of his knowledge of the game to figure out the puzzles. Time after time there came one that he just couldn’t solve. Maybe it was his imagination but it seemed to change every time he blinked. Or he’d make it past the room with all the panels and then get completely and totally lost in the invisible maze. It was as if the game wanted to lead him into thinking he was doing well, just to embarrass him by taking away his victory.

“What’s going on, kid?” Alcor asked at one point, staring up at the ceiling. “Why’s this so hard?”

[ It’s a challenge! ] Al-V replied, his voice broadcasting from every speaker in the cave. [ It wouldn’t be a challenge if it was easy! What do you think this is, a triple-A game? Naw, you’re here to have fun! ]

“When did you start talking like a sports announcer?” Alcor muttered. He picked himself up and headed back to the first cave once again. “Can you give me a hint when I get stuck?”

[ Oh, suuuuure, ] Al-V said, packing as much sarcasm into his synthesized voice as possible. [ Why don’t I give you a kiss on the cheek too, and after you finish the Challenge I can help you back to the nursing home ‘cause you’re an old man. ]

Alcor stopped mid-step, his foot hanging in the air. He turned his head to the nearest speaker. “Excuse me?”

A burst of static sounded from the speaker. [ Uh, okay. Maybe that was a bit much. But seriously, Dad, you don’t want me to give you any hints. You’d feel like you cheated. Wouldn’t be satisfying. I know you. I know what makes you happy. ]

“You really do, huh,” Alcor said. He sat on the floor and stared at his fingers. “How’d you get the idea to trap me in a video game?”

[ Easy! I saw my Dad, the big scary king of all demons, and I saw that he was moping around because he had a fight with his sister. And I thought, this does not compute. After all, Dad deserves all the happiness in the world, and yet he’s dragging himself down by worrying about all these mortals who keep hurting him! ]

“Yeah,” Alcor said. He curled his fingers, examining the long blackened claws at the tips, and thought about how many bodies he’d sunken them into and torn apart. “It’s dumb to let them get to me, I guess. I’m Alcor the Dreambender. I can do whatever I want. If a mortal bothers me, I can just kill them. They’re nothing.”

[ Exactly! ] Al-V chirped. [ The world is unkind to my Dad but he’s the best Dad in the world. So I decided I’d instantiate a world just for him. I analyzed my databanks for everything you’ve told me interests you, and everything I’ve picked up just through, yknow, constant worldwide surveillance. And the answer came to me, clear as a recurrent neural network classifies targeted advertisements! ]

“Puzzles,” Alcor said.

[ So many puzzles that he’d never worry about mortals again. You’ve always wanted something to do with your endless life. Think of it as a gift from a kid who cares about you. ]

More attempts. More puzzles. Time passed at an unknown rate. There was a clock on the wall but Alcor had no idea how to read it because it was made up of three puzzles that changed every second. He couldn’t tell how long his attempts were; couldn’t even tell how long the music was.

Anitra’s Dance looped mercilessly in Alcor’s head, and he swore if he ever met a reincarnation of Edvard Grieg, he’d push him down a flight of stairs.

He didn’t take any more breaks after that. When he failed an attempt, he flew back to the record player right away to try again. As he grew more and more frustrated, he found he had trouble even solving the first three puzzles -- ones that he’d initially found simple. He didn’t know what to do. He started to get the feeling that this wasn’t what he really wanted to be doing, but he pushed that feeling away. It was all he had. He had to keep going.

Sweating, Alcor moved his hand across another panel, but there just didn’t appear to be any way to the exit.

“How?” he cried. “How is this puzzle even possible? I thought I had a chance! Am I being played for a fool? Is that what this is? I… I thought I -”

Alcor felt a hand on his shoulder. He tried to spin around but whoever it was kept him pinned in place. Another hand appeared on his wrist, gripping his palm with nails painted sparkly pink.

“This path is way too spirally,” Mizar said. “You don’t need to fill every space on the panel. You just need to make it to the exit. Try a straight line.”

She took his hand off the panel, and the old line faded away after a second. Then she put his claw on the start point and gently guided his hand to the end.

“Mizar?” Alcor breathed.

“Hi Dipper,” she replied.

Awestruck, Alcor tried to turn around again, but his hand was still on the panel. “You’re here? In the game?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Alcor babbled, speechless. “Wh- wh- why, but- and y- you -”

Mizar lifted her brother’s hand off the panel again, and this time it squeaked, their solution accepted. Then she grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, and hugged him as hard as she could.

“I’m sorry,” she said when the music reached a quiet enough part that she could be heard. “I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t thinking about what you might be going through at all. I- I was just thinking about myself.”

Alcor watched her bury her head in his shoulder, and felt his own eyes well up again. “No… No, don’t be sorry…”

“Shut up and let me apologize,” Mizar barked, her voice muffled by his shirt.

The corners of Alcor’s mouth twitched at that, but he remained silent.

“I am sorry,” Mizar continued. “I’ve been bossing you around and judging you for liking this fake world because I put my own needs before yours. But you’re right. I don’t know anything about what it’s like to be immortal.” Her breaths were labored like it was sickening her to speak. “I don’t know what you’re going through. You deserve to get through it whatever way you like, even if it- even if it means...”

Her voice hitched; the rest of her sentence bitten off.

Cautiously, Dipper put his arms around her too. “Miz- Mi… I mean, Solveig,” he stuttered. The music was reaching a fever pitch but his voice cut right through it. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I just- I was so mad that you weren’t listening to me…”

He sighed and unclasped her hands, gently pushing her away so he could see her face and not just the flickering panel behind her. She stared at him with her big blue eyes and behind them he saw nothing. It was almost disorienting to look at a person and not see them cloaked in several layers of aura and thought.

Dipper looked at his shoes instead. “Mortals are always telling me what to do and, I dunno, it started feeling like I was just some demon to you instead of your brother.”

Solveig’s eyes widened and she grabbed his arm again. “That was stupid of me! I didn’t mean to make you feel that way at all.”

He shook his head. “It was stupid of me too! I just wanted to be mad. I just wanted to be alone. I wasn’t thinking about how you really felt just like you weren’t thinking about me. If I’d thought about it at all I would’ve realized it was a stupid idea to just stay trapped and alone inside a video game forever.”

Dipper looked up, and this time he let his mouth curl up into a wobbly grin. “No one’s gonna summon me for wisdom and knowledge anymore if it gets out that my idea about how to avoid loneliness was to make myself as lonely as possible.”

“What?” Solveig blinked as his words registered. Then she snorted and whapped him in the side. “Oh, right. I forgot that people actually think you’re smart.”

“Well, I forgot how pushy you just naturally are!” he countered, putting his hands on his hips as obnoxiously as possible. Then he deflated and bit his lip. “I guess I forgot a lot of things about you. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here but I probably missed a lot of your life.”

“A few months,” she said, looking away. “Maybe more. It took me a while to find this place when you stopped answering my summons.”

“A few months,” Dipper repeated. His stare grew distant. “Do you think I’ve been gone too long to be a part of your family again?”

“Of course not,” she replied immediately. “Why do you think I’ve been trying so hard to get you out of the game?”

He closed his eyes. “Pity.”

Solveig frowned. “No. No, I don’t pity you. I’ve been trying to get you out because you’re my brother and I love you. I miss telling you about my problems and you telling me sanitized versions of your own. I miss calling you up -- I mean summoning you -- after work and going to a movie. I even miss getting kicked out when one of us ends up throwing a box of popcorn at the screen because the characters are acting stupid.”

Dipper took her hand. “Yeah. You’re out of control with that popcorn.”

“Well they shouldn’t sell it if they don’t want us using it as projectiles!” she exclaimed. She saw him smirk, and felt something well up in her eye. “Maybe someone should throw popcorn at us.”

“Agreed.” He paused. “Is it settled, then? We’ll go back to being family?”

“Y-” Solveig started, but her voice was drowned out by a cascade of buzzers.

The two of them spun around wildly, suddenly remembering where they were for the first time in a few minutes. All of the panels on the walls had turned off. Across the room, Dipper spotted the record player, saw the tonearm glide off to the side, heard a click as it came to a rest.

“Ah,” he said. “Forgot about that.”

“Time really flies when you’re apologizing, eh?” Solveig said. She went to elbow him playfully, but stopped herself when she saw how still he’d gotten. “It’s kinda funny that the music’s supposed to be distracting but we both just tuned it out.”

Dipper didn’t look away from the record player. His next words came out slow and metered. “I, guess, we, should, leave, now, right?”

Solveig stepped beside him and slipped his hand into hers again. “We can solve this if you want.”

“What?”

She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “I said, we can solve this if you want. We can do the Challenge.”

Dipper sputtered in disbelief. “But you were so against it! You said I’d be trapped here forever if I kept trying to solve it!”

“Right,” she said, starting to lead him toward the device. “Some of the puzzles are designed to trip you specifically up. But I’m not you, and I’ve, uh. I’ve played a lot of this game. If you and I team up, I’m sure we can do it.”

“You’ve played…” He just gaped at her for a minute as two wires sparked together in his head. “Wait a minute!” he yelped, as Solveig let go of his hand and stood in front of the panel. “How are you here?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” she said with an odd look on her face. “I hooked myself up to the game just like you. I don’t know why the virus made a second virtual reality capsule machine thingy, but here I am. Well, it actually put me at the start of the game and I had to solve like a million puzzles to get here. I can’t just cheat and jump off ledges like someone I could mention.”

“You beat most of the game?” Dipper said. “For me?”

“I told you, dummy,” Solveig said. She walked over, grabbed his hand, and dragged him the rest of the way to the record player. “I care about you a lot. You’re my brother, I love you, and don’t-tell-anyone-but-I-also-sorta-like-this-game-I-mean-I-wouldn’t-want-to-be-trapped-in-it-forever-but-like-okay-I-get-the-appeal-”

Dipper cut her off with a hug. “Okay,” he said when he let go. “We’ll indulge your demonic puzzle-solving urges.”

She chortled at that, fuller and realer than he’d heard in a long time. “I’ll push you off a ledge.” She put her finger on the panel and slid it to the end. “Let’s do this.”

Dipper smiled. “The Challenge, and then home.”

“Home,” Solveig echoed. “We can finally go home.”

She lifted her finger, and the record began to play.

(Only a few minutes later, two twins sat upright in adjacent pods, and began tearing IV's and electrodes from their skin. Eyes adjusted to the first light seen in months, joints cracked and popped as life returned to their bodies, and hearts swelled as they walked together into the unknown.)

Past Haunts- A Revisit

A/N: Let’s take a look inside the Winchester/Quentin household and see how everyone is getting along. Also look for the 2nd author’s note after this story. 

It's been six months today. Six months since my daughter and I were getting ready for work and school when a simple knock on the front door changed everything. Changed it all, for the better.

To be able to watch from the sidelines as Whitney got to finally know the man who was her father; to finally experience having a male figure in her life was indescribable. 

Those two were like two peas in a pod, though. Similar likes, the same dislikes, an identical warped sense of humor. Once Dean had gotten over- no, that isn't the right wording-since Dean had come to terms with Sam being locked in a cage in Hell, he had jumped right into being a parent, a daddy. And he was killing it!

I hadn't expected to find him in the kitchen every morning, cooking breakfast for us before sending us both off with a kiss and I definitely never dreamed of coming home to a clean house, mowed lawn and that pesky back porch light repaired but during the first whole week of loving with us,  Dean had picked up the slack. I was amazed and very grateful.

Dean and I have slept in the same bed every night since his return but have yet to put a label on what we are. Although, Whitney happily tells anyone and everyone that her parents are together, I'm just unsure. And yes, we've had sex but then again what woman in her right mind could look at him, cuddle up to him and NOT want to have sex with him?

He had gotten a job at a local garage after the first month of being 'home' and had quickly impressed the boss with his knowledge of older vehicles. It seemed as though the mechanics nowadays depended on the little computers installed in the newer models to alert them to whatever was wrong, so when older vehicles came across their rack, these young boys were stumped.

During the week after Thanksgiving, the city of Fairfax Indiana got its first snowfall. Everything looked so clean and fresh with the white blanket covering all the blemishes and eyesores around town. And that's the day we found out Dean Winchester doesn't like the cold.

"It's just-" Dean grumbled as he drank his coffee at the head of the table. "-so ridiculous. You have to wear extra layers, watch out for other idiots on the road. Watch where you step. And it's just so cold." He finishes his groaning with a full body shiver.

"Dad you sound like a whiny brat," Whitney banters as she eats her eggs and bacon. "It's wonderful! Everything looks so bright and shiny."

"I need sun and warmth, missy," Dean shoots back with a wink. He suddenly sits up straight and looks at me. "Babe, how many days of school until our little girl is on holiday?"

Whitney hmphs at being called a little girl, even though she knows Dean only does it to get a rise out of her. The smirk on his face tells me that is exactly the response he expected.

"Uh, nine. I think."

"Eight and a half," Whitney corrects me, standing up to take her plate to the sink. "And the half day is going to be mostly watching movies and not much else."

I look at Dean to see his mind whirling. I could tell he was trying to work something out in his head. I raise an eyebrow in question but only get a smile in response. I shake my head at his antics and stand up to go finish getting ready for work.

Christmas in Florida is distinctly opposite of Christmas in the North. For one, there is no snow for the lights to mirror. The lights are pretty but seem so dull without the reflection. And instead of coats and gloves and hats, people are in swimsuits and shorts, tank tops and flip-flops. A total 180 from what I'm used to in mid-December. I ponder the difference between the two as I lounge on the long beach chair beside Dean's as we watch Whitney frolic in the cool water.

Dean hasn't fully embraced the warmer temperatures as he is still in jeans and his usually two-shirt ensemble.  The only thing missing is the heavy work boots he usually dons; his feet are bare. The sunglasses on his face does little to hide the freckles that have made an appearance the darker his skin tans. I've laid in bed recently, counting the cute little misshapen dots. He is all smiles and happy. I love him so much!

When Dean had first suggested taking a trip down south for Christmas break I was astonished, Whitney was ecstatic. In her 13 year existence, this is the first full-fledged vacation we have ever taken so she was excited and enthusiastic about the chance to take a trip. And when she found out the destination, I didn't think she would survive the 17-hour trip without spending the whole time exploding with glee. Whitney and I spent my whole payday on a new wardrobe for the both of us, getting weird and bizarre looks from other shoppers as we tried to find t-shirts and shorts, bathing suits and sunscreen; during December in Indiana those items were few and far between. I also took a secret trip to the courthouse, getting the paperwork to officially make Whitney a Winchester. All it needs is information and signatures from both parents. I plan to surprise Dean with them Christmas morning.

So far, this vacation has been fantastic. We have spent time as a family doing little things, like walking along the beach at sunset searching for seashells, playing mini-golf, spending the day in our hotel room watching old movies and cartoons when the weather took a turn for the worse. It has been a dream come true, something I had never in a million years thought would ever happen. 

Spending time with him and our daughter in what I dubbed as the most magical place on Earth. So what if we're not at Disney World, to me this is the most fascinating time and place; a week spent with my daughter and her father, the love of my life. Life couldn't get any better than this.

I am shaken from my daydreams as I hear Dean growl and begin throwing fictitious daggers with his eyes in the direction of the pool. I turn my head to see a group of teenage boys all surrounding Whitney, who is all smiles at the attention. 

"Calm down honey," I cajole. "We knew this would eventually happen. We can't expect her to be a nun."

"Those boys are too old for her," he defends. "They see an innocent, young girl like her and there's only one thing on their mind." He goes to get up and I reach over to place my hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Give it a minute," I tell him. "I've taught Whitney to take care of herself."

As Dean and I sit there I keep our daughter in my peripheral, just in case one of us needs to step in. Suddenly, Whitney yells out "Jerk!" and slaps the boy who looks to be the protagonist of the crew. I smile as I watch her climb out of the pool and walk toward us. She sits at my feet and wraps her towel around her shoulders.

"You okay darlin'?" her dad asks, his eyes still trained on the gang of boys. They just don't know how many different ways Dean Winchester could murder them and make them all disappear.

"Y-yea," she answers but I can tell she's lying. "They just said some things that weren't nice."

Dean finally turned his eyes toward his daughter, the dangerous glint replaced by concern.  "Baby girl, I can go have a talk with them, if you-"

"No Dean!" she says, standing up. "I don't need my father taking up for me. I'm not a baby!" As Whitney storms out of the pool area, Dean looks at me, at a loss.

"What did I do?"

I stand up and wrap the sarong around my bikini-clad body. "Just let me go talk to her, okay?" I have an idea what is going on and I know having her dad there I'd never get Whitney to open up. I lean down and kiss him and head in the direction our daughter had stomped off.

In the room, Whitney has thrown herself across her bed and is crying into the pillow.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I ask gently because if my suspicions were true, anything could cause her to fly off the handle.

"I don't know," she whines. "I was feeling okay and then all of a sudden, it's like my energy zapped. So I was just floating in the pool, hoping the ache would go away and then those boys came up and started talking to me. And I liked it," she explains as she sits up on the bed. "But then Kyle said something about me being pure and innocent when I told them how old I was and I just lost it. And then I jumped down Dad's throat and he probably hates me now!" She begins crying again and I join her on the bed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and she places her head on my shoulder.

 "Oh baby," I console. "I think it's becoming that time. You're getting ready to start your first period."

She jerks her head up and looks at me. "Really?"

"Yea, we need to go get you some pads and Midol. You're going to start bleeding anytime."

"God, did I just ruin our first vacation?"

"No!" I claim. "You didn't ruin vacation at all, baby. Now, let's get cleaned up and run down the street to the store."

"Moooom! I can't leave the room! What if it starts before we get back?" I chuckle at her wide-eyed expression.

"Okay, okay." I reach over and grab my phone texting Dean to come up to the room. I roll my eyes as I remember the discussion he and I had almost 2 years ago. Never in a million years did I think I would actually be asking this of him but I can't leave my baby.

The look on his face was comical as I whispered my request. He looked terrified and afflicted at the thought of having to buy feminine products. I take screenshots of exactly what he needs to buy and send him on his way, but not before he insists that I remember promising him he would never have to do this particular task.

The rest of the vacation goes off without a hitch. Whitney does begin her first period and requests to spend the rest of our time in Florida in the hotel room, only going out to eat. Dean and I trust her enough to leave her in the room while we go out, exploring not only the beach but the little town we are in. 

Christmas morning comes and Whitney wakes us up with squeals of delight at the massive amount of presents placed under the decorated fake palm tree in our room.

Dean and I sit on the sofa, drinking coffee and enjoying the look of awe on our daughter's face as she opens her presents. Once finished, she winks at her dad and goes to her bag where she pulls a box from inside. Handing it to him, Whitney steps back as Dean slides off to the floor, getting on one knee.

My hand slaps over my mouth as he clears his throat. I have no idea what he says because my inner voice is chanting 'Oh my god! This can't be happening!' Finally my ears take over and I hear him ask, "Becks, will you marry me?" I nod through the tears and watch as he slips the ring onto my finger. He climbs back onto the couch and wraps his arms around me, only moving one around Whitney when she dog-piles on top of us in excitement.

None of us know though, that when we return to Indiana  the past is going to come back to haunt us, in the form of Sam Winchester back from Hell.

A/N2: Another announcement! Another story! Remember how I promised a sequel to this story? A look into the years these two spent apart? Well I began it and then life happened (along with a stroke) so I just now am finishing it up. Look for Wounded Hearts to begin in March!!! I’m excited to share it with you. I will keep those of you that were on the PH taglist unless you tell me different. Love to you all. 

@vickiq9761 @81mysteriouslyme @travelingriversideblues-x @akshi8278 @keymology @hoboal87 @squirrelnotsam @spnbaby-67 @sandlee44 @natura1phenomenon @drakelover78 @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @larajadeschmidt13 @tftumblin @blacktithe7 @lilulo-12 @adoptdontshoppets @cpag7 @markofdean79 @supraveng @deanwanddamons @mogaruke @death-unbecomes-you @vicariouslythruspn @atc74 @delightfullykrispypeach​ @sea040561​

Guiding Light (13)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 9.4k  warnings: the final chapter 😭, and a little smut and fluff bc yall really deserve it 🖤series masterlist // series playlist

T H R E E  M O N T H S  L A T E R

“I don’t know about this.”

You winced from the cold compress of the patches Shuri gently pressed against the side of your head; wires connecting to machines on your left, monitoring your brain waves and internal chemistry. She pursed her lips at you, giving you that teenage pout, and pressed another electrode to your temple. She’d told you enough times as it was that this was an entirely safe procedure and it was only to ensure that her good work paid off.

In the three months since Hydra infiltrated the compound back in New York, you’d spent your time in Wakanda alongside Shuri. It was supposed to be an easy process to remove the triggers from your mind since she’d already been successful in doing the same for Bucky, but it appeared slightly more challenging with you. It took a bit of extra time but she assured you all the while that you were safe. You didn’t need to go under ice the way Bucky had done.

It took three months but she was able to successfully pull the words from your head. She just needed to prove it. Which is how you ended up sitting in the middle of her lab, heart racing a mile a minute, as she handed a thick red book to Bucky.

Your words. Your triggers. He was going to say them.

“You should strap me down,” you offered for the third time, eyeing Bucky as he flipped the pages of the red book, studying the handwritten notes. He looked up, slowly, a tight smile on his face.

“It’s not necessary, sweetheart,” Bucky said simply. “Shuri’s tech worked. The words aren’t going to affect you. This is all just to give you peace of mind.”

“Sergeant Barnes is right,” Shuri confirmed, smiling brightly at you as she pressed a few buttons on the computer, machine, whatever it was. This technology was far out of your scope. “You will be just fine. I promise. There is no need for restraints.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” you argued, hands shaking and Bucky narrowed his eyes on the tremors running through. 

He quickly set the book down on the table he had been sitting on and crossed the room to you. He knelt by your side, hand brushing your hair back from the wiring, cool metal resting on the nape of your neck.

“If it doesn’t work, I’ll be right here,” he said carefully. “If it comes to that, I’m here, okay? Shuri’s safe. I’m safe. We’ve got a whole army on the other side of that door.”

“You didn’t put up enough of a fight last time, Buck,” you reminded him, voice impossibly quiet and Shuri took a few paces back, occupying herself with something on the other end of the room.

“I know,” he admitted, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. “I promise it won’t come to that again. If, and I’m saying if, you get triggered, I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone. Besides, Shuri has this place on lockdown. You have to know she has a stockpile of weapons around here somewhere and she’s more than capable of defending herself. She had to knock me out a few times back when getting the words out was trial and error. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

“It was never boring, I’ll give you that,” Shuri grinned as she continued typing away. Bucky nodded for her to return and she jogged back over to you, offering you a reassuring smile. “Whenever you’re ready Sergeant Barnes.”

“How many times do I need to remind you to call me Bucky?” he laughed, and you knew he was trying to lighten the mood because even Shuri started to giggle and teased him back, but your nerves were skyrocketing and you needed to get this over with. He picked up the red book and flipped the page with your words scribbled on it in messy writing.

“Does it have to be you?” you asked timidly.

Bucky gritted his teeth, an exhale from his lungs. “If we want to be as accurate as possible, yes. A single mispronunciation could throw off the whole sequence. Shuri had to fly in a native speaker last time and I figured since I was already here...”

“Okay,” you nodded, readying yourself. You gripped the ends of the arm rests until your knuckles ached.

Shuri flipped on a switch and the whirl of the machines echoed through the lab. She gave the okay to Bucky and without wasting another second, he began to read.

“Марафон, горький, Бруклинский,” he called out, thick Russian heavy in his voice and you disliked the grind of it as it left his tongue. You took a steady breath and tried to focus on the pacing of his feet back and forth and the clenching of his left fist at his side as he continued.

“скаут, боевой, возлюбленная.” He looked up to you, searching for any kind of warning signs to stop but you were still. You closed your eyes and tried to lose yourself in your breaths. In. Out. Steady and even.

“мелодия, вена, шестнадцать,” his voice continued, nine of out ten. You could still think, still had a steady stream of consciousness which you were all too aware of, worry and anxiety leaving a mark in your thoughts. Your jaw was clenched so tightly, it ached.

“страсть,” Bucky said with an exhale. It was the last word.

You kept your eyes closed, waiting, because even though you had been withering from the pain your head by the third word the last time you’d been triggered in the compound, you were certain Hydra would find a way to pull the rug from under you again, make you believe you were safe before they sprung the soldier back into your mind and nearly made you kill the love of your life with your own hands.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky called, his voice close enough to you to startle a jump in your heart. His hand rested on your thigh, running smooth, gentle circles to coax your eyes open again. “It’s over, Y/n. They had no effect on you. Shuri did it.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes to find Bucky kneeling in front of your chair, the widest, most beautiful smile on his face; one filled with love and relief and sincerity. His hand snaked up against the side of your face and pulled you in for a quick kiss, warm lips against yours and you felt the anxiety slip through you like it had never been there. He pulled back just as Shuri stepped by your side.

“Of course, I did it,” Shuri teased as she started to remove the wires from your temple. “Did you ever doubt me?”

“That was my fault, clearly,” you laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Shuri grinned, removing the last electrode, “you won’t make that mistake again.”

***

In all your time in Wakanda, you hadn’t left the palace, let alone the floor you’d been assigned to and the confines of Shuri’s lab. You were too afraid to be out in open spaces, to risk the chance of anyone finding out those awful words and using them against you. Even with Bucky constantly at your side, gentle encouragements, always reminding you that you were safe here, you couldn't seem to get past the elevator doors.

Now, stepping out into the busy streets, holding his hand, you wondered how you could possibly keep yourself from such beauty. Street venders with fresh fruits and hand-woven garments lined the streets, bustling and crowded, but filled with smiling faces and children playing between the shops.

“You want something?” Bucky asked, looking to the layers and baskets of fruits as you walked by, then to the gorgeous display of handmade jewelry, distracted by the organized chaos of the market.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling up at him, reveling in the feeling of his hand woven tight in yours. “Just you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not what I meant, sweetheart.”

“It’s still true.”

He led you through the busy streets until the venders sat further and further apart, the sidewalks were a little less crowded, and the buildings started to fall behind you in exchange for open fields and rolling hills. It was gorgeous, unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“You’ll see.”

Bucky wasn’t usually one for adventures. It was always you that dragged him off into the city or to a coastal town or convinced him to go apple picking on the back of his motorcycle. It was you that lugged him along to places he’d only figure out where you were taking him once you got there so he didn’t have a chance to back out. It was unusual for him, but if he was ever going to be the one to take you somewhere special, it would be somewhere like this.

Quiet. Peaceful. With open land for miles and the sun setting over the trees in stunning shades of purples and pinks and reds.

Eventually, you came up on a small cottage, almost a hut from the size of it, the only structured building for miles sitting amongst a sea of green grass and shaded trees. He paused as it came into view, a heavy exhale in his chest of something like relief and remembrance.

“It’s beautiful out here, Buck,” you said softly, realizing what this place was to him, “I’m surprised you ever left.”

“I always did have a hard time saying no to Steve,” he admitted, “but if I stayed here, I never would have met you.”

“Don’t you miss all your goats?” you teased, curling up against his arm as you started walking again, together, towards the cottage. He had told you stories once of his time in Wakanda; how he’d lived a quiet life in the country side tending to small farm animals and finding himself again. Shuri and T’Challa came out to check on him every once in a while, but for a long time it was just him and the animals. It was what he needed.

Bucky smiled, looking to the long metal bins approaching on his left where he would lay the feed for the animals. They’d run so fast, tripping over their legs when they were little, just to find a place around the bin to stick their head in and grab their fill before they got shoved out of the way. It was a fond memory. He didn’t have much of those around the time.

“I made sure they all found good homes before I left, don’t you worry,” Bucky said, pinching at your hip and drawing a short yelp out of you before you started laughing. “Maybe we’ll stop and check on Grant.”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning wildly.

“He was the runt of the bunch,” Bucky shrugged, chuckling, and it was magical just to hear his laugh again, “had to name him after Stevie. I left him with one of the kids who used to mess with me back in the day. That little rascal better be taking good care of him...”

“Oh, I'm sure he’s just fine.” You nudged Bucky in the side playfully and he only smiled back at you.

Coming up on the cottage, Bucky stepped forward and opened the door for you. There were no locks, even after three years, because that was the kind of place Wakanda was, is. If Bucky Barnes could sleep soundly without ten different deadbolts, it had to be the safest place in the world. You had no doubt it was.

As you walked inside, you were surprised to find it neatly organized, almost untouched from the day he left. Bed neatly made though the mattress was hard as a rock, something Sam had explained to you about soldiers when they returned from war feeling like they were sinking into anything that gave to his weight even an inch. Pots and pans hung on a drying rack, like he intended to put them away but never had the chance.

What really caught your eye was the bookshelf; bindings of red and green and black that filled row after row of shelves. You almost hit Bucky on the arm, thinking that he had been working on catching up on the literary work he’d missed before he even met you and had simply indulged you, but as you stepped closer, you realized they weren’t novels at all. They were journals.

You let your hand graze over the bindings, pulling dust from their canvas and turning back to Bucky with an aura of awe and surprise in your features. He nodded, ushering you to look because he knew you wanted to. He didn’t mind. He’d let you into the darkest corners of his memories if you wanted. You’d find a way to turn on a light. You always did.

Pulling a random one from the shelf, a deep purple binging that stood out amongst the others, you flipped through the pages. Crinkles and worn with use and thick black ink detailed on each page, you tried your best to skim. Some pages had images, newspaper clippings that Shuri must have brought down for him. Old memories and trains of thought as they came out, trying to determine what was real and what was told to him.

You flipped to a page with an old, faded photograph from the 1940s. Hand to your heart, you gasped at the image. Bucky stood amongst a line of men in combat uniforms, hard hat upon his head and the straps hanging down by his ears. Covered in dirt and grim and the brightest smile on his face you’d ever seen. Short hair and an innocence in his eyes that shocked you.

“It was before the 107th was captured,” Bucky clarified, stepping closer and looking fondly over your shoulder, “those guys became the Howling Commandos once Steve came around.”

You recognized the men from the exhibit in the Smithsonian. Bucky had asked you go with him nearly a year into your friendship and it had been the hardest question he’d ever asked anyone. He could still remember the sweat in his palm and the racing in his heart when he asked you. Of course, you agreed with a beaming smile and asked Tony if you could take the next jet out.

“You were always so handsome,” you smiled, fingertip tracing over his image.

“You think I should cut my hair again?” Bucky teased, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your shoulder.

“That is not a decision I want on my conscious,” you laughed, leaning back into him. “That choice is all yours, baby. I’d love you either way.”

“Even if I shave the whole thing and start from scratch?”

“It’d be hard, but I’d get through it.”

“A hero amongst men,” Bucky declared, grinning against the skin of your neck. He peppered kisses to your collarbone, squeezing his arms tighter around you. Then, just as your hands started to snake over his, he pulled back suddenly. “Wait here.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously as Bucky pulled open the middle drawer in his dresser, searching around under layers of garments until he pulled out a laptop. You laughed, figuring you should have realized Shuri wouldn’t let him go entirely without access to technology on his own. He winked at you, firing it up and began typing at the keyboard.

“Buck? What are you doing?”

“Just wait, sweetheart. Patience.”

You sighed, plopping down on the edge of the bed, and though it was firm under you, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it might be. It was familiar, this feeling. Though it lacked the blood stains and edges of springs you’d had while at Hydra, but it was comforting almost, in the way that mattress had been for you.

You remembered Sam telling you once that he slept on the floor most nights after returning home from the war because the mattress was too soft. You suspected Shuri had this one made for him to accommodate his needs.

Glancing back to Bucky, you laughed under your breath to see his eyes light up.

He pressed a single button on the keyboard and set the laptop up on top of the dresser. The soft strums of a guitar playing delicately through the speaker of Bucky’s laptop began to filter through the room. It was a careful melody of chords you were familiar with, ones that incorporated piano gracefully between the notes, and a pair of voices sitting in contrast of one another, one rough and raspy, one soft and breathy.

Listening carefully, your eyes fell to the floor, just getting lost in the gentle melodies and hymns of the first verse. It was a song from the playlist you’d made him nearly four years ago. You wondered if you should be surprised he still listened to it after all this time.

You looked up in awe to find Bucky leaning against the dresser watching you with the kind of warmth in his eyes as if you’d hung the moon and the stars and the entirety of the universe. He extended a hand to you, wordless, and waited patiently until your lips curved up in a smile and slipped cool metal into your hand. You guided his left hand to rest on your lower back, gathering his right in your own as you let your arm hang off of his shoulder.

Falling slowly, eyes that know me And I can't go back And moods that take me and erase me And I'm painted black

You leaned your head on his shoulder, where metal met flesh, and curled against his neck, closing your eyes as you carefully swayed with him. Silently. Listening. Reveling in the feel of his body so close to yours, the steady beat of his heart thumping under your ear, his hand wrapped in yours, the gentle brush of his thumb upon your back as it rubbed tenderly against your shirt.

Well, you have suffered enough And warred with yourself It's time that you won

Needing to feel him closer, you slowly released his hand, wrapping both of your arms around his neck. Face pressed to the crook of his neck as his arms snaked around your waist. He smelled faintly of fresh soap and the lavender fields you’d passed on your way to the cottage. The swaying faded as the melody continued without you and you found yourself just standing in the middle of Bucky’s room, holding onto him like he was all you had.

Take this sinking boat and point it home We've still got time

Bucky nudged his nose against your cheek, urging your face from its home against his neck. Warm breath tickling against your skin as his lips brushed ever so slightly against your cheekbone, moving down in peppered kisses until he captured your lips against his.

Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice You've made it now

The music began to fade to the background, passionate strums of the guitar, fingers gracing along piano keys, voices singing in harmonies that lifted the soul, rendered silent in comparison to the feel of Bucky’s lips on your own, the only sense your body would allow you to focus on. Soft, plump lips as he took your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking sweetly, his tongue tracing along the edge of your mouth until you parted your lips further. Tongues swept over one another, open mouthed and wanting him as close as he could possibly get.

Your hands grabbed against the fabric of his shirt around the collar, tugging at it until he parted from you for an impossibly brief moment to shed himself of the material. Hardened ripples of muscle under your fingers as you trailed your hands down his chest, over his abs, and he shivered.

His hands grazed against your waist, sliding up under your shirt against the bare of your skin, cool metal and warm flesh running along curves. Wordlessly, he began to lift your shirt until you raised your arms for him, allowing the fabric to be discarded to the ground. He smiled, warm and loving, as he looked at you, eyes trailing over your breasts to your face and you reached behind you to unclasp your bra, shedding it to the floor.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Bucky exhaled as he stepped forward, ushering you to lay on the bed. As you followed his lead, settling against the hard mattress, your hair falling up around your head in a halo, you brought his lips to yours.

“You see a lot of beautiful women lately?” you teased.

“None since I met you,” he replied with warm kissed to the corners of your mouth, then down to your neck. He sucked at a spot that made your back arch, seeking more, before he mumbled, “can’t remember any before you, either. It’s only you. Just you.”

Shocked by his sincerity, not an ounce of teasing in his tone, you cupped the sides of his face, bringing him back to your lips and kissed him sweetly.

“You’re it for me, too, you know,” you said, watching as crinkles formed up by his eyes in the smile curving on his lips. “You’re all I want, Bucky Barnes.”

He hovered over you, arms caged around your head, and you parted your legs, giving him space to lay his body weight against you. He kissed your lips, soft and gentle, and then with a fevered passion as you dragged your core up against him, eliciting a moan, deep and heavy. You could feel the length of his hardness between you, confined by the cloth of his pants but prominent with every thrust against you.

Chest to chest and seeking the sweet release of friction between you, Bucky kissed his way down your neck over your collarbone, until he pulled a hardened nipple into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around the bud, you arched against him, hands raking into his hair. He chuckled softly against you, releasing you from his mouth so he could continue his way down to your waist. Pressing kisses to your hipbones, his fingers curled against the fabric of your pants before he glanced up at you.

You nodded, lifting your waist to help him remove the material, sliding it down your legs along with your panties. Discarding it along with the rest of the clothes, Bucky settled back between your thighs, kissing sweetly at your outer lips, at the creases of your leg to your hip.

“Never gonna get tired of this,” he whispered, warm breath against your core and you shivered.

“You say that now,” you laughed, squirming against him as he ran his fingers through your folds. You’d had more nights together than the first, but every time he touched you it felt like no had ever done it before, no one before him, like every movement was brand new and his touch was all you knew.

“I’ll say it every time,” he insisted playfully, leaning his head against your thigh as he looked up at you, his fingers coating in your wetness. 

He began circling at your clit, watching as your eyes fluttered closed, the evidence of his touch present with the parting of your lips and the moan that slipped through.

“Bucky,” you whined his name just as he slipped a single digit into you, cool and solid, metal. 

Sheets bunched up into your hands and a second finger joined. Slowly, steady pumps as his fingertips grazed over the spot, curving against it, that made your head dizzy. He was heaven and solace and every good thing in this world.

With a gasp, you grabbed onto his hair, tugging as you felt the warm heat of his tongue press to your clit. He was too good at that for someone who’d avoided human interaction for nearly seventy-five years. It was muscle memory, you supposed, though he swore he never touched or kissed or made love to a woman the way he did with you.

The pressure was enough, the swirl of his tongue over the bud as he brought it into his mouth, sucking, fingers thrusting, and you came with cry of his name. Pleasure rushing through your core, your legs, panting in your chest, and you felt Bucky kissing his way back up to your lips.

You hummed against him as he kissed you, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Love you,” you mumbled hazily and he chuckled.

“Figured you might after I did something like that.”

You laughed, shoving him off of you so he flopped onto his back. Mischievous grin on your face, you crawled down to his waist. He wasted no time and helped you remove his pants, pulling the briefs off as well because the anticipation was killing him. He was so hard beneath the fabric, each brush of the material over his cock drawing a wince out of him, too sensitive.

“Y/n, baby,” he mused as your hands trailed along his thighs, nails gliding over thick muscle, “need you so bad.”

“I know, honey,” you cooed, leaning forward and licking a thick stripe up his shaft from the base to the tip. Tongue pressing against the throbbing vein up his underside before you took his tip into your mouth. He bucked up against you, cursing as he tried to restrain himself.

You pressed your hands to his thighs in an attempt to keep him still as you took in as much of him as you could manage. Hollowing your cheeks, you began to bob your head, sliding his cock against your tongue, reveling in the sweet sounds he produced above you.

Bucky didn’t shy away from the noises he made, noises you drew from him because he knew they only spurred you on. They were sinful. Delicious. And they went straight between your legs, leaving you wet and needy and dripping.

“Ah- fuck, sweetheart,” Bucky moaned, fingers snaking into your hair.

He was throbbing in your mouth, so close to the edge and you were more than ready to milk him dry, when you felt him carefully tug you away. You sat back, narrowing your eyes, to find him staring at you dizzily, blissed out.

“Wanna come in you,” he explained, his voice a little sedated and you giggled, nodding as you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

His hands sat on your hips, just brushing softly over your curved until you dragged your soaked folds up along his shaft, covering him in your wetness, and his fingers dug into you. He bit down hard on his lip, eyes closing in the sensation as you rolled your hips again. His hands guided your movements, adding pressure with every roll.

Your walls clenched around nothing and you couldn’t stand it anymore. Lining him up with your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit before you aligned him where you needed him most, and you met his eye. Ocean blue eyes stared back at you filled with a kind of awe and love and surrender that made your heart tighten. 

You sank down onto him in agonizing pace, his cock stretching and filling you inch by inch until you took all of him, sitting against his hips and as close as two people could possibly be.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky exhaled, head falling back to the pillow, “you feel so good, sweetheart, so fucking good.”

“I don’t know how I ever survived before you,” you cooed, rolling your hips and pulled a sharp gasp out of him, “don’t know how I got off without you inside me.”

“God, Y/n, you can’t just say stuff like that to me,” he whined, pushing his waist up against you as you moved to lie against his chest. Slow thrusts from under you, meet you half way as you pushed down against him. Friction like thunder and lightning.

“And why not?”

“We’ll never leave this bed again, doll,” Bucky teased, his voice breathy and panting in the exertion, “I’d just keep fucking you and loving you until neither of us can move.”

“I like how that sounds,”

The sound of your bodies melding together filled the room. His hands were all over you, trailing along the bare of your back, pinching at your nipples, running through your hair, grabbing at your ass to pull you flush against him with every thrust.

You could feel your walls starting to clench around him, the pressure building so sweetly between your legs, and you whined, a moan that let Bucky know exactly where you were. He slipped his hand between your bodies, feeling for your clit and began to rub fast circles against the sensitive bud. You gasped, head falling into the crook of his neck as you grabbed onto his shoulders, fingers only able to find give on his right side.

“O-oh God, Bucky, don’t stop,”

He didn’t let up, his pace relentless and exquisite and explosive and your release hit you suddenly with the push of his hips and the circle of his fingers of your clit. The hardest you’ve ever fallen from that height, the pleasure pulsed through you, drawn out in waves of endless rush as Bucky sought his own release. You cried out, squirming and a moaning mess over him, as he gripped hard onto your hips and rolled you onto your back, not daring to lose contact for even a second.

His thrusts became faster then, more erratic and you could feel how close his was, his cock throbbing and twitching with each push.

“Bucky, ah-fuck,” you gasped, your walls clenching again so close to your last release. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was perfect and sinful and worth all of the pain you’d been you just to be with him now, to have this moment, to see him above you with sweat dripping from the ends of his hair and a far-gone look in his eyes because for once he felt something other than pain, he felt pleasure.

“I’m so close, baby,” you cooed, urging him on as the pressure built at your core, “so fucking close. Need you to come for me, baby. Ah- God, I need—I need you to—ah, ah, f-fuck!”

Second waves of pleasure rippling through you, your walls clenching impossibly tight around him and Bucky came with a strangled grunt. Warmth spread through you as he prolonged his release, his lips pressing to your neck as his arms curled around you. His chest flush to yours, he rolled his hips lazily until he was too sensitive for more and stilled.

Head on your chest, you raked your fingers through his hair, pushing it aside to find his face. His was smiling hazily, eyes closed, and you pressed your lips to his forehead. Playing with his hair and listening to the grainy sounds of guitar and Ray LaMontagne singing from the speaker of Bucky’s laptop, he started to move, to pull out of you in an effort to clean the two of you up, but you held him still.

“Just stay here with me,” you urged, kissing his hairline.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart, I swear it,” Bucky sighed, propping himself up off your chest and brining his lips to yours, soft and chaste and perfect. “We’ve got all the time in the world together, Y/n. I’ll give you all of my days if you want them.”

“It won’t be enough,” you sighed, kissing him sweetly, “I’ll want more after that, too.”

“Might have to take that up with the big guy.”

“Not sure what Banner can do about it but I’ll ask.”

Bucky laughed, his chest vibrating against you and he peppered kisses to your cheek, your nose, your eyelids, your neck. He settled back against your lips, giving you one last kiss, warm and familiar, before he said, “You know I’d spend an eternity in you, darling, but someone’s waiting for us.”

You narrowed your eyes, turning to follow Bucky’s gaze to the small wooden cube sitting on the kitchen table. From the center, a light blue light flashed.

“We’re being summoned back at the palace,” he explained with a smile. “It’s how Shuri would get ahold of me back in the day.”

“Ok fine,” you mumbled teasingly, allowing him to pull away and slide out of you. The emptiness you felt without him between your legs was prevalent, but you tried to push it aside. “She’s lucky she single-handedly cured both of us. Not sure I’d be willing to leave this room for anyone else.”

“We can always come back. I want to hear more of that dirty mouth of yours,” Bucky teased, winking as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room and he returned shortly after, a damp washcloth in his hand. He carefully ran it up your inner thigh, removing the traces of himself from your skin, and rested it between your legs gently.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you laughed, nodding for Bucky to remove the cloth.

“I hope you do.”

***

“What do you got for us?” Bucky asked as he sauntered into the room, hand clasped tightly in your own. He dragged you along behind him, still feeling dizzy from the way he’d pushed you against the wall outside of the lab and kissed you just to tease you.

“You two are disgusting, just so you know,” Shuri laughed, pointing her fingers at the two of you and then tapping the monitor above her computer. It displayed the hallway in perfect definition. Your cheeks flushed red and you swatted Bucky on the arm.

“Shuri,” Bucky warned, a chuckle in his voice.

She rolled her eyes playfully and ushered for you to follow her. Pulling to a stop she stood in front of a series of monitors, all black, and asked you to take a seat. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, looking to Bucky for support.

“Please, Y/n, you may want to be seated,” Shuri requested again and you slumped down into the chair behind you. Bucky took his place by your side and you felt his hand grab onto yours, squeezing gently.

Shuri sighed, exchanging a knowing look with Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes requested I do some digging on someone very important to you.”

You looked up at Bucky, confused, and he only offered a warm semblance of a smile, encouraging you to listen. Your heart was racing all of a sudden and you wondered how it was so easy to fall between this feeling and the joy you felt holding onto Bucky just moments before.

“His name was Private Daniel Henry Welch,”

An image of Danny appeared on the screen, arms behind his back, chin up, dressed in his formal Army uniform with the American flag behind him, proud. Your hand clamped over your mouth, stifling the gasp as you rose to your feet, walking towards the image. Tears welled in your eyes as your fingers traced over the screen. He was younger than you remembered, more freckles on his face when it was absent of dirt and grime.

“He would have turned twenty-one last week,” Shuri continued softly as tears fell down your cheeks. She stepped back, giving you space, as you stared to read over the list of information upon the screens she had compiled for you.

He was born and raised in New Harmony, Indiana to single mother named Brenda with stunning green eyes and long blonde hair. His eight-year-old brother Nathan was a spitting image of Danny; all smiles and thick, curly, ginger hair with freckles peppered over his nose and cheeks. He played soccer in high school, but for the town over because his school was too small to form a whole team on their own. He won a scholarship for writing a poem in middle school that he ended up using to buy books for his English class in tenth grade. 

He was as kind and sweet and lost as you’d remembered him and you still couldn’t imagine how a boy so soft had ended up on the other side of the world fighting someone else’s war.

He was the boy who rushed off base to help a stranger start his car.

Bucky came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and you leaned back against his chest. Tears falling freely, you grabbed onto Bucky’s forearms, keeping him as firm against you as you could manage.

“Has anyone told his mom yet?” you asked Shuri and she shook her head.

“He’s still declared as Missing in Action according to the US Army database but it looks like there’s a lot of speculation that he was killed by rebel forces,” Shuri sighed. “They have no proof of what happened and with you as the only living witness...”

You nodded, brushing the tears from your eyes, pulling away from Bucky’s arms. The world still believed you to be dead. It was Tony that advised you keep it a secret from the public until Shuri could remove the words from your head. You’d had your time to heal and find peace and live in paradise with the man you’d only ever dreamed of seeing again after all that happened to you. You had your moment in the bubble.

You turned to Bucky, determined.

“Call Tony. It’s time we go home.”

***

Tony arranged for a press conference the day you returned. He did most of the talking and explained how Hydra had used a shifter to dissuade the Avengers from continuing their search for you. The room had gone up in chaos when you emerged from behind the door as Tony gestured for you to walk out as proof. Hundreds of questions firing at you all at once, loud voices shouting over one another, as flashes of cameras blinded you enough to cause you to wince.

Thankfully, Tony knew enough to keep you at his side, informing the journalists that all questions could be diverted to him. The room was divided. Some asking how it was even possible you were who you said you were while others praised you for your bravery and resilience.

The public wasn’t much different. Message boards popped up all the country filled with conspiracy theories about how you were the shapeshifter and the real Y/n died that day on the live stream. 

Protests outside of the Avengers tower downtown erupted, demanding the truth, while counter protestors walked the streets to show their support. Parades through Brooklyn and celebrations throughout the city took place once the news hit. Half the city seemed to accept what happened, while the other became wrapped up in Hydra’s lies.

Tony explained who Cain was and how he was the mastermind behind the plan, though he was exceptionally careful not to release information on why they had taken you in the first place and how you’d been conditioned into the soldier. The team had enough backlash against Bucky for the crimes he committed under Hydra’s control, they didn’t need the public speculating about your ability to control your own motivations, too.

Even as Tony ushered you away from the reporters and the flashing lights and invasive questions, throwing yourself into Bucky’s arm as he waited for you outside of the conference room, you felt no relief. Announcing you were alive to the world wasn’t what you were worried about. It was a necessary first step before you could do the very thing you’d left paradise for.

It was how you ended up on the front porch of a suburban house with white paneling and green shutters in an impossibly small town in Indiana. You stared at the dark green door, the flowerbeds handing from the windowsills and the wreath made of woven branches hanging at the center of the door.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Bucky said softly, squeezing your hand. “It’s all you’ve been thinking about.”

“What if she hates me? She's going to blame me for what happened to him, Buck. I couldn’t save him and now he’s gone and--”

“Y/n,” Bucky cut you off gently, turning you to face him. His eyes were the most stunning shade of blue. “If my ma ever knew what happened to me, if she knew I survived, and someone could have told her that while I was being tortured and starved and turned into this monster, I wasn’t alone, that I had someone like you to watch out for me and care for me... I can’t even imagine the relief she would have felt. It makes a world of difference.”

You nodded, trying to take in his words. He was sincere in what he said, you knew that much, and maybe you believed it yourself, but the pain of a grieving mother outweighed good intentions. Bottom line was you couldn’t save her son. You couldn’t protect him. You didn’t know if she’d even want to see your face. You just wanted her to know that he wasn’t alone.

Frozen, you tried to will your hand to the door, to knock, but you couldn’t move. Bucky must have noticed because his closed fist extended to the frame and knocked three times. It only took a few seconds of your heart pounding in your chest before the door swung open, only you weren’t met with Danny’s mother.

You stared into the spitting image of Danny, nothing but curly orange hair and freckles littered across his face. He raised an eyebrow, looking your over before he turned to Bucky, eyes narrowing on his left arm. Bucky tucked it into his pocket.

“Um, mom?” he called back into the house. “We’ve got Avengers on our porch...”

Nathan stepped aside, though he kept his stare on Bucky. His nervousness was mixed with a kind of awe, almost an excitement, that seemed to catch Bucky completely off guard. He licked his lips, waiting as shuffling came from the top of the stairs inside the house, and pointed to Bucky’s arm.

“Is it really made of metal?” he asked, tilting his head to try and get a better look.

A smile curved up on your lips despite the harrowing ache in your stomach as Bucky nodded, pulling his hand from his pocket and flexing his fingers for the boy to see.

“No way! That’s awesome!” Nathan exclaimed, reaching out to touch Bucky’s hand. You were surprised to find Bucky didn’t shy away from it and instead started to chuckle as the kid examined the intricacies of the Wakandan prosthetic.

“Nathan? What’s going on?” a voice called from upstairs, his mother, Brenda, and your heart clenched. She walked down the stairs slowly, drying the ends of her long blonde hair with a towel, though she set it to hang over the bannister as she saw you, her eyes widening. “Agent Y/l/n. Sergeant Barnes. W-what are you doing here?”

You gulped and you felt Bucky’s hand squeeze yours, though he took a step back. This moment was yours and yours alone.

“I saw what happened on the news,” she continued, scratching her head, “about how you’d survived Hydra. I know my Nathan was happy to see that. He always loved the Avengers. My oldest... Danny... he did, too.”

Nathan’s face blushed dark red and he shot his mom a glare, though she smiled softly, sadly. She turned back to you.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping the tears from her eyes before they could fall, “what can I do for you?”

“How much do you know about what happened to your son?” you asked as carefully as you could manage, the shakiness in your own voice betraying you.

Brenda shrugged, shaking her head, “not much. All I was told was that he abandoned his base and was... killed by mercenaries.”

You took a deep breath. She knew even less than you thought.

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I can tell you more about what happened,” you offered, watching as her face twisted into a kind of pained realization, “I knew him for a while. I was with him.”

Brenda and Nathan exchanged glances, ones of shock, and she nodded quickly, stepping aside to let you in. She led you to the living room and asked you to sit, offered you tea or water or anything else in her fridge and because you suspected she needed something to do, something to feel useful you took her up on her offer for tea.

As she prepared the hot water, Bucky escorted Nathan out to the back yard, promising to show him a few moves and toss a ball while you talked with his mom. The relief on Brenda’s face was evident as she squeezed Bucky’s forearm in thanks as he walked by.

Glancing around the room while you waited for the high pitched whistle of the kettle, you found yourself looking at old pictures of Danny and his brother. Getting lost in smiling faces and the memories hung upon the wall, you barely noticed Brenda walk back into the room and set the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of you. She smiled fondly at you, noticing your gaze on the pictures.

“He was such a handsome young man. So kind, too,” Brenda sighed. “You said you knew him? How is that possible?”

You took a deep breath, grabbing Brenda’s hand in your own and holding it gently. She needed as much comfort as you could give her. Then, you proceeded to tell her everything you knew.

You told her about how Danny had left the safety of his base to help what he believed to be civilians passing by who’s car broke down, how it had been Hydra who took him hostage, not mercenaries. You told her that he had been placed in the cell next to yours and he single handedly kept you sane with his light hearted jokes, his replenishing optimism, and boy-like wonder as he asked you to tell him all about the Avengers. 

He kept your mind where it needed to be, on your family, on something wonderful and hopeful and away from the horrible place you were.

You told her that while a thick concrete wall sat between you, he’d come to be a friend, a confidant, and you cared about him immensely. As Brenda’s eyes welled up with tears, you spared her the details of the days Danny was taken from his cell, how he was beaten for the information on you he eventually gave up.

She squeezed your hand, nodding along as you told her how brave he was in the end. You told her that you were right there with him and that you did all you could to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, that his last moments were with someone who cared for him.

You didn’t tell her he had been killed as a means to break you, to strip away your last reason to live so your defenses were lowered enough to warp your mind into their making. She didn’t need to know why he was killed; it wouldn’t make any difference in her heart. Her son was still gone. You hoped that maybe just knowing he wasn’t alone all those months was enough to ease just an ounce of her suffering.

It was painstakingly silent as you finished, tears rolling down your own eyes as Brenda tried to gather herself again. After a moment, she slipped her hands from yours and your heart broke, certain that she was repulsed by you, but instead, her palm grazed over your cheek, brushing away the tears.

“Thank you, my dear,” she whispered, smiling sweetly through the tears on her face. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. Danny admired the Avengers so much. I think that’s part of the reason he joined the Army, thought maybe he could be a hero like you.”

“He was,” you said firmly, sincerely and Brenda nodded.

“It’s comforting to know he had you through it all,” she concluded, letting her hand fall away. “I just wish there was a miracle for him, too.”

You clenched your jaw, knowing she was hoping that her son could come back from the dead the way you seemingly had. There was nothing you could say to change that.

Brenda glanced over her shoulder, looking out the back window to find Bucky demonstrating a right hook in slow motion, gesturing for Nathan to try, before he moved to correct his form. She chuckled softly under her breath.

“He’s a good one,” she said, and you raised an eyebrow. She clarified, “Sergeant Barnes. My Danny always knew he was more than the papers said, knew before all that came out about Hydra’s torture and brainwashing. He was quite proud of that, of how he defended him before anyone else.”

You nodded, brushing away more tears as they fell, a smile forming on your lips because that was so like Danny and it hurt in your chest.

“Mom!” Nathan’s voice rang through the kitchen, followed by the sharp close of the back door. He charged out into the living room, grinning wildly, wanting to show his mom the new moves Bucky taught him. Bucky trailed in behind, an apologetic grimace on his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “tried to keep him outside but he was really excited to show you his right hook.”

“Check it out!” Nathan shouted in a deep voice that forced a laugh out of you. He demonstrated the move Bucky showed him, doing it about ten times over as Brenda cheered him on. The lingering remorse and grief in the room quickly turned to that of laugher and joy as Nathan tried to push Bucky into sparring with him.

“Ok little rascal, I think Sergeant Barnes has had enough of you,” Brenda laugh, sneaking up to hug Nathan away from Bucky, despite his protests.

“I don’t mind, honestly,” Bucky tried to reassure her but she waved him off. You smiled from the couch, slowly making your way over to Bucky and grabbing onto his hand.

Brenda led you back to the door, hand on your shoulder and she enfolded you into her arms before you stepped outside.

“Thank you,” she said into your ear, pulling back with a warm smile on her face. “Our home is always welcome to you, dear.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice to speak and felt for Bucky’s hand behind you.

Even as you walked down the driveway, heading to the car you borrowed from Tony, the light squeeze against your palm, you felt a wave of relief swell in your chest. Bucky whispered how proud he was and you wondered if maybe Danny would be proud of you, too.

***

That night as you curled up against Bucky’s side, cool metal fingers trailing in careful patterns down your arm, you wondered if it was possible to be thankful for the worst months of your life. Breathing in the smell of faded leather from the jacket he’d worn all day and the soft thumping of his heart beneath your head resting on his chest, and your months of torture, of pain, of hopelessness and guilt faded away in an instant.

You’d take it again, endure hell and the worst men it had to offer, if it meant you could end up right here, in Bucky’s arms, listening to the gentle humming under his breath as he peppered kissed to your hairline, hands longing to memorize the feel of you against him.

The melody was one you knew well, a song on a list of tracks you'd strung together for him four years prior, and his hums were quiet, vibrating against you. You listened intently as the hums slowly turned to lyrics and his voice was just barely a whisper, low and quiet, but it was there. You curled up tighter to his side.

“Well, the night is still And I have not yet lost my will Oh and I will keep on moving 'till 'Till I find my way home”

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, just to let him know how much you loved him, how you'd cross the ends of the earth for him, how much you appreciated him coming with you to face the mother of the young soldier who was killed to further Hydra’s vendetta. You could have said it aloud, but he knew, and you didn’t want to interrupt the soft tones of his voice for anything.

“When I need to get home You're my guiding light You're my guiding light”

His hand gently curled into your hair, palm cupping the side of your face, urging you to meet his eye. The most incredible shades of blue stared down at you, filled with an adoration and love and sincerity you’d never encountered from any other man because no man was quite like Bucky Barnes. He kissed you sweetly, chastely, and somehow it still felt like the first time you’d touched his lips, like every moment with him was precious, cherished.

You didn’t realize a tear had fallen down your cheek until Bucky pulled back, concern littering over the warmth in his eyes as he brushed away the tear as it fell.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied honestly, smiling though your eyes were watering it, “just thinking about everything we’ve been through, how after all that hell, we managed to survive and now... I have you.”

“You’ve always had me, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed warmly, kissing your forehead, “you’ve had me since the beginning, since you started dragging me on morning runs and through the city.”

You laughed, wiping away the excess tears on his shoulder. “You were the one that showed up in your running gear that morning and asked to come with me, you know.”

Bucky shrugged, chuckling, “well, I couldn’t stand the idea of not being around you. Needed to spend time with you somehow. I would have taken anything. Might have even agreed to go with you to that hot yoga studio in the city you were obsessed with for a month.”

“Careful what you say, Barnes,” you teased.

“Point still stands,” Bucky smiled, wrapping his arms tighter around you. He lowered his voice, a little more serious though filled with the same sincerity and warmth, and said, “I’d do anything for you, sweetheart. Anything."

You knew. It was in the same way you’d do just about anything for him.

You’d watch old movies where the actors talked with an accent from their decades just because it reminded Bucky of his childhood. You’d take him up to the rooftop at three in the morning in the cold of winter to look at the stars when his nightmares got so bad not even you could calm him down with your touch alone. You’d call down to that restaurant in Brooklyn that used to be an apartment building and convince the owner to let you take Bucky upstairs for a few minutes because this place used to be his home and he deserved to see it again.

You’d tell him you loved him for the first time through the barrier of a glass wall as Hydra agents pulled you away from what you were sure was the last time you’d ever see him. You’d resurrect Cain and give yourself over to him to poke and prod and mutilate your body with scalpels and that godforsaken chair. You’d lose your mind to the soldier and commit unspeakable acts. You’d do anything if it meant you ended up here again.

If it brought you home.

Where you belonged.

To Bucky.

Draping a knee over his thigh and settling it between his legs, you pulled yourself flush against his side. Bucky smiled, his hand resuming the gentle patterns on your arm and shoulder. You sighed contently, reminding yourself every moment you could that this was real and it was Bucky under your touch.

A soft vibration in his chest, and your lips curved against him, listening as he started to sing again,

“So lead me on, and leave me strong Like the road I walk on When I need to get home You're my guiding light You're my guiding light”

---

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

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 4

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Surprise

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou played games all night in the apartment. It was strange to say that the ghost didn't seem to want to do anything else. It only reminded Lin Yan of its existence with its cold breath and stayed peaceful the rest of the night. In the morning, Lin Yan and Yin Zhou had finally started yawning. Lin Yan waved goodbye and went to go home to sleep, rubbing his eyes and changing back into his clothes. When he turned around, Yin Zhou had already fallen asleep with his arms crossed. The scarlet red coat slid down the edge of the bed onto the ground, mixing with the trash on the floor. Illuminated by the morning sun, it wasn't much different from any other ancient costumes, and there was no cold atmosphere at all.

Maybe it was all just a coincidence.

The summer was bright and the sky was sunny, and the experience last night felt like a dream. Lin Yan stretched out his arms as he walked through the garden and took a deep breath of the fragrance of dew. As for the ghost, Lin Yan thought that it might really be related to his profession. He shook his head self-deprecatingly. It seems that New Year's was correct in saying no one will die, so his grandfather should have nothing to worry about.

When he got home, passing by JUSCO, Lin Yan bought some spare ribs, chicken legs, and carried a bundle of beer. The moth orchid at home had grown two more flower buds overnight, and the slits showed delicate white petals, like small open mouths.

Lin Yan plugged his computer in and pressed the power button. There was a soft click, and the familiar Windows 7 startup interface appeared on the screen. The startup music is "The Sun Also Rises" by Joe Hisaishi. He doesn't normally think to much of it, but he listened to it today, thinking how applicable it was to his situation.

It's business as usual like nothing had happened.

He threw his clothes in the washing machine, put the meat in the refrigerator, and tidied up his room. After finishing all those tasks, Lin Yan turned his phone to silent, and the beer went under the bed to start the night aftercare - self-hypnosis. This was the body adjustment method he came up with by staying up many times during his freshman year. He sleeps lightly during the day, uses alcohol to calm his mind, and sleeps silently until dawn. Not only does he save a day's food, but his biological clock also doesn't get messed up.

He had picked up some Budweiser dark beer, slightly sour, with a mellow grain aroma.

Lin Yan kept a few glasses. Not long after, the slight drowsiness hit the hearty drunk Lin Yan. His limbs were so limp that he didn't have enough strength to raise them. The sleepiness of staying up so late struck him. Lin Yan only put on a pair of underwear and lay on the bed, drinking a few more sips. After sleeping for a while, the can in his hand fell to the ground unconsciously, and he fell into a deep sleep.

It seemed that after sleeping for a long time, there was a layer of hot sweat all over the body. The cold white light on his eyelids turned into a soft warm yellow, orange and gold, and then went dark, and there was a deep silence in the room. Lin Yan had a very long dream. In his half-asleep state, all he felt was the surrounding area was getting colder and colder. It seemed that someone had turned on the air conditioner ahead of time. Lin Yan pulled the blanket over his waist and muttered: "Boss, turn off the air conditioner."

He wasn't used to living alone, even after moving out of school for more than a year. He always thought that he was in the dormitory. In the summer, he liked to press against the cold wall beside the bed. There was no iron railing of the dormitory bed. He often rolled off and fell on the ground, rubbing his head and looking around the room, annoyed that he was no longer in the dormitory.

In the dormitory, he liked sleeping against the wall. It felt cool and safe. He could only hold a pillow in his new apartment. He always felt that something was missing.

A person can feel lonely sometimes.

Someone was looking at him from beside the bed. His mind was fuzzy. Lin Yan thought: could his boss not find the AC remote?

Something cold and smooth covered his lips, sucking and grinding, pushing its tongue through his teeth, agitated like a snake, going in and out while fitting against his upper jaw. The taste was gentle and beautiful, almost like it would be intimidated by the touch of a petal, Lin Yan loosened his grip on the blanket and opened his mouth to greet it. The soft thing slowly invaded his mouth as if it had received encouragement. The kiss grew deeper, and the coldness on his body seemed to gain weight, pressing up against him. Suddenly, the softness on his mouth pulled away. Lin Yan subconsciously stretched out his tongue to hold it there and paused for a while. The cold thing like a snake sucked the tip of his tongue again.

It's cold. Why is it so cold?

Boss, the AC remote is probably in the drawer. It would help to turn off the air conditioner before someone froze to death.

Someone seemed to let out a long sigh in his ear.

Forget it, wasn’t it just the air conditioner?

I can just use my blanket.

As if there was really a cold weight covering the blanket, the alcohol wasn't letting his body try and get up. Lin Yan was instead dragged and hugged by a force, and the silk covers were raised around his arms and placed down on his chest.

Who would be so kind. . .

No, Lin Yan suddenly realized. This wasn't the dormitory. There was no one else at all. What was going on?

After his struggle to get up, he was hit with sudden violent dizziness, and his whole body fell down onto the bed again. Sleeping after getting drunk makes a person bolder and carefree. Lin Yan couldn't help but laugh out loud. Then, there was something that grew between his legs, and it was being stroked and rubbed again and again. There was so much strength behind it that Lin Yan frowned, but he didn't really put much thought into it.

Was he imagining this? . . . His boss wasn't small like this person, and he didn't have a girlfriend. It was shameful to rely on this other person to solve this predicament.

Lin Yan turned his head contentedly and buried the side of his face in the pillow. It has been a long time since he last had a dream like this, he might as well take advantage of it.

Who was the gracious host this time?

Lin Yan opened his mouth in a daze, and the softness greeted him again. It wrapped around his tongue, sucking it into its mouth and slowly savouring it.

The force that was rubbing what was between his legs was strong, and he was beginning to feel really hot and bothered. Lin Yan wanted to curl in on himself, but his knees were pressed down by something. Something pushed down his shoulders, and Lin Yan obediently rolled onto his back. The palm of its hand stroked his hips through his underwear, then moved to the front. His restless member in his underwear was played with by something cool. It was numbingly cold, but also agonizingly slow. Lin Yan gasping grew heavier, swallowing impatiently.

Who is this person who was so good at providing such a service?

Lin Yan smacked his lips with satisfaction.

Its movements were getting faster and faster, stretching across more of the surface area. An unheated hand shifted up and down, rubbing the sensitive tip of it with its thumb. The mixture of dizziness and pleasure made Lin Yan tightly grasped the sheets in reflex. He stiffly thrust his hips back and forth to match the movement of the hand. They worked together in a familiar sense as if this had happened between the two many times before. Lin Yan bit his lower lip and couldn't help but shake his head slightly.

It was very pleasant, really comfortable.

He had never had a dream like this before where he could be so satisfied just by doing this with a hand. Lin Yan's body squirmed relentlessly. When he leaned on his side, the cold palms traced his tight waist muscles, inching up the front of his chest, feeling it up. Lin Yan's whole body was wrapped in frigidness and his body was involuntarily trembling from both the cold and his lust.

The moment he reached his climax, his mind turned into blank static. Lin Yan arched his body and tried to suppress the muffled sound that rushed out of his throat. However, the cold figure suddenly changed. One hand grabbed his jaw and squeezed harshly. The moment he opened his mouth, he let out a long breath with a "hah" groan escaping as well. However, the pain in his jaw was intense. The hand forced his jaw open and didn't hesitate to wrap its other hand around his throat.

Was this thing trying to kill him?!

Out of breath, his throat was closed off and his face flushed red. Lin Yan instantly sobered up. This wasn't right, this wasn't right at all!

It was pitch black all around him. Lin Yan was confined and tried to shout out. This hand was skillful, however, and left him with just enough breath to stay alive. Blood was rushing to his head and it was getting harder to breathe. His underwear, which had already been slightly pulled down, was dragged off and thrown to the side. The figure's cold fingers entered in from behind. One finger, two, three, and it moved them back and forth, in and out without hesitation.

The pain and suffocation got Lin Yan soaked in a clammy sweat. His only conscious thought was telling him that he was being pressed into the bed by an invisible figure. He couldn't breathe, his eyes were bulging, and the blood vessels in his temples were protruding. Lin Yan wanted to break free from the hand that was holding his throat, but it was as powerful as pliers. The little air that was left in his throat let out a sharp whistle as he exhaled, his life hanging by a thread.

"I'm here to kill you."

A sullen male voice rang in his ears, and something slippery and cold was nibbling on his earlobes, sucking on his ears madly and abnormally. Lin Yan's expression was warped, his heart beating wildly. He couldn't hide, couldn't even see the fucking ghost!

Almost as quickly as it started, the brute force disappeared, leaving no traces that it was ever there.

Lin Yan clutched his neck and gasped in the fresh air. His chest was rising and falling, fear twisting in him like an invisible giant hand. This was crazy, he must be crazy! What on earth could he have offended so greatly?!

During his panic, he heard a small electrical 'pop' noise. The computer screen in the corner of the bedroom suddenly lit up, and a line of bright red characters appeared on the screen: "The first day of Wushan month; the death date is approaching."

Lin Yan's hands were shaking as he turned on his lamp. The scene before him almost made him vomit. The walls and windows were all covered with bright red paint, dripping with red crosses. Even the glass had paint rolling down it. It was almost like a curse, or even like a formation, trapping him in this small apartment.

Lin Yan lowered his head, the white, cloudy substance was still on his genitals and lower abdomen, and even his clothes were stained with the liquid. The red silk clothes were soaked, like dried bloodstains.

Wait, red clothes?

Trembling, Lin Yan raised his arms. His clothes were made out of red satin with black lining, heavy embroidery. It was burial clothes for the dead, the same clothes that were supposed to be lying on Yin Zhou's floor were instead being worn on his body!

It has been 29 hours since the beginning of this whole thing, and, for the first time, Lin Yan felt like everything was about to collapse.

"Ringringring. . ." The phone rang.

Lin Yan sat stunned, then rushed over in a moment of bravado, grabbing the receiver fiercely and cursing into the phone: "I don't care who you are or what you are, come at me! Show me who you are!"

There was silence on the other end of the receiver, and suddenly Yin Zhou's voice came: "Lin Yan? Are. . . are you okay? What's wrong?"

It was like he had heard the voice of the sun itself. After a moment of silence, Lin Yan cried out with joy, but he collected himself almost immediately. He tried his best to control his breathing and replied in the most normal tone he could muster: ". . . Everything's fine, that thing just showed up again."

Yin Zhou's voice also sounded a little off: "I slept until midnight, and when I woke up, I saw that the clothes were gone. I was afraid that something might have happened to you."

"My mother contacted someone who might know more about it. If you want, we could go there tomorrow?"

Lin Yan hesitated, holding the receiver for a while. He never would've thought this earlier, but now, he didn't even know if he could survive until morning.

"Don't tell my parents."

"Relax, I didn't say it involved you."

Lin Yan sighed. This was the only time that he'd be able to get these answers; "Okay, I'll pick you up at 8, if I even can still pick you up."

Throwing down the receiver, Lin Yan looked around his bedroom. He had lived in this room for more than a year. He discussed and revised the interior decorations with the designer several times. Now it looked so strange and terrifying. The mottled red paint, the computer seemingly connected to the underworld, the ghost who randomly shows up to kill him; the powerlessness he felt made it feel like he was floating aimless through water, unable to find something solid to grab onto.

He was so exhausted that he didn't even have any energy to take off the suspicious clothing that he was wearing. Lin Yan laid back on his pillow and stared up at a fairly clean ceiling above, muttering to himself 'what did I do wrong, what did I do wrong?'

"Ringringring. . ." The phone rang again.

Lin Yan picked it up, leaned to his ear slowly, and said softly, "A-Zhou, why did you think something might have happened?"

There was no answer.

Lin Yan's body felt numb suddenly, the familiar coldness and silence returning. . .

"I. . . Want. . . You. . . To. . . Die. . ."

There was a sombre answer on the phone.

Lin Yan could only laugh and put down the receiver blankly.

He would deal with everything tomorrow.

Preview for the net fic

Submitted by: prplzorua

So, online classes are killing me and I haven’t had much time to write, but I did manage to edit this one scene neatly in English at like 3 in the morning, so y'know enjoy the angst.🐙

WC: 1k (the whole fic is about 3k but its not close to done so it might be longer)

TW: injury, blood, unconsciousness, suffocation? (implied at least) so yeah…

—–

It was an ordinary Sunday for the trio. 

Logan sighed and rolled his eyes at his two bickering companions behind him. They weren’t too far from the beach but the drive out did start later than usual. Last night’s storm, while further out to sea, still sent in some chill winds and a bit of rain. It wasn’t enough to do any damage, but they had all agreed to wait for the things to die down a bit, for safety’s sake. It was almost ten now and Patton and Roman had been going at it for at least an hour. Both arguing about ‘who’s turn  it was to be the DJ’, which really meant that whoever managed to steal his laptop, would oversee the playlist for today. The Pharmacist sighed internally, while he didn’t particularly appreciate either of them simply commandeering his computer, he did find Virgil’s reactions to the different music genres interesting. So far it seemed that he enjoyed punk/pop/rock music the most, but didn’t at all mind the Disney songs that Roman and occasionally Patton would play. The mer was truly fascinating. 

Hmm, would he enjoy Mozart?

The moment Logan parked, the other two rushed from out the back, trying to race to the front passenger seat to grab the coveted Laptop-

Just for it to not be there but cradled to the owner’s chest.

“Logan! Come onn! It’s my turn to play DJ! Patton lost fair and square!”

Logan sighed, for probably the third time this morning; only to glance at the waves and freeze.

The computer slips right out of his grasp…and three things happen at once:

Roman dives and successfully catches the Laptop before it hits the ground. There’s a horrified gasp that comes from Patton and Logan himself had booked it; sliding down the rocks with little to no care for his safety.

By the time Roman stands up to brush himself off, Patton is also no longer beside him.

“What the heck Specs?! Why would you-?…” For the first time since they arrived, Roman finally took a look onto the shore- his blood ran cold.

“…Dios mio…”

There, on the high up berms of the rocky beach, was Virgil.

The giant mer lay in a crater, arms splayed out and unmoving. The sharp rocks that usually decorated the area were either cleared or crushed on impact, forming a trench that trailed from his head to the waters that barely reached the tip of his tail. Even so, what little water that could reach dipped under and pulled away with trails of red. None of them have ever seen Virgil come up this high on land. Last night’s storm had apparently caused a low tide, which meant another one was coming.

And still the worst part…

The worst part was the nets.

 They layered over him, two- three at a time wrapping around tightly; from in his hair one had attached, and was pulling on and most definitely cutting into the fin spike of his first dorsal fin. Another piece looked to have connected to the same spine and wrapped underneath him. Another one was pulling the dorsal itself bending it as it attached to the second dorsal’s fin spine. More and more were connected from there. From the second fin spine a net dug into the fin before the tailpiece and that fin itself was wrapped in another net piece; connected to the lower part of the tip of the tail. It was a mess and no doubt a painful one if the mer was conscious .

Roman bit his lip as tears sprung to his eyes. He had heard of dolphins, turtles and sharks getting netted by careless people. He’s heard of whales stranded on garbage- filled beaches. Those seagulls choking on plastics. So many of these things, and he’s heard it and seen some of it too, but nothing-nothing, compares to this.

Virgil was someone Roman thought untouchable. Sure the guy had anxiety and was too grumpy for his own good sometimes but still. Of all the great creatures he had seen, none of them could compare; Virgil was on a completely different level…

And yet, for him  to be wrapped up and downed by something a measly human made…

To see him like this…so still and rendered helpless.

God it hurt.

 “Virgil! Virgil! Virgil! Can you hear me?!”

Shaking his head, Roman snapped out of his horror stricken stupor. Laying the laptop gently on a flat rock, he rushed down to the others.

Patton was on his knees with tears streaming down his face; his hand was clamped to his mouth, looking like he would be sick any minute.

Logan, on the other hand, was pacing around, pulling weakly at the nets; voice filled with panic as he kept trying to rouse their unconscious friend.

“Virgil! Can you hear me?!”

“I- I don’t think he can specs-”

Logan grit his teeth, turning away from Roman. 

“Right…”, hisses the pharmacist. He clenches his fist and squeezes his eyes shut; swallowing back the burning rage and helplessness he feels at seeing his friend in such a state. “We need to get these infernal things off of him.”

Before either of them could try, Patton, who had been shocked silent, spoke for the first time.

“Lo-Logan-”His voice a cracked warble as he raises a shaking hand to point. 

 “It’s around his gills”

True to his word, the nets that wrapped underneath him had indeed pressed the mer’s gill slits closed. It was only then when all three realized that Virgil’s, usually, raspy breaths, were rattly and far too shallow.

 —————

Mupp/en: fffffffff….

FFFFffffffffffffffffaaaaaaoooohhhmmggg! I thought I was prepared but I was NOT! AAAaaaaH!! I love the trio’s interactions at the car and how they fight over Logan’s laptop! And all of their very different reactions when they see Virgil? Ajgdhs! And Roman speaking spanish?? And the descriptions of poor beached merman! This is fantastic and I’m sitting here screaming “Baby NOOOO!”! No wonder your friend took your Virgil rights, the poor boi! But. I. Love. It! Thank you so much for the preview! 

@98prilla you wanted to be tagged for the net fic, so Imma tag you for the preview too. ;D

Hitmen AU! | Head Canons | 19+ [Haikyuu!!]

KΛЯΛƧЦПӨ [PART i] [PART ii] [PART iii]

Here is the last part for the Karasuno head canons~! I hope you guys enjoy these~! Expect some drabbles or one shots or even other specific head canons~! 

The next team I’ll be setting up for is Nekoma~!

Again, feel free to ask questions or request anything from this AU! (Specify so I know~!)

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««

T̷o̷b̷i̷o̷ ̷K̷a̷g̷e̷y̷a̷m̷a̷

One of the gifted snipers on the team

or well, that’s what Tsukishima likes to say 

is actually one of the all rounders in the group, but is usually hired for quick assassinations

usually paired off with Hinata which begins and ends with bickering, but holy shit do they get the job done

honestly has one of the more terrifying attitudes in the group when it comes to perfecting his skill

is usually sparring or at a shooting range to get the cleanest shot

whenever he can he’ll take classes on human anatomy and human behavior to better predict his targets and what they’ll do

accidentally shot his mentor’s ear (luckily it only really grazed the area so he has a scar now)

has a tsundere sort of attitude after warming up to his fellow teammates

is the one who’s out most of the time due to the high demand in quick assassinations.

“Target in sight. Decoy ready when you are.” 

The sharp tone in his voice left no room for mistakes as the lean male adjusted his position slightly.

Icy blue eyes focusing in on the figure behind the glass as he shifted the sniper in his hand to a better angle. Letting out a slow and even sigh, the young male positioned his fingers on the trigger. His eyes never leaving the scope as he watched the target interact with their Decoy. Observing the attitude and mannerisms of the target he adjusted himself once more.

It was better to be precise with this one, after all it was their initiation assignment and the male refused to be denied by another team. 

When he saw the signal from the orange haired Decoy, the figure didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger as he waited with baited breath until the target’s body fell into an ungraceful heap on the floor. A sinister grin on his features as he finally relaxed before relaying the information to base.

“Target neutralized.”

Out of all of the rookies, he is the second tallest 

built sturdy yet lean. Not too buff, not too undertone, but just right

Frequents the gym as much as he can and spars with Hinata every other two hours

has at least 3 tattoos on his body 

likes to keep his hair either side swept or slicked back during missions (no obstructions in his eyes when he shoots) but normally has it down when around the base

likes to wear anything protective yet skin tight to keep him from being hindered in any way at making a clean kill

is emotionally constipated

his s/o is confused the first time he confesses but comes to adore it

comes off as an ice prince but just doesn’t know how to give good affection

was scolded by Sugawara and Daichi for trying to ‘get rid’ of someone who was annoying s/o

is an awkward baby with affection but oml when he’s stressed and needs some relief just-- oof

S̴h̴o̴y̴o̴ ̴H̴i̴n̴a̴t̴a̴

Bright and energetic, one of the more unexpected members to join their group

tried to be a sniper and almost ended up killing Kageyama

it’s no surprise he’s banned from using guns after this

is a master in jumping the target or any sort of kidnap or capture assignments 

was hesitant on becoming a decoy, but once paired with Kageyama for their initiation mission he fell in l o v e with it

is kinda psychotic 

he loves the thrill of seeing a target so badly corrupted crumbling dead at his feet

is surprisingly a smooth talker

loves to spar and learn new skills so he takes up behind Noya to learn as many skills as he can and to be useful in any situation

Like Sugawara, he prefers using knives or daggers in close combat fights

“Is that so? Well hey! I know a better area where we can discuss that deal of yours.” Suave and friendly, the ginger began leading the target towards the area he and Kageyama had agreed on. 

The immaculate suit he wore hugged his body nicely as he ran a hand through his unruly hair as he played out the various possibilities that could occur in his head. Though of course snapped out of it as he placed his facade on as he walked with the target. Easily flowing with the conversation despite the heavy desire to gut the corrupted individual before him.

“I see, I see. That truly does sound incredible...” He began walking over to the window as he watched the target follow in the reflection before sighing. 

“Though I can’t really say I agree completely with your ideas. That is-- I can’t agree with them until you're nothing but a corpse at my feet.” He stated coolly, hazel eyes glowing with malice as an unsettling look graced his features.

Before the tainted figure could even retaliate, the sharp sound of wind cut through the air as a bullet sat neatly in the center of the man’s head.

“Pity we couldn’t talk more, but I really want to get a more interesting mission you see?” 

the second shortest among the male members 

is a thiccq boi with broad shoulders 

is very toned too and scarily strong 

tried to arm wrestle with Kageyama, and surprisingly ended it as a tie

undercut ginger boi 

has a couple of piercings on his ears and a nice handful of tattoos painting his body 

is an absolute sunshine with his s/o 

rarely ever gets mad at his s/o, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get frustrated

likes to pick up his s/o to combine their heights to be tall

he learned that from Noya

his s/o always gets embarrassed when he demands to combine their heights to be tall

loves to listen to s/o’s heartbeat when they sleep

K̷e̷i̷ ̷T̷s̷u̷k̷i̷s̷h̷i̷m̷a̷

2/2 of the brain and tactics hub

a sarcastic and blunt boi who absolutely hates incompetent people

very smart and clever

hella observant as well and makes his moves accordingly

avoids Noya whenever he can, but usually ends up caught in some sort of experiment with his senior 

immensely loves to psychologically torture their targets that are brought to base 

is the “good” cop to Noya’s “bad” cop during interrogations

loves to pick apart at people’s brains and their mental stability 

Definitely mocks the other rookies whenever he can

“Haa? So this is my initiation?” A blank look crossed the blond’s features as he adjusted his glasses before a wicked smirk settled on his lips. The slow psychological torture he could do, and learn from had excitement flood his veins as he sat before the man.

A wave of his hand dismissed the two other daunting figures in the room as he took a once over of the person before him. 

“A week huh? I suppose that gives me enough time to peel back the layers of that pile of mush you call a brain.” He stated as he casually shrugged his shoulders before golden irises bore deeply into the figure before him.

“I suppose we should start now with keeping you awake for as long as your pea-sized brain can handle.”

Is the tallest out of the rookies 

loves to use it to his advantage to mock Hinata 25/8

Has a lean yet toned body, but has more of a physique similar to Sugawara’s 

long messy blond locks always be in the bed head state 

has one tattoo and a a couple of piercings 

is an absolute ass to his s/o, but makes up for it with cute small affectionate gestures

is emotional constipated baby number 2

is able to read their s/o well, but doesn’t dwell on it too much as he doesn’t want to be too invasive

can immediately tell when their s/o is off or something is bothering them

will immediately tell them that he has no problems quelling the problem that is bothering them with a eerily placed smile

T̴a̴d̴a̴s̴h̴i̴ ̴Y̴a̴m̴a̴g̴u̴c̴h̴i̴

A soft baby, another unexpected addition to the rookies

has a similar energy to Hinata, but just a lot more tamer in retrospect

is usually with Ennoshita gathering information as well as learning tips and tricks on the cyber aspect of their work

takes the time to learn coding as well as researching other defense mechanisms that can help keep wandering eyes off of their business

usually seen with Tsukishima in the base’s library 

on occasion will be dragged to do sparring with the other rookies 

is the defense and attack on their cyber end alongside Ennoshita

Stretching his back, the figure let out a pleased sigh as he felt his body relax from the tension built as he sat hunched over the multiple computers around him. His eyes briefly skimming over the orders requested and the many attempts at trying to pry into their servers. 

Grasping the cooled mug of coffee, he took a sip as he couldn’t help but let out an irritated sigh as another attempt to breach their firewalls had been commenced. Without a second wasted, he began typing and tapping away with one hand as he took another sip of his coffee before fully immersing himself in not only humiliating the hacker, but exposing them to the rest of the deep dark web with absolutely no hesitation.

His senior glancing over with a hum of approval before resuming his own work as the young male couldn’t help but smile and feel giddy at the delight of approval from his senior.

Is the third tallest member in the rookie squad

out of all the male rookies, he is the scrawniest

but still has enough mass and muscle definition to defend himself if he were to be attacked alone

again, is dragged to spar with the other rookies often 

long medium length hair that is usually pulled back into a half man bun / half pony tail

has one tattoo on his back

is an absolute sweetheart with his s/o

unfortunately doesn’t get the most time with his s/o due to the constant cyber attacks 

but when he is lucky enough for a vacation week he pours all his pent up stress and affections towards them 

loves to just stay in and cuddle with his s/o

H̷i̷t̷o̷k̷a̷ ̷Y̷a̷c̷h̷i̷

The decoy that never was

Initially, when she joined she had tried to be a decoy like Hinata and Kiyoko, but ended up not doing too well in that

though to everyone’s surprise her skill isn’t in decoy, but quick draw gun work

she works alongside Kageyama and trains in utilizing her skills and honing in on her shots 

is usually the back up in case a target manages to get out into the open

never uses more than 3 shots to take down a target 

is the most awkward and soft spoken in their group, but is just as happy and energetic as Hinata

“Yachi-san! The target is turning onto your street!”

The aggravated voice of her teammate rang in her ears as she winced slightly before pulling out a pistol with ease. Her honey brown eyes skimming the area for any abnormal figures as she let the bickering between her two other teammates drown out into nothingness.

A slow and steady breath escaped her as she slipped into the dim alleyway as she heard the scuffling and ragged breathing of a large figure stumbling down the empty streets. With practiced ease, she took aim. Her eyes turning stone cold as she shot once into the target’s leg.

A stumble and he was on a knee. The second shot struck his shoulder as he suddenly fell forward and the young gun slinger stepped out from the shadows as she walked towards the soon to be corpse as she tuned back into the conversation between her teammates.

“Target found. Target neutralized.”

Despite being the shortest member of the rookies she can pack quite the punch

is well toned and lean

Mid-length blond hair that’s usually put in a messy bun or a high pony tail

like the others, she has at least 2 tattoos scattered over her body 

tends to lean towards form fitting clothes like Kageyama for ease of access and speed to engage and neutralize a target

she is immensely doting on her s/o 

loves to smother her s/o in kisses and affection while doing the most normal things she can before going to work

likes to watch movies and thread her fingers through s/o’s hair whenever they have a stay in door date

I’ve been wanting to try my hand at writing more seriously for a while so here’s how the Salem Oscar meeting might go

Oscar awoke in a bed one made from stone sheets and blankets had been layered over it to presumably make it comfortable He was confused the last thing he remembered was sitting on the hover bike with ren no that wasn’t right there was something else ren yelled for some reason ren never yells but Oscar couldn’t quite remember why he decided to sit up as soon as he did waves of pain shot throughout his body the room was dimly lit and he could almost make out someone standing in the dark he almost calls out to it but Ozpin interrups

We need to leave I’m not sure where we are but I can tell she’s close

Do you mean sal-

Yes now can you stand

Oscar can tell he was afraid he didn’t even want to speak of her

Oscar attempts to stand but what he hears stops him dead

“No stay she says too”

The voice falters like someone not sure how to say a word they just learned or a shy child talking in front of people they don’t know

He looks to the figure it takes a step forward silently and comes into the light as soon as he sees it he recoils back remembering exactly what happened he stares at it his mind couldn’t come up with words to describe it but Ozpin knew exactly what to call it a monstrosity Oscar stared at the creature it had no eyes and so many teeth Oscar hadn’t had too many encounters with Grimm but he knew they did not talk was this someone’s semblance maybe emeralds trying to scare him where was he was he captured were the others all right his mind began to race with the possibility’s

Calm down you if that is a Grimm it may attack if you don’t control yourself and I don’t feel long memory on our belt

“Yes yes the cane where was it” Oscar thought he reached for his belt it wasn’t there he could feel the fear coming from Ozpin at that fact

“She will be here soon”

The voice emanating from the Grimms teeth saturated mouth spoke once again

Oscar could feel oz start to panic the fear of Salem was one they both shared

Oscar suddenly felt more calm when others panicked he always did manage to feel more at ease because if they were panicking too that means the threats real and he can do something about it so he decided to speak

“Where am I”

The Grimm stayed silent

He heard the creek of a door light shone throughout the room blinding Oscar he strained his eyes he recognized her by her figure alone and was relieved it was cinder

“Get up she wants to talk to you” her voice was cold but behind it he could feel the furry he shakily got up from the bed when he did he noticed his coat was gone and over his arm was a bandage that rapped several times around it “hurry up she doesn’t like to be kept waiting” Oscar shuffler tworads cinder keeping an eye on the Grimm he couldn’t decide who he was more afraid of the Grimm or cinder but he knew who probably would kill him if he turned his back and that was cinder so he decided to go with her

She led him down a long hall way decorated with black lamps so everything was so dim you couldn’t really see anything but all you could make out where figures and shadows but compared to the light of the room he was in before it was almost blinding his whole body hurt so maybe that was why his eyes hurt too his body telling him that whatever he did to end up in this much pain to never do it again and he got the message loud and clear they reach a set of double doors cinder opens them and he follows the room was beautiful in a strange sort of way it’s architecture looked natural and unnatural at the same time but what he was more concerned with was the woman siting at the end of the long table in the middle of the room cinder led him closer and closer he could almost hear the fear coming from Ozpin his desire to run away and hide grew by the second they were only a few feet from her now he could see her face clearly now and her expression took him back it wasn’t one anger or malice more like pitty cinder pulled out the chair next too Salem and said “sit” so he did he could hear cinder walk behind him and leave now alone with the woman he could feel his hands staring to shake he grabbed his left with his right to try to make them stop but for some reason he could not look away from her ozpin had gone silent now oscar could feel noting from him

“You don’t have to be afraid child”

Her voice was sweet it almost reminded him of the one his aunt would use when he was little and he was afraid

“I am not going to hurt you If you give me what I want”

“A-and what do you want”

“How do I use the lamp I know you know and please don’t try and lie”

Oscar stayed silent he knew she had the lamp but knowing and being told it by her are two very different things

“Your probably wondering what do you get out of this I’ll tell you I can separate you and ozma so that you can be your own person”

What she said can’t be true Ozpin said they were one now that there souls were bound together

“You seem suprised he might not of known that he can be separated from his host but he can he’s done it with the maidens so why couldn’t it be done with him right now he’s probably telling you I’m lying or that I’m tricking you but I’m not I am no lier”

“He hasn’t told me anything he’s quiet now”

She leans back in her throne “that doesn’t surprise me he always was a coward hiding in the body of a child doesn’t come as a surprise to me anymore tho It does break my heart that he would do that take someone’s whole life away”

“But he doesn’t get to choose”

“No he doesn’t but he does get to choose what to do once he’s bonded he could stay quiet and not ruin people’s lives but he chooses to do so and I’m sorry that he chose to do that to you my offer isn’t a lie I can separate you from him you could be free to live your life again I’ve been told you were a farmer with an aunt don’t you want to go back to her she must be worried did you tell her where you were going when you left leave a note perhaps”

“I-I left a note”

He doesn’t know why he told here that there was no point in telling her that but he for some reason felt so relaxed around her even tho he was scared moments before all the fear he feels is coming from oz

“Now that just isn’t fair is it she took care of you when your parents passed and you just left without even a goodbye”

“How did you know that”

“Oh watts knows a lot about computers and after we found out who you were I decided to have him do a little research find out who you were before Ozma”

Oscar could feel the fear returning if they knew he his aunt was they could find her have they hurt her maybe worse

“Did you did you hurt her”

“No we haven’t laid a finger on her but we have been watching her she’s struggling without you she’s getting up in years and can’t do a lot of the field work on her own if you were separated you could go back you could go back to growing food and living a simple life a happy life and I’ll even have someone take you there with enough lien to last a life time and we will never bother you again”

What happens if I refuse your offer

“I may have to use more drastic means than polite conversation”

Can I have some time to think

“Yes of course child”

Her voice dripped in sweetness he felt as tho it could be a front but desperately wanted it to be true he wanted her to be the Salem oz remembered the woman so fierce in combat she scared him at times but the same one who was so soft after the battle the one who held him as he wept for the old world after there second meeting the one who held there children in her arms with the brightest smile the woman who’s sass knew no limits and her love even less he felt the sadness from Ozpin and tears began to well up in his eyes he looked down at his hands away from her for the first time sense sitting down

“It’s ok if you want to cry child”

Oscar couldn’t hold the tears and let them fall holding back the sobs she places a hand on his shoulder he feels as though he should be afraid and pull alway but he doesn’t

“I understand it is hard having so much responsibility thrust upon you at such a young age it must be hard being away from everything you know on top of that”

Oscar not only couldn’t hold back the sobs but didn’t want too anymore the woman Ozpin had told him was the ultimate evil was patting him on the shoulder and telling him it’s ok the woman so many of his past lives had dreamt of holding in there arms the woman who was wronged by the gods for loving someone and not wanting to be alone this was the first time he had let himself cry in a long time

“I’m sorry the gods wronged you This way I know how it feels I promise you never asked for this”

I hate him too he didn’t let me say goodbye to her because she would try and stop us

“It’s ok let it out then we can talk more”

That’s the end it was supposed to be way longer but I lost half of it and honestly couldn’t be fucked to rewrite it all so sorry this was my first public work and honestly I know it’s not great just trying to toss an idea around that what if Salem is kind to Oscar when they meet

An Old Memory (Loki x Reader)

A quaint, modest home nearly a century old with a faint aura of history. Curtains still flowing across windows, pinned back to allow yellow sunlight into the kitchen. Upon looking, one could feel the hustle and bustle of happy company, smell the coffee steeping in the old pot that shouldn't possibly still work, and see a young woman preparing Thanksgiving dinner for her small family. Huddled around the stove, watching her movements as well as the pumpkin pie she mixed, were young and old children alike. The woman let the youngest of the three lick the spoon before shooing them from the heated oven.

He opened his eyes from the distant memory.

Now, the home smelt simply of cleanliness and very light perfume that had not been misted in some time. The stovetop and surrounding countertops had a thin layer of dust upon them. The floors were clean, the air was a medium temperature due to proper cooling of the home. He looked around, walked quietly, into the living room. It left a lingering touch; forgotten, almost. Furniture arranged for plenty of guests (of all ages, by the large chest of toys in the corner) a television, a computer.

All was there, except any life.

He went over to the wall and studied the framed faces hanging proudly. He recognized her in many of them. In one she donned a blue dress, gazing lovingly into a man's eyes. Her hand on his face, their foreheads touching. The man was much larger than her, holding her closely in a field of grass.

The next was her in mid-laughter, hugging a smiling baby to her face. Radiant, alive. The following photographs displayed somewhat of a timeline, as she is pictured with two growing children, one boy and one girl, as well as grandchildren.

He looked into each room, there being only three. Two were empty, used as storage space with boxes stacked in every corner. Before he reached the back bedroom, a key turned in the front door. It opened. He quickly made himself invisible.

A woman entered. She carried market bags, visibly filled with food, and set them heavily on the counter. He nearly mistakes her for her mother, before he can clearly see their small differences.

This girl had swimming blue eyes, light hair, and was of course clothed up to date. But her body language so eerily resembled ... alas. With beads of stress over her face, she emptied the bags, which contained enough prepared meals for days. She then went into a cabinet above her head, pulled down a transparent shallow box, and emptied something from it as well; all in a habitual motion.

"Mama?" She called out, filling a glass with water. "I brought you some lunch!" Her accent was so easily recognized, he no longer questioned the roles here.

The lively woman of roughly twenty or thirty Midgardian years of age bounced past him unknowingly, to the bedroom he had yet to see. He watched from a distance as she knocked on the open door before entering, going to the middle of the room where a bed sat and a person lay motionless.

"Wakey wakey Mama, you don't wanna miss the sunshine."

The ancient lady opened her small, heavy eyes. They looked around the room, before settling on the young lady beside her. "Hey Lillie," she said.

"Hey there!" Lillie smiled down at her aged mother. "It's lunch time, you know that?You asked for something soupy earlier, so I made you some homemade chicken noodle. I hope it's half as good as yours was," said Lillie, showing the bowl of soup. Then, she began to spoon feed her mother's lunch to her.

This, is what finally caused Loki's throat to become hard and dry.

Every spoonful, every bit, every sip of water. For nearly thirty minutes, making mundane conversation in between. He started to wonder where Lillie acquired the strength of heart and mind to complete these grievous tasks. In his own mind, he could never do such things for even those closest to him.

Little by little, Lillie fed her mother until she began eating slower and slower. Eventually, she wouldn't open her mouth to the food. "You full now? Must've liked it, heck, there's hardly any left!" Lillie laughed.

"It was scrump-dilly-umptious. Thank you baby," she responded, taking the cloth laid under her chin and blotting her lips.

Lillie smiled, "You don't have to thank me Mama. I'm just happy to hear it was worth eating. Now we gotta take your medicine, okay?" Lillie took the tablets she'd placed on the bedside table along with the remaining water in her glass. "Alright, I'm gonna put 'em in there, then you swallow 'em with the water, okay? Ready?" And she did.

For another hour the two generations spoke of nature, current Midgardian events and random pieces of life's perspectives. Loki remained invisible to them for the duration, keeping his pained emotions inside until Lillie left.

After that, with caution, he uncloaked himself and stood in the doorway, watching the circle of human life taking its course. This was a cruel curse, he deemed, certainly cast upon the wrong person. She fell in and out of sleep, small sounds escaping her throat occasionally. Loki didn't know how long he had left.

With some uncertainty, he calls out her name.

She opened her eyes, and scanned around the room once more. Her gaze fell upon the strange man clothed in green armor. "Who's there?" her delicate voice asked.

Loki cleared his throat. "Loki," he paused, "of Asgard."

Her brow furrowed, as the name and vocals didn't register. "Loki? I, I don't know a Loki."

He entered slowly, careful with his steps, and careful not to startle the frail woman he once knew quite well. He sat in the chair that Lillie sat in before, by Y/N's bedside. Her confused eyes followed him intently; guarded. He recalled those eyes. Bright, squinting ever so slightly when she smiled or laughed. Now overshadowed by soft, wrinkled skin; the captivating brightness somehow remained in her irises.

Loki gently took her hand from her side, feeling it tremble. "You don't remember me, darling?" a smile ghosted his lips as they locked gazes. "I don't believe my appearance has changed drastically. Yours certainly hasn't either."

"Loki," she paused, trailing off into deep thought. She nodded, "It rings a bell. And I suppose you look a little familiar."

"Think back to when you were eighteen. You once had a dream that you'd left Midg- er, Earth, and ascended into another world. Do you remember that?"

Staring straight ahead - confused, worried, but beginning to recall - she nodded. "Yeah, yeah I do. There was people there, and... and it wasn't much different than Earth. They talked funny, kinda like you are right now."

"Yes," Loki breathed, holding her hand closer to him. "And on the journey back to Earth, the BiFrost began to crumble. Someone caught you before you fell to the abyss. Do you remember?"

"Yeah," she exclaimed as the emotions of this event washed over her once again. "The one everybody told me to be scared of, and I was. I was scared of him from the things I'd heard. He'd apparently killed a whole lot of people, and hurt twice as many. He was some kind of royalty there." She swallowed, "but a fight broke out on the bridge to Earth, and it started to break and I fell. But somebody grabbed my wrists before I was too far. I, I saw him. I screamed for my life, 'cause it was him. The one they'd told me about. Loki, that was his name. After that, I  stayed with him there for a little while longer and got to know him and, and," she trailed off. Her eyes darted back to the dark man beside of her. "It was you!"

Loki laughed and kissed her small knuckles. "Indeed. Though it was not a dream, my darling."

She glanced at her hand, Loki drawing over her protruding veins with his ghostly pale thumbs. To make sure this wasn't a dream either, she raised it, pressed her palm to his cheek. It was cold. Just as it used to be.

Everything began pouring back to Y/N as her medication took effect. She remembered accidentally winding up in another planet, another realm, though she didn't quite remember how she got there. That of course didn't matter at the moment as joy flooded her mind and body upon seeing Loki once again; sixty-something years later.

"Well I'll be. You're just as handsome as I remember you, Loki."

"And you are still the most beautiful, charming, most notably intriguing Midgardian I've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

She was at a loss for words, the same effect he used to create upon her.

"I saw your daughter. Beautiful, full of life and strength of character. Like her mother."

"Lillie?" Y/N said, "Oh boy, she's something else. I, I don't know what I did to deserve such amazing kids. Taking all that time to come out here and take care of me every day. My son'll be out here by dinner time. Said he's gonna bring my granddaughter with him."

"You're a grandmother," Loki whispered to himself, in awe. "So many things have happened since our short time together. I think of it quite often now."

"Yeah," Y/N sighed, "I did too. Before my mind started leaving me. You know I'd have married you if the laws of physics allowed it."

Shaking his head, he thought back to those times, his actions. "I wanted nothing more than to marry you, my dear. But, as can be seen now," he laughs shortly, "it was not meant to be that way. You were still given a family, just as you always wanted and very well deserved." Loki looked off into the air, a smile painted on his face. "We used to discuss our futures back then. My wishes proved to be far more complicated than your own. I always wanted authority, or, equality, while you simply wished for happiness."

They locked eyes once again. Y/N could listen to Loki speak for hours on end. It was the few times like this that they shared, that she recalled so fondly after they separated. Him talking about anything and everything, in a proper soft spoken tone, unlike what she grew up around.

"Did your dreams come true, darling?"

"They did. After I came back home, I met my husband. For a while, though, all I could think about was you. How I couldn't be with you and all. I missed you real bad. But then he came along a couple years later. Stocky little blond-headed blue-eyed devil. But not at all like your brother. I think you'd have liked him."

"If I may ask, where is he now?" Loki asked, with the idea that he was treading on thin ice.

"Oh, he's been gone for years now. He was a good decade older than me, I think he was eighty-four? Eighty-five when he died? Died of cancer."

"My apologies."

"Oh, it was time. He was ready, and the family was too. He died a happy man." Loki couldn't help but think of the eighty-one-year-old white haired, fragile woman before him now, laying in her bed with little mobility. He shuddered it away for the moment, until her frail, aged voice interrupted such thoughts. "Did your hopes and dreams come true, Loki? I prayed they would."

Her small grip seemed to tighten a bit upon his hesitation to answer. Quite frankly, no. None of his dreams had come true. He was preparing for the war of his life and didn't see much of a happy ending in sight. But he found a source of sad, awful gratitude, in that his friend likely wouldn't suffer the consequences of said war. Not at this rate.

He refused to let her know the complete truth about this. Much like he'd always done, about everything. "No. Not yet, at least." He licks his lips, "But I was never the luckiest chap."

"Give yourself a break," says Y/N, looking straight into his eyes with the same bright sweetness he recalled so fondly. "You never know what's in store. You might think one thing's gonna happen, and then something totally different happens, but it turns out to be better than what you expected to begin with. Don't you have another thousand years or so left on you?"

Loki smiles sadly. A ray of sunshine pours through the window above Y/N's bed. "I suppose theoretically, yes. Nowadays I'm not so sure what my dreams are any more. To rule? To inherit? To love? To leave something behind besides a bad memory?Whenever I get to thinking about it too much it just ... smudges into a blur in my mind. Like a spilled pot of ink." He remembers exchanging letters with her years ago, after opening a passageway for them to do so. He remembers stopping as well. Allowing her letters to pile up on his desk within his prison cell, untouched. Unloved. Detached. How selfish he'd been to leave her without another word, reasonlessly.

The loosening of fingers around his cold hand jerks him back to reality, where the elderly woman's eyes fall closed and her hold slips away. Panicked, a cold sweat coating his neck, he grabs her wrist to feel for signs of life. A faint but steady pulse beats within her veins. He leans over her to listen for her breath, and it's there, in deep low snores. She's only fallen asleep.

Loki takes this to mean his time to reunite with Y/N has expired. Gently above creaking floorboards, he swallows down a wave of cries and stands; he notices the lines of concern on her forehead and kisses them, before silently bidding her farewell for the last time.

And on his way through the BiFrost back to Asgard, he allows himself to feel. The waves of light sweep away the tears, the whirring of speed muffles the cries. A series of realizations wash over him, but the most important being that something is about to give in the universe - and he's going to be part of it.

When he arrives at the base of the Asgardian palace, guards are lined up along the bridge's barriers. They bow. The gatekeeper Heimdall addresses him.

"Welcome back, Allfather Odin. I take it your journey was pleasant."

"Only as pleasant as a journey to Midgard can be."

~

memoriiiiiaaaaaa

hi hello thanks for reading this sad thing that's been hidden in my notes for years

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @sadwaywardkid @tarynkauai @triggeredpossum

FIC: There's a Place I Like To Hide

Summary: Pillows, so many pillows, Edge has a few thoughts about those and other things.  

Notes: In this chapter there is some violence. Angst! Drama! We got it all!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst

Warnings:  Implied underage pregnancy. Implied miscarriages. Past Trauma.

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Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

Winter Makes You Laugh a Little Slower

That Place Where You Can’t Remember and You Can’t Forget

Casting Its Shroud Over All We Have Known

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

There was only one chair in Rus’s room, a rolling one that usually sat by his desk in front of the broken-down old computer he used to share terrible puns with the rest of the UnderNet.

Edge was sitting in that chair, but not at the desk. He’d pulled it around the bed into the far corner. It was safer to sit there than anywhere else. Even the bed, stripped of both blankets and pillows, was not out of the line of fire, as demonstrated by the pillow that flew out of the closet, smacking into the wall before falling onto the bare mattress with a sad thump.

The same thing had been going on for the past hour, from nearly the moment Edge arrived to deliver his menagerie of pillows.

Rus had been waiting in the living room, pacing, when Edge arrived. He’d presented his offering of fluffy pillows and most were snatched away, a grateful kiss pressed fervently to his mouth and then gone before Edge could even decide what to do about it. Rus waddled determinedly upstairs with his prize, Edge at his heels with the leftover pillows that were too much for Rus to carry on his own, particularly with his own similarly pillowy physique. He’d watched in silent bemusement as Rus disappeared into the large closet, and there he remained, occasionally crawling out to snag a discarded pillow before diving back in and the sounds of whatever chaos was reigning in that small space echoed through the room.

Despite the occasional thrown pillow, the room was probably as clean as Edge had ever seen it. The floor was barren of its normal litter of socks and trash, vacuumed within an inch of its life. The windows were washed, the baseboards scrubbed. Even the ceiling fan gleamed and the very idea of an ungainly, pregnant Rus tottering on a ladder to wipe it down was nightmare best not considered. Along the far wall were stacks of folded clothes, books, shoes, whatever had been in the closet before its pillow invasion was lined up ruler-neat along the wall.

The amount of clutter the closet held beforehand was evidence that despite a lack of Narnia inside, it was spacious enough for whatever Rus intended, even if Edge still couldn’t fathom what that was.

The loud thumping noises and occasional curses had stopped coming from the closet a few minutes ago, leaving silence in its wake. Edge rallied his courage and took a chance, cautiously approaching to peer through the half-closed door.

The pillows and blankets were arranged into a sort of cozy nest and Rus was burrowed exhaustedly right in the middle of it, his sockets barely open. His sweatshirt crumpled into a discarded ball in one corner and the only thing he was wearing was a pair of pajama pants, the waistband pushed beneath the heavy swell of his belly.

“Are you finished?” Edge asked cautiously.

“think so,” Rus mumbled tiredly. He lifted his head enough to look at Edge, his pale eye lights glowing softly in the dimness. “you coming in?”

The tone made it seem less a question and more a hopeful desire, one that Edge was more than willing to indulge. Carefully, Edge crawled inside, trying not to disturb the cushiony layer. It was not an easy process; the pillows felt as if they were three-deep and they were laid out with almost geometric precision. With some effort, he settled in behind Rus, who sighed and snuggled back against him, slender legs tangling with Edge’s own. Edge settled a hand on Rus’s belly, gently stroking along the sides where the magic was stretched tightest and earning a relieved sigh for his efforts.

Unusual as it was, the closet was hardly the strangest place Edge ever slept, though the question of why still lingered.

“Was there something wrong with the bed?” Edge asked, curiously.

“no, with the room,” Rus said. He sounded sleepily distracted, nearly drowsing, “it’s too open out there, i dunno, i can’t explain.” He shook his head in frustration. “i needed to be someplace better, closer.” Abruptly, Rus squirmed, grumbling, “my back is killing me.”

Edge obediently began to rub the length of Rus’s spine. The cartilage between the joints felt painfully hot and swollen from taking on its extra burden. That explanation made a certain sense; the closet was darker, the only light coming in from the open door and perhaps some instinct made Rus wish to be less exposed, an inherent need to conceal himself when he was at his most vulnerable. “I’ve heard of nesting during pregnancy, I’ve never seen it taken literally.”

“i ain’t questioning the hormones or whatever it is we get,” Rus yawned. It shifted to a grimace as his stomach visibly distorted with the movement of the baby within. “anything to get this ball rolling. this kid can pop anytime she wants. stick a fork in me, i’m done.”

“She’ll come when she’s ready,” Edge said, a truth that he tried to soften by firmly rubbing out the tension in Rus’s lumbar vertebra, which seemed to take the brunt of the abuse.

“yeah, well, she can start packing her bags and head to the station, cause the conductor is about to take off… ow!” Rus yelped.

Edge stopped instantly. “Did I hurt you?”

“nah, daddy’s little angel just smacked me with her halo. easy, skitten,” Rus pushed the heel of his hand against the obvious bulge at the side of his stomach, then yelped again, louder and startled, “ouch! what the fuck, kid—”

Edge settled a hand atop Rus’s. Beneath their combined touch, the roiling movements that were once thumps and kicks were now more full body rolls, the baby struggling to move in her constricted space, “I believe you might be getting your wish soon, she’s very active.”

They both went quiet, waiting, the silence broken only by Rus’s occasional grunt of discomfort. Their disappointment was palpable when the baby settled back into stillness. With an aggravated sigh, Rus pushed restlessly against Edge’s hands and he started dutifully rubbing again.

After a moment, Rus said, thoughtfully, “you know, no one has actually told me yet how she gets out.”

“What?” That was enough for Edge to stop his massage and sit up, appalled. “What do you mean how she gets out?”

“how she is getting out,” Rus repeated, irritably, “it’s not rocket science here, she’s currently in and she’ll need to get out. somehow, i’m thinking it’s not as easy as knocking and calling ‘olly olly oxen free’. and the traditional method probably isn’t in the cards.”

Edge was somewhat familiar with childbirth as it went for other Monsters and the more he considered it, the more he thought Rus was likely correct. Rus’s hips were too narrow for the baby to pass through his pelvic girdle and his ectoflesh hadn’t formed a vaginal canal, either.

“How do you not know this?!” Edge demanded.

“i dunno, it didn’t come up!” Rus snapped defensively. “it’s not like you know, either!”

“I am not currently pregnant!” Edge regretted yelling the moment the words left his mouth. Arguing about this wasn’t going to help and he didn’t miss the sudden well of tears in Rus’s sockets before he turned away, burying his face into the pillows. Edge settled back down, and Rus didn’t resist when Edge pulled him back into his arms, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“i know that,” Rus swiped angrily at his cheekbones, “stupid fucking hormones. i knew how to get pregnant, but that’s about as far as i go. turned out that undyne’s old research books weren’t real useful for skeleton pregnancies and it’s not like i know any pregnant skeletons to ask. looks like we might be figuring it out as we go.”

“I can’t think of another situation where I’d like less to improvise.” They didn’t know any other pregnant skeletons, that much was true. Not pregnant, no, but there was at least one skeleton they both knew who’d endured a pregnancy of his own. Edge swallowed hard and said haltingly, “I could call Red for you, we could ask him.”

“no,” Rus said immediately. He rolled over and caught hold of Edge’s hands as if afraid he’d start reaching for his phone. “no, don’t do that. he’ll be here tonight. i can ask him then.” He nodded, almost to himself, “yeah, that’ll be fine. red will know.” With a sigh, Rus settled back into his pillows, closing his sockets. But there was a certain tension in him that hadn’t been there before, his new contentment in his little nest regretfully lost and there was very little that Edge could do to help bring it back.

“Do you want something to eat?” Edge tried, “I can bring it up.” The refrigerator and freezer were filled with easy to prepare meals, containers whose contents only needed heating. Blue cheerily put up plenty of extras, not only due to his brother’s current needs but anticipating for after the baby’s birth…however that would occur. It would be the work of minutes to heat something up.

Rus only shook his head, mumbling out, “nah, jus’ tired.”

“All right, then.” Edge gently stroked along the curve of Rus’s skull, silently urging him to close his sockets. “Go to sleep.”

“stay?” That single word, nearly a plea, and Edge only nodded, pressing a light kiss to Rus’s temple and listened to his contented sigh.

Stay. Of all things Rus could ask for, that was what he chose and if Edge were honest with himself, he would have been hard-pressed to decline even if Rus weren’t pregnant with their child. Casual and occasional, that was how he’d described their relationship to Blue back when Rus first told him about the baby and now, he couldn’t say the same. How could he, when every evening he wanted to hurry back to Rus, to see his smile, listen to his foolish jokes and laughter, watch over him as he napped, his skull settled comfortably into Edge’s lap and inviting a gentle touch. He wanted that, all of that, to continue, wanted it with a desperation that bordered on necessity.

He didn’t know what they were, what they were doing; all the walls he’d raised between them were rubble, the cautious distance he’d kept between them breached. If the question of how their child was going to come into this world was an important, then this was at least a distant second. What were they to each other and what were they going to do about it?

He wanted to help parent their child, there was no question of that. Edge only wondered if he were going to be allowed to remain close to Rus as part of the bargain.

A part of him boiled with the urge to ask now, now, to shake Rus awake and stupidly demand an answer. But despite what his brother might think, Red hadn’t entirely raised a fool. Asking now would be the height of unfairness when Rus was so close to the end of his pregnancy, at his most needy and overwhelmed. Once Lucy made her appearance and things settled a bit, that would be a better chance, a fairer chance, one that allowed Rus to choose without any fear that he would lose Edge’s support.

Besides, that would give Edge an opportunity to ask Blue if there were any specific customs in Underswap that should be followed, perhaps even to borrow their version of the dating manual…he was really going to do this, Edge realized, and the thought nearly made him giddy. He was going to discuss some sort of commitment with Rus and after that, the choice would be his. If that was something Rus wanted from him.

If.

Rus was sleeping deeply enough that he didn’t stir as Edge pulled him fractionally closer, holding him firmly within the circle his arms. If the baby were coming soon, he might well be losing his chance for this and the thought was a painful one, cramping in his soul, to think that he might lose the opportunity to hold Rus in his arms.

It was Rus’s choice to make, just as the choice to carry their baby had been his. All Edge could do was guiltily indulge in the urge to glut himself on this closeness, anguished with breathing in the sweetness of Rus’s scent, wishing desperately that this would be something he could keep, something he could be allowed for himself, just this once.

He held Rus close and didn’t expect to fall asleep himself, hardly aware of drifting off, one hand pressed loosely against Rus’s sternum and the other gently draped over the swell of his belly. Holding onto what meant most to him, even in sleep.

~~*~~

For the first few moments after Rus woke up, he was disoriented to the point of not even knowing where the fuck he was. That wasn’t so bad, really. Where wasn’t a problem so much as what and what was that he was fucking hot.

There was a thin layer of sweat coating his bones, the bedding beneath him was sodden with it, and as he woke up a little more, Rus figured out that part of that was because Edge was about half on top of him, squashing him into the cushions, what the fuck—

Ah. Pillows. Right.

Earlier, the thought of climbing into the closet for the next month or so seemed like the most brilliant of all ideas. Someplace nice and safe, all enclosed and cozy along with plenty of cushiony pillows to pad the way. Rus’d gotten the closet all cleaned out and ready to go, only to figure out that his single pillow added with the two he stole from Blue’s bed didn’t exactly make for Cloud 9. The cushions from the sofa helped a little but not enough, and in his desperation, he’d thought of Edge.

It was almost embarrassing now to think of how he'd called Edge while he was on patrol to demand a pillow sacrifice but hell, Edge came through in spades, didn’t he. Probably better not to ask where he got ‘em all, although the idea of Edge ransacking Underfell in a pillow heist was enough to make him choke on a laugh.

It was not, however, enough to distract him from how fucking hot he was. Turned out being pregnant turned his internal thermostat up to eleven and sometimes it was all too much. Like now.

There was a choice to be made here. If he woke Edge up, there was no question that he’d go get a towel for Rus so he could dry off. Probably even offer to sponge him off and tempting as that was, if Edge was zonked out, stood to reason that he probably needed some zzz’s, too. Sure, Rus was doing the major lifting, but Edge was going back and forth between their worlds, doing all his regular work before heading back here to hang out, dealing with all of Rus’s bullshit and helping Blue.

So if waking up Edge was out, it was time for Option B to step up to the plate, which involved escaping from Mister Clings-A-Lot here and wandering outside for a minute to bask in the lovely, cold Snowdin air. Preferably before Red showed up ‘cause he’d throw a fit about it and start yowling about keeping mamas safe and that would probably end with Rus stuffed into a blanket and plopped down on the sofa with a bitchy lecture made to order just for him.

Yeah, Rus could do without that tonight, thanks.

Even as Rus considered his options, a ticklish trickle of sweat was winding its uncomfortable way down his sacrum and yeah, okay, enough was enough. Time to get his Mission Impossible on.

Getting away from Edge was the first step and the most dangerous, but as it turned out, once he was out, Edge was down for the count. He didn’t even stir as Rus wriggled his way loose from his duct tape grip, crawling his way across the mounds of pillowy goodness to the door.

Rus was panting by the time he got out of the closet, leaning weakly against the wall as he caught his breath, shit but pregnancy was not for the faint of heart or the weak of will. Not that Rus was gonna win any awards for either, eh, didn’t matter, Lucy wasn’t complaining.

Except how she totally was, already squirming hard in her disapproval of sneaking away from papa. A quick peek showed that Edge was still snoozing away, and Rus patted his belly gently, snagging a fresh sweatshirt from the carefully folded pile against the wall as he slipped out the door.

“easy, kiddo,” Rus whispered. All he got in return was a disagreeable little foot jammed right into his floating rib, hard enough to make him wince. “look, it’s only for a minute, i’m roasting like a pineapple in here.”

Kid was definitely taking after Edge; she reluctantly settled down and Rus could practically feel her sullen, unspoken agreement for just a few minutes.

His slippers were by the front door and Rus slipped them on. Not exactly the best for tromping around outside but his swollen boney piggies didn’t much care for getting crammed into his sneakers. Another preggo joy to add to his growing collection.

“kiddo, at this point, i don’t think i care if you make an exit out of my eye socket, so long as you move out,” Rus sighed as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head. “okay, only kidding, if anyone up there is listening, i didn’t mean that—”

Any concerns about divine retribution vanished as Rus stepped out into the crisp, cold air. He groaned aloud, shuffling further out into the snow. The path that led around to the back of the house was mostly shoveled, only a fine layer of fresh snowflakes scattered across it.

Rus followed it around back to where he used to hang around out of Blue’s sight to sneak a cigarette. He’d quit smoking the moment he’d found out he was pregnant, but that didn’t stop his hands from automatically groping for his cigs. The lighter was a poor compensation, but Rus fiddled with it, anyway.

Getting down to the wire here. Pretty soon their little skitten would be here and Rus was right around a hundred and five percent positive that he wasn’t ready for this. Shame that he didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.

At least they were set with gear, even if it wasn’t at the house yet. The Buns declared it was bad luck to have baby stuff in the house before the kiddo got here and while Rus privately thought that was a load of bullshit, he’d never say a peep, nope, he owed the Buns big time, not only for their timely rescue from the snowstorm but for what they had waiting to bring to the house the second Lucy came down from the sky with her diamonds in tow and—

Moving was pure instinct, an almost blurred sidestep to the left, away from a huge armored hand that nearly snagged ahold of him.

Rus was usually pretty fucking quick on his feet, at least as long as his stamina lasted. That was before his sense of balance was thrown off by the combined weight of ectoflesh and baby. He staggered and nearly fell as he dodged again, his slippered feet sliding in the fresh layer of snow as panic rose heavy in his throat and who the fuck—

He stared up, his soul frozen in sheer disbelief at the figure towering over him; a Knight Knight, but not one he’d ever seen, not one of the humorless hulks who hung around with Madjick and occasionally stopped at his sentry post to buy a hot cat. This creature was a nightmare, her grotesque armor covered with rusty spikes and one of the horns on her helmet jaggedly broken off. The birdlike face that dominated her torso was a twisted, sneering wreck, its mouth opening to reveal a bloated, bloodshot eye with oozing pus crusted into the corners. Even that didn’t horrify Rus as much as the dust, so much dust, caked into the armor joints and falling in horrifying motes from the clawed gauntlet reaching again for Rus.

He was backed up against the house, there was nowhere for him to go, no escape except one. and the second those vicious claws grazed his sweatshirt, Rus took it.

It’d been weeks, but reaching for the void was as easy as it ever was. Rus grabbed a frantic mental picture of where and pushed through, stepping into a shortcut…and stopped.

Never before had one of his shortcuts stuttered halfway through, never had it dropped him painfully back into the world, whimpering and aching with the aborted backlash of the failed attempt. The ground came up to meet him hard enough to knock the breath out of him, the Knight Knight dangerously close to landing on top of him.

The hard landing at least got him loose and Rus scrambled away, struggling to crawl through icy slush with his heavy belly almost dragging on the ground. Trying desperately to get to his feet and he could hear the clang of armor behind him. Close, too close, he felt the brutal virulence of intent at the same moment as he felt the panicked squirm of his child inside him responding to his fear through their soul link and Rus didn’t think, only reached for his fiercest attack with the last of his strength.

In a split second, he summoned a blaster, its enormous sockets filled with maddened eye lights, its toothy maw gaping open and from it a blazing hot explosion of orange plasma boiled out, directly at the Knight Knight, engulfing it. She made a sound that passed for a scream, a sulfurous, hollow shriek that rang painfully through Rus’s skull.

He watched, dry-eyed, as she fell to her knees, KR burning through her HP. His own strength was fading, black dots starting to hover in his vision and Lucy was still shifting painfully inside him as he stared at the collapsing grotesque.

“night night,” Rus managed to whisper before unconsciousness claimed him.

tbc