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buckets-and-trees · 4 months

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Warm Shadows - Carving Through the Dark (3/4)

Fandom: MCU Collection: Warm Shadows [ part one | part two ] Title: Carving Through the Dark Characters/Pairings: established Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader, Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 14.4k

Summary: Worse than a nightmare because it's real, Bucky has to track down his kidnapped omega and the man - the super soldier - who had been his closest friend turned into the dark, rival alpha, Captain Hydra.

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, angst, explicit smut, vaginal intercourse, consensual forced orgasm

Logistical Notes: Shhh - yes this was the final story update I had planned for the Dark Forest Fest and it's the first week of January! But. Well. The word count. But we're here now, okay? Title taken from Hozier's Who We Are.

Additional Notes: Okay, I know that I did a poll asking last month if folks wanted the final chapter split into two parts or just one long chapter and - er - I kind of did both. I did not split this chapter, but a couple of days ago I realized we needed a fourth and final part. Lastly, @biteofcherry has been an absolute lifeline during the composition of this chapter - thank you for putting up with my conjectures and letting me piece together some of the elements. And even a little thank you to @rookthorne for cheering and bullying me over how long this got.

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“I can’t help you,” Shuri states, though there’s the flicker of it almost being one final question of it in her eyes.

“No,” Bucky confirms. “No more than you already have.”

He knows she says it as one last opportunity for him to change his mind, but also in acknowledgment that he must do this on his own. They clasp hands and then he turns to walk up the ramp of the aircraft.

“James,” she says when he’s nearly gone. He turns back to look at his friend, one who has seen him at the best and worst of times. “Whoever he is now, he knows Bucky, he knows the Winter Soldier, he will have learned everything about the Soldat from their archives, so you must truly be the White Wolf. She knows the wolf, but he does not.”

He nods and then walks further into the aircraft, leaving Shuri behind.

After you’d been violated and taken from him, Bucky had lain in anguish until just before dawn, raging over the loss of his world and everything he’d worked for, built, found, cherished. He would find you again – when he’d sworn, “There’s no corner of this earth you can go where I won’t find you,” it had been a promise to you as much as a warning to the monster – but none of you three were the same after that night.

To be the White Wolf…

It will take all the tactics he learned in the army, that he was forced to acquire as Hydra’s finest assassin, and since he escaped and then truly reclaimed his freedom. As angry as he is, as desolate as he feels, he holds the emotions at arms’ length, he needs to be at the eye of the hurricane so he can maneuver the way he needs to.

Bucky hasn’t been able to feel you. His desperate hope is that it’s because you’re sedated and unconscious and not … not anything else.

In Wakanda he and Shuri hadn’t been able to find even a sliver of a trace of the jet that had come and gone for Steve to enact his plan. It was a statement that whoever he was now, Captain Hydra was utilizing every ounce of knowledge Steve had and blending it with whatever Hydra hat put in him.

Bucky won’t leave a trail either.

It will take Steve time to figure out how Bucky left Wakanda – on foot, ground transport, or air transport – if he can figure it out. But Bucky was the untraceable ghost over fifty years of missions for Hydra, and he didn’t have the motivation he does now.

Bucky devised that going on the already-scheduled aircraft to the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland gave him the best options. He assumes Steve would have managed to get into the networks used by the Avengers and SWORD, and since he flew an aircraft in and out of Wakanda undetected and Bucky won’t be able to use Wakandan technology to best him either, so landing in Oakland also puts him in proximity to the hardware, software, and network resources he would need to build his own tech. During his convalescence in Wakanda before the Infinity War, it had been days of goats and technology research and development in the most advanced science facility in the world. He is not the expert that Shuri is, but he knows enough. His aversion to much of “modern” technology has always been due to how primitive it was compared to anything from Wakanda.

It takes weeks, but Bucky acquires the hardware he needs, modifies software, creates the network and protocols he needs to start Hydra hunting, and puts it all to work. He knows what to look for – the patterns, the seemingly innocuous inconsistencies – and he knows it because he was running data point for the team of analysts dedicated to Hydra hunting before this. He had taken more responsibility at the base of operations and fewer and fewer field assignments to be home and build his life with you.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate in ignoring any ethical limits whatsoever for his surveillance protocols. When he was working within the system, they had established some lines they weren’t willing to cross.

With seven billion humans in existence and him alone looking for two, lines to cross no longer exist.

He knows he will never get his life back, but he will not let anything prevent him from getting you back.

He puts every piece into play immediately as he builds, sleeps only the bare minimum. Truthfully he had only indulged in more than the minimal sleep a super soldier needed these past years because it was time spent blissfully with you. Without a reason to rest, he didn’t have any problem cutting back to short sleep allotments to keep him operating at peak condition.

In putting his own tap into the Avengers’ database, he studies the work that had gone on while he was gone for his annual retreat away with you. He discovers that Steve and Sam followed leads in Europe.

“Damn you idiots,” he murmurs.

The reports show his two friends go dark after losing comms nearly a month ago. A team went in after them and their debrief says they found only their communication devices. ‘Search ongoing…’

That was a month ago.

He knows the status of Steve.

Sam could be a live asset in play, an asset still being trained and molded by Hydra, their prisoner for torture, or he could have been eliminated already.

It takes him sixteen days from the beginning of his build to finish – he’d been collecting intelligence, but once everything is in play and he continues to hone in on incoming results, things progress systematically, satisfyingly, in a foreign familiarity that evokes memories of this time hunting as the Winter Soldier.

Two more days and he’s got enough evidence in the intelligence to confirm you’re somewhere in Europe. Within two hours Bucky recalibrates calculations based the new findings, conducts new searches, gets confirmation of a face on a traffic camera in Gdańsk that looks like Steve, and when he’s able to piece a clear trail that follows him through the city and then to an aircraft that he’s further able to track until it disappears over northern Italy. He knows this for what it is – a trail tempting him closer to the trap. A challenge, an invitation, but only if he can put together more pieces to find you. How many times did he set beautifully complex traps for some of his prize targets when he was the Winter Soldier? Breadcrumbs to entice, to drive his opponent to work harder, to put their prowess to work, to make them feel confident so he could trick, trap, and kill them in the end.

This monster of a man tricked him in Wakanda. It will be the only time. Expert and intricate traps of this sort are something his opponent has been playing with for a few weeks. Bucky has more practice and expertise, infinitely more motivation, and no distractions.

He travels under cover of transports between Wakandan outreach centers from Oakland to Washington DC, and then from Washington to Bilbao. When he touches down in Bilbao, his information relay device has a new lead based off a visual of Steve in a bookshop in Turin twice in the previous week.

He takes the train to Turin. Within twelve hours he finds the location of the Hydra facility, and Bucky makes enough noise to reveal to Hydra that he’s in the city and trigger the personnel to raise the facility to its red alert security status. He plants a false trail indicating that he’s given up and gone further north, all the while watching every aspect of the base, making plans to infiltrate, and ensuring sure none of the vehicles or teams moving in and out look like they’re transporting you somewhere else. They drop to an orange threat level, and then yellow – standard caution and operating procedures.

Bucky would have been floored that they believed he’d missed them in Turin and moved on to search somewhere else, but it spoke to one of the weaknesses of Hydra’s organization: the arrogance. Instead, Bucky hacks into their base network as well as their external communications channels.

This observation, research, recon, and analysis Bucky does not rush. Everything he cares about is at stake. If he’s going to be successful in getting you back there can be no room for error as he’ll be up against Hydra and the only other super soldier on the planet who could potentially match or outmatch him.

And as the weeks wear on, the other thing he cannot deny, that he’d known from the beginning of this nightmare even if he’d wanted to try to ignore it, it that he isn't in this to rescue only you.

When all is said and done, the reality is he has to get Steve back, too.

Bucky knows the longer it takes, the more dangerously close he gets to your next heat. He knows an omega being in a distressed environment will affect the heat cycle. It could bring it on early, or potentially also push you to the extremes of a dry heat depending on the conditions they are keeping you in, and how you’re feeling. Once he determines he knows enough to start putting together a plan of extraction, he also determines it’s too close to when your heat might hit, and he can’t risk trying to extract you if you’re in heat – it becomes an element he can’t predict and ensure that his plan will still be successful.

His own senses are strained with the tenor of your unease in a way that’s different from before. It’s driving his alpha side mad, and he wants to storm the facility and reclaim you, and that’s one more element contributing to the volatility of the situation. He knows he can’t gamble on so many unpredictable elements.

He must wait.

But when he sees Captain Hydra leave in his jet right when Bucky is certain you are close to your heat, Bucky is stunned.

It might be too damn close to your heat, but clearly you’re not in heat yet or the other alpha would not leave you. This was not his plan, but it is a prime opportunity he can’t ignore – not if he can get to you alone and save you from a heat away from him. His heart can’t deny this unexpected opportunity.

After Bucky had hacked into the Hydra base’s network, he’d discovered that the small jet Captain Hydra had exclusive use of had been excluded from all navigational tracking and that the man only communicated by radio with one individual whenever he left. He’d further discovered that Captain Hydra was a weapon still cloaked from most of Hydra, with nothing about him other than his existence as a new asset available on the network. Even his former identity was not yet disclosed or recorded anywhere digitally.

This means Bucky has no idea where the man is going or when he will be back, but he hears Captain Hydra and his liaison discuss and confirm his time of arrival and his estimated time of return. Bucky must work quickly, but there is a window.

As he had not anticipated infiltrating so soon, he still has to finish putting things together for the actual extraction – like transportation, supplies, and thoroughly planning out three escape routes and destinations – and while he works quickly, he does not rush those final preparations, and so that takes him a significant amount of the window of time he knows he has.

But he only needs long enough to get you out.

He will have that.

He ambushes the delivery truck bringing in the week’s food shipment with no trouble and drives it right into the base as he has all the proper credentials on his person and its still pre-dawn hours, so lack of light works in his favor to get through the first gate.

But of course when he doesn’t follow delivery procedures once he rolls up to the shipping and receiving dock, that’s when his limited time really begins. The first decision he must make is whether or not to take out a man of average height but portly build that approaches the truck – one of the cooks, Bucky has studied the personnel files for everyone registered on this base – and Bucky evaluates as he steps out of the truck. He could kill him, but this man should probably be spared. Bucky doesn’t want unnecessary blood on his hands. So with lightning fast moves and a choke hold, the man goes down. But next are two security personnel, and them Bucky shoots point blank, taking each of them out with single shots. He leans down to lift the comms off one of them, putting the piece in his ear so he can hear everything as it unfolds across the base.

He yanks open the first door and moves down the hallway. And then there’s a frantic message over the comms, “Code Red! Winter Soldier, loading docks, two personnel down, in pursuit!”

Bucky growls and turns back down the hallway and swears when he sees the man putting comms in his ear and squaring up a gun he’d clearly lifted off one of the security guards was the cook he thought he’d put out cold. Apparently the man had more in him than Bucky had accounted for, and so now Bucky takes aim and shoots him once he’s close enough to secure the kill shot, only having to dodge two close but errant bullets himself as the cook had tried to run him down.

Lethal force for everyone it is, he thinks.

He’s irritated he wasted extra time on this man trying to keep down the body count.

He does not make that mistake again, killing everyone who comes across his path. The silver lining working in his favor is that this base in Turin is a science facility, not a military facility, so he has fewer muscle personnel to deal with than other places you could have been kept, and he can hear over the main comms that scientists and researchers are being given orders to shelter in place while there are instructions given over the security comms in Bucky’s ear that prime-level scientists are to be evacuated. It’s the directive he expected, which benefits him as the security personnel are split between pursuing him and evacuating those individuals deemed indispensable.

But dealing with those who are in pursuit of him is simple. When he’s out of ammunition, he makes quick work dealing what should be lethal wounds with his knives. Every man or woman down is one less he will need to contend with while trying to safely get you out, and while he’s reasonably sure he’s dealing death to everyone, there are a few he thinks may survive.

He has studied every aspect of this facility while making his preparations, and he sends a message to Captain Hydra that he was prepared by shooting glances cleanly into every camera he knows he passes.

There’s a flash of fear that ripples through him – it comes from the bond he’s tried to keep dormant between you since you were taken, but this is too powerful, and it’s a barb he can’t ignore. It flares and then dies out, which could be either a good thing or a bad thing. He squares his shoulders and moves more quickly.

As Bucky reaches the quadrant they’ve been keeping you a few moments later, the words, “The Omega is secured, sedated, and ascending to the roof with team Foxtrot, thirty seconds until air evac.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He knows he can’t make it in time, but Bucky still races down the hall to the stairwell, launching through the door and then hurtling up the stairs, taking them three and four at a time. His super speed isn’t enough to scale four flights of industrial facility stairs, and he bursts out on the roof to see the coaxial helicopter already twenty meters up in the air and navigating away to the north.

He wants to shout until his lungs bleed because he was so close, but he knows he can’t afford to indulge in emotions that strong in this moment. Instead, he takes huge gulps of the fresh air, pulls the door from its hinges, and hurls it across the roof before going back down the stairs.

He does not engage with anyone but comes across few through his retreat. Instead, his focus now is decimating what he can of the facility without wasting time or going out of his way as he escapes the base, rigging explosives quickly in key areas on his way out.

While he left destruction in his wake, and he leaves alone, he was precise in how much damage he dealt. He left the area of main logistical operations intact because he didn’t want to destroy their network and communications, eliminating his ties to tracking their next moves.

Bucky immerses himself in tracking and monitoring everything the second he’s back in his hideout with his tech. He sees the Captain return. He watches the final evacuations. They send him to Geneva, and Bucky is ready to follow, knowing exactly where the Swiss facility is located since he’s fully infiltrated the Hydra network of information. He can’t travel as quickly since he doesn’t have access to any Hydra aviation, but he makes it there by sundown.

He wouldn’t risk trying to disrupt your heat now, not with everyone moved and on high alert, it would be dangerous for you. Instead, he works on setting up his new undercover observation point in Switzerland. He fine tunes his information tap into the Hydra system. As he works, he notices the rise of an anxious feeling pulling at his hind brain. He’s felt the press of you trying to reach across the bond while you’ve been apart, but this is different – there’s a frantic, wild tug, and while it’s insistent, it’s more erratic, like the flickering of a flame, as if you aren’t even concentrating on the connection to him.

He knows so much of you that he knows you have to be on the brink of your heat but that you must desperately be trying to fight it. The discomfort he can sense continues to ebb and flow. It morphs. It becomes tinged with more discomfort. Then there’s a lick of desire that is almost imperceptible. That’s followed rather quickly be a flare of adrenaline – or is it fear? Another shift a few minutes later, and tone of this is pure arousal, the feeling he’s shared so much of with you, and the thought that you…

He grits his teeth, shuts his eyes, and abruptly stills every muscle in his body. You are his omega. Another alpha bonded you. Your heat is undeniable. His brain knows that – it’s one of the things he’s been focusing on, acknowledging the various scenarios that could play out for this heat, he just did not want this, nor was he prepared for what it might feel like. And so, with forced, measured breaths, he does everything he can to concentrate on shutting down the connection, to put his alpha side to sleep, because he can not bear this. He has suppressed so much of everything since losing you, only holding onto the faintest tether, but he cannot endure this – not and keep his rationality and do what he needs to do now, which is to formulate the next steps, the things he needs to figure out and watch for now that this cruel game has changed. Emotion will distract him, but there’s also the flow that could go the other way and throw you off, and he swore to keep you safe.

Diving into the network databases of this new Hydra facility, Bucky notices something he noticed in Turin: there are no records that contain any of your names on file – not you, not Steve, not Sam. He thought it was strange before, but he had a theory it could have been the nature of secrecy around all the projects at the research facility in Turin – there were very few data files on the science being explored on that base. But in transferring the Turin personnel out, with a contingent of them going to Geneva, he pours over all the documentation and the only he finds is the transfer of a high-level asset referred to only as Waffe SR4718. He easily knows the German word for weapon, and without missing a beat Bucky knows the letters and numbers are supposed to seem random but clearly refer to Steve Rogers whose birthdate is the fourth day of the seventh month in the eighteenth year of the previous century. It’s innocuous to anyone coming across it, but abundantly clear that it’s specific for those who were supposed to know.

With all Bucky knows of his own time with Hydra, how there were always layers within layers, secrets buried, hidden, withheld, he’s certain the acquisition of Steve and metamorphosis into Captain Hydra is as dark and as quiet as his own existence as the Winter Soldier.

There are quarters assigned to Waffe SR4718, and Bucky tags it track all status alerts – comings and goings, services, requests. He also puts the cameras for that hallway up on a constant feed monitoring protocol with the AI he’s adapted to bring up the imagery if there’s any movement in or out of the door.

Knowing you’re in heat, Bucky concentrates on new extraction tactics and mapping out escape options from this new facility.

But at three in the morning during the second night in Geneva – the second night of your heat – the door movement alert goes off, and Bucky immediately turns his attention to watch as Steve slowly emerges.

Why would he have any reason to leave you during your heat? He knows he could order food, clothing, bedding, medical personnel if absolutely necessary…

A quick check of the log shows that there have been no such requests.

And then he sees the unthinkable.

You’re right there behind him, following as he starts to make his way down the hall, dressed in darker clothing as he is. He has a small tactical pack slung across his back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The question is only uttered out of frustration and disbelief because he could immediately decipher what is happening.

As precarious as it is to interfere with your heat, the two of you are clearly on the move.

The other alpha has no intention of staying at this base.

But why?

His mind begins deciphering even as he’s pulling up security cameras as the pair of you move through the facility, tracking your movements and actions.

The calculated risk is to get out when you’re supposed to be in heat. Bucky did see that status reported on the log – omega in heat. The protocols were to leave alpha and omega Hydra personnel undisturbed unless a priority one situation developed – typically reserved for life or death and rarely anything less urgent or pressing. It meant no one would think to check after the asset immediately. Even if an alpha skipped regular ordering for a meal or two to the living quarters, that wouldn’t be taken as out of the ordinary, merely unnecessary or forgotten due to being otherwise occupied, or deciding to make do with the food already with them.

The movement logically progresses toward the transportation hangar under the building – intending to employ ground transport.

On the way, the two of you duck into a room and close the door. Bucky accesses the schematics to discover it’s a data analytics workspace – cooperative computer sharing area. There weren’t any goons to hide from, so Bucky works quickly, trying to pull up the specific workstations in there. He sees the log in for a science officer. The user accesses the personnel transfer files for everyone from the Turin base submitted due to the evacuation. Four names are brought up on the roster and their locations are changed from Turin to the other the other bases anyone from Turin was reassigned to – a pair of them to Odessa, the other pair to Trondheim.

Subterfuge. He’s displacing security agents – or at least their location statuses.

Bucky frowns.

The rest of your course takes you directly to the vehicle hangar. Moving in the dead of night has capitalized on as few people as possible moving around the base for you to encounter, and it paid off. The other alpha selects a smaller SUV, loads some readily available weapons and supplies from the nearby vicinity into the back and then – faster than lightning – he withdraws something from a pocket near his chest, presses it over your mouth, and Bucky can see you seize up and then slump into his arms. He tucks you in amongst the supplies before throwing a canvas over everything and closing the hatchback.

Clearly you had been cooperating with this escape, so why was it necessary to knock you out?

Then he leaves the vehicle, leaves the hangar, goes back up two floors to the security personnel floor, and knocks on one of the doors.

Bucky accesses the database to see who’s assigned to that room as he watches this man converse briefly with whoever answers the door.

The two names assigned to the room match the two names reassigned to the Trondheim base on the evacuation transfer records.

“What larger game are you playing, Captain Hydra?” Bucky murmurs.

Because it’s back down to the hangar and the SUV with you stashed in the back, but then he waits.

And within five minutes, two men in full tactical gear get in the vehicle as well, and only then does he start up the car and leave. There’s a tracking device on this vehicle, so Bucky starts to pack up his tech, and pulls up the tracking on his smartphone.

He’s about to shut and pack away his laptop when he thinks of doing one more thing. It will take time, and this is why he knows Captain Hydra didn’t do it, but it will be worth it. But after his time in Wakandan labs and building up his own robust systems, within twenty-five minutes, Bucky has gone through the security camera system and successfully removed all footage of you and the captain moving throughout the base, rewriting it with the empty hallways from just before and after, effectively erasing the evidence of your escape. This will buy more time. No one may have thought to look for any movement in and out of Waffe SR4718’s quarters, but now they won’t find it when they ultimately go back and try, extending Bucky’s time to tail you without Hydra in the mix. They will assume the alpha and omega are still in heat seclusion now without any reason to doubt it.

Bucky leaves his temporary Geneva hideout with the essentials he arrived with. He chose this location because it was two streets down from one of the larger private car services in Switzerland. Bucky knows he can pass as a mechanic with his clothing, and the service staff works overnight to keep up maintenance for the large fleet of vehicles that provide VIP transportation, airport pick up and drop off, limousine transfers, corporate chauffeur services, ski transfers, and event chauffeuring. Acquiring a non-descript vehicle is as easy as he hoped, and it’s more than simple to de-activate this car’s GPS tracking system.

Within half an hour, he’s comfortably in pursuit. The vehicle he’s tracking has maintained its course and is an hour out of the city now, but an hour ahead is reasonable.

When the Hydra vehicle is three hours outside of Geneva, it makes its first stop. Bucky presses a button on his phone to pin the location. The stop is for less than five minutes, and then it continues, but Bucky will stop there as well to assess the purpose and glean any information he can.

Bucky is an assertive driver, making up speed, but not at a point to draw attention. When he reaches the pin he’d set on the route for the stop your vehicle had made, it’s on a bridge.

There’s only one reason Bucky can think of to stop on a bridge.

A reason that could make Bucky’s heart stop with devastation, but he must continue to operate under the assumption it wasn’t your body dumped into the river. Anything else wouldn’t make sense.

Unless the other alpha has become completely unhinged and all of this is an elaborate game to drive Bucky beyond all limitations of his own reason.

Within the next two hours, he sees you pass the border into Germany, and then another stop is registered on the GPS tracking near the city of Albstadt. Bucky has made up a significant amount of the head start the other alpha had had. When he arrives in Albstadt, he finds the SUV. It is most likely that this vehicle had been abandoned for another, but Bucky has to stop at this point and tap into security feeds for the city to see whether you’re here or not. He picks a spot that advertises wifi with their sandwiches, refueling his body while setting up his tech in a spot most won’t question him to hunker down for some serious work on a laptop. He gets into the city’s street cameras, sees Steve steal another vehicle, pulls the license plate, and then he programs his algorithm to watch for the number to track the route now. He won’t be able to smoothly follow the route of a GPS-tracked vehicle anymore, but Bucky knew this would grow more difficult. As long as his goal was to draw out the Soldat, Captain Hydra will still leave a trail of breadcrumbs, but it will be scant if he’s trying to evade Hydra.

While Bucky has questions of intent, he has no question that it’s what the Captain is doing now.

Bucky is able to pick up the trail with license plate tracking and route mapping into Stuttgart. All the way to the train station. But this is where the other alpha shows incredible skills for blending in. It’s a busy station. Bucky will have to run thorough security camera assessments of the Stuttgart station, figure out when – or if – they got on a train, and then continue tracking from there. If the alpha and omega got on a train, Bucky can at least narrow his search to that route and its stops for that schedule, but Bucky used train stations to cover his tracks as well, and sometimes that involved never boarding the train but leading anyone tracking him to believe that he had.

With that much information, he writes new coding into his overall system, sends it back to the larger machine he left in Oakland to do the heavy computing so it can start the work he’ll need to fine tune once he can settle in a more permanent stopover, pays for his meal, and then drives to Stuttgart. The hacking into facial recognition has been so enhanced beyond boundaries though – especially because he can tailor it to look for only two faces he knows as well as his own – that he sees the two of your board a train headed west, targets the route, sets up the watch parameters for the schedule, and catches you getting off in Paris.

Another smart move blending into the vibrancy of a large city, but Bucky is sure it’s not the final destination either. But Steve knew enough French to blend into the country, as well.

It takes Bucky and his systems six more days, but he confirms three separate facial recognitions for the other alpha in a town outside of Bordeaux small enough to be off the beaten path but big enough to blend in and go unnoticed by its people.

Bucky travels there as quietly as possible. He does not want to tip his hand. He’s too close now to have you slip through his hands again.

After two more days and with the assistance of satellite imaging, he has found the small house in a forested area outside of the town.

Bucky grips the edge of the small desk he’s been working at, grounding himself. Adrenaline had immediately surged through his veins, but he must keep everything contained. He has practiced so much control and restraint that if his heart betrays him now, he’ll carve it out himself and leave it behind. He cannot compromise this delicate situation.

He drives out to the area and leaves his vehicle well-hidden a kilometer out from the house and approaches on foot, circling at a large perimeter and slowly moving further in, cautiously, taking in everything. He doesn’t want to trip anything the other alpha may have set up to alert him to intruders.

What he discovers is minimal, and all old tactical elements – things they’d done as

Cap and the Howling Commandos back in the old war.

Effectively things that would have worked on anyone from this day and age but that only Bucky would know to look for.

He doesn’t trust it.

This is another trap.

But he has to walk into it and fare as best he can.

That’s what Captain Hydra had said was his plan from the beginning – draw out the Soldat.

The White Wolf would enter the trap but would need to control it and come out on the other side with his omega.

He can’t even think those words without his pulse racing now, and he digs his vibranium fingers into the trunk of the tree under his hand, splintering the wood while he closes his eyes and stamps down everything that wants him to sprint to the house he can see, break down the door, and launch himself into your arms.

He timed his approach when he’d seen the other alpha leave – likely for more food and supplies – but he knew the time alone would be limited.

Bucky takes measured but determined steps to the green wooden front door of what’s essentially a little cottage.

Straining his ears and focusing on his enhanced hearing, he doesn’t pick up anything beyond ambient noises – and your soft, slow breathing.

He takes a deep breath, slowly twists the doorknob, and opens the door.

There you are, curled up in a cozy armchair, dozing, hand pressed up against the spine of a book that has fallen to your chest after you clearly fell asleep reading, and this.

This simple scene nearly knocks him to his knees.

The way you’re there, feet away from him, it’s the most beautiful sight of his entire life.

But still, he is quiet, cautious.

His entire chest aches for you.

He shuts the door softly behind him, then crosses the small living room and kneels next to you. He eases the book out of your hands and puts it on the small side table. He’s done this before so many times. You make a slight hum through your sleep.

Brushing his fingers over your cheek is almost enough to make the nightmare of the last six weeks vanish as if it really had only been a nightmare.

He almost doesn’t dare to breathe.

But the warmth of his hand against your skin evidently reaches in to stir something in your subconscious, because you shift slightly, sigh, and tilt your head into his touch and murmur, “Bucky…”

The stutter of his chest is both painful and euphoric at once, and everything wells up in his chest, everything he’s been holding back.

He drops his hand from your cheek to your shoulder, gently trying to nudge you awake.

Coming back into consciousness, you take in a deep breath before blinking your eyes open. Your gaze drifts to him, and then your body seizes up one moment, and the next you’re scrambling up and away from him, whipping over the back of the armchair you’d been curled up in.

“Bucky?” your voice comes out in a wounded whimper of a tone that pierces him, confounds him.

“Yes, it’s me,” he answers, brow furrowing. He hadn’t allowed himself to think over what this moment was going to be like – he knew the fixation would have been too painful to hope over – but it was not supposed to be this, with you looking at him with caution, with hesitancy, with your guard up.

“Omega?” he questions tentatively, rising from where he’d been crouched on the floor.

You don’t move your position, but you draw yourself up to your full height as well.

Bucky maneuvers around the furniture, wanting to remove the barrier between you, but he changes his position slowly, allowing you time to retreat if you feel compelled to. You hold your ground but do keep yourself squared off facing him as he moves. He does what he hasn’t done since this ordeal began and definitively opens up the gateway of the bond between you, tentatively reaching out, trying to read you.

Your mood is hard, and it doesn’t fluctuate. There’s a steady mix of fear, doubt, and what he thinks is exasperation there.

No, it’s more than that.

“You’re angry with me?”

“I’m more than angry with you!” you hurl the words at him and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m livid.”

“I came to you as fast as I could!” He steps closer, and now you step back. He moves closer again, but with a smaller step.

“It’s not that, I know you worked as hard as you could–“

“Then what else could you possibly be upset about, Omega?” His tone is desperate, earnestly seeking the answer, but also tinged with a warning he can’t help from bleeding into the question.

“I couldn’t feel you.” The anger gives way to let the anguish of your words bleed through, and they sweep over both of you. “You cut yourself off from me. I was desolate and scared and alone, and you withdrew any hint of our connection.”

He steps forward once more, finally close enough to reach for you, and as he continues to close the distance, you unfold one of your arms and backhand slap him. “I needed you!”

Bucky staggers a step back from the raw force you hurled at him, but it only takes him the space of a breath for him to recover enough, and he surges forward and pulls you into his arms, uttering your name the way one pleads in a fraught prayer. You try and push against his chest and squirm out of his arms, but he only secures you more firmly, holding you dearly and desperately to him.

“I needed you,” you sob out. Instead of continuing to try to struggle away from him, to hold your hurt at bay, he feels you stop fighting and the turn as you let everything out. He holds you, soothing you, but not trying to quell any of this yet. He knows everything you’re feeling is warranted, can feel now that you held back as much as he did while you were apart. Endured as much hurt as he did – more in many ways. He won’t tell you to settle down, because the hurt needs to be acknowledged and not minimized.

Once your chest is no longer wracked with sobs, when your crying has abated from steady streams of tears to the small sniffling, he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. Then Bucky decisively nuzzles his face down into the crook of your neck. Slowly, tentatively, he presses his lips to the place he claimed and bonded you as his omega, his mate. You whimper, but your hands clutch at his shirt, and the immediate flood of relief, of love, of devotion, washes over you both. He can feel it, he knows you feel it.

His large hands are planted firmly on your back, one at the curve of your spine, and one between your shoulder blades, pressing you as close together as he possibly can. He plants a longer, more concentrated kiss to the mark, and your right hand slides up to thread your fingers into his hair and press him closer.

The more he kisses into your neck, the more whole he feels. He had ignored the hollow, empty feeling in his chest, had truly rejected all feeling, as cold and empty as he’d operated while being the Winter Soldier. He’s feeling human again. Himself again – or at least it’s all coming back to him now.

He doesn’t even realize when your body has fully melted into him, too caught up in the mending of the connection, but then you’re urging his face up away from your neck, but only so you can press your forehead to his, and you say, “I need you, Bucky.”

He nods, and then you kiss him. In a movement familiar to you both, his hand moves down, curving over your ass and to the back of your thigh, and he picks you up. Your legs wrap around him as you deepen the kiss, nipping at his lips. He carries you across the big open space to where there’s a bed in the far corner.

He sets you down gently on your feet, and his hands are already reaching for the hem of your shirt, and you readily lift your arms so he can pull it cleanly off your body. You’re reaching for his belt, and he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. Your lips eagerly seek each other as much as they can. You push his dark jeans down, and he huffs and sits down at the foot of the bed so he can hastily unlace and yank his boots off, so he can shuck his pants off all the way. When he raises his head, you stand before him in nothing but your simple underwear, one hand pressed against your torso, biting your lip.

You’re so damn beautiful to him, his heart aches again at the sight of you nearly naked before him again after so long torn apart.

He reaches for you, and though you don’t hesitate to take his hand, as he tugs you into his lap, your thighs straddling either side of his hips, he doesn’t miss the slight tremble of your body, and it kills him but there’s a deep part of him that resonates, recognizes the feeling. The separation had been hell on an alpha and omega level, and this is still too much, overwhelming, and altogether not nearly enough to soothe the deep loneliness he had pushed beneath the surface. His arms wrap around you again. While your left arm wraps around his neck, your right hand roams over his bare skin – shoulder, arms, chest, neck, face – questing to rememorize him.

He wants to be inside you, but having your chest pressed into to his chest, it’s like your heartbeats are syncing back together, and he almost needs this more. The side of your face rests against his, and the way he can hear you breathe in and out right next to his ear, can feel the warmth of every exhale, it’s yet another inimitable balm he didn’t know he longed for.

He murmurs your name softly against your shoulder.

“Mmm?”

He knows you can tell he’s working out something to say. Every season you two had been together had been time you had worked to only continually knit your souls more tightly to each other, not only to love each other more, but to understand each other, to work together, to support and lean into each other as true partners.

It had made the separation all the more painful.

He squeezes you more tightly for a moment, then inhales to speak. “I need to tell you why I put up the walls I did.”

He feels you tense slightly in his arms – of course he does, there’s no way for him to miss it any more than there was any chance for you to try and hide it when this intimately entwined. He bestows a soft, light kiss to your bonding mark, and you whimper, but turn your head to brush your lips over his cheek, and then both of you draw back just enough to look at each other.

“I’ll never know if it was the right or wrong thing to do to you, but it felt like the only way I could hope to survive navigating back to you. Immediately I knew I couldn’t allow the anguish of pain and anger I was feeling to flood to you when I knew you were living your own nightmare. When I held that back, the way Hydra had conditioned me to repress all feelings when I was their fist resurfaced, and I knew shelving the emotions would leave me to focus and be more effective in everything I was doing to track you and find you.”

“Bucky,” you start, but he shakes his head slightly, his eyes pleading for you to let him continue. You give a little huff. “Okay.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and he pecks your lips before going on. “When I was closing in on where they were keeping you, I didn’t want to alert you and have you have to worry about how to hide that.”

“That’s a fair strategic tactic,” you grudgingly admit.

He grins at your tone, but it abates quickly. “I also…”

He pauses for half a beat and takes a breath to steel his resolve because you deserve his raw honesty as it’s still a concern in play.

“Also what?”

“I didn’t know how much of our bond he would feel. I didn’t want to tip him off, but I – I didn’t want to feel what might go the other way and bleed from him through you either.”

“Oh, Buck,” you bury your head into the crook of his neck now, nuzzling against the bonding mark you’d given him. “Our bond is ours, not his.”

“It’s not?”

“No, no,” you press quick successive kisses against your bonding mark on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “You might feel the wake of what I feel from his bond to me, but the ties to each of you are very distinct within me. I’m especially sure of it now that ours isn’t dormant anymore.”

He holds you close while he sorts through this revelation from you. “I didn’t know – and I was worried if I felt him it would either devastate or enrage me and either way make me overrule logic and slip up, do something rash.”

“Now I understand,” you speak right into his ear. “Concentrate though, what do you feel right now?”

He breathes in. Breathes out. Another breath in. Out.

“Only you,” he says, no question.

Your lips drift back down his neck, and you press an insistent kiss to your claim on him this time, then you open your lips and suck over the spot.

Bucky shivers and groans, and you wince and laugh when his arms flex around you so tightly it actually hurts. Because he reacts so strongly, it doesn’t shock him in the slightest that you’re spurred on to seek more, but now he’s ready, so when you’ve satisfied with your initial torment and he feels you slot your teeth over the mark, he bares his neck, ready when you bite down to renew your claim on him, and he shouts – euphoric, flooded and overwhelmed with the way everything opens in such a raw way when a bonding mark is refreshed.

It drives you to rock your hips against him. You’re both still in those last pieces of underwear, but the friction of your cunt against his cock is glorious, and he can’t help the satisfied rumble in his chest in answer to the simple action.

His hand clamps on your plump, round ass, and he pushes you hard against him and holds you there – he doesn’t want the rocking, for a moment he just wants the intense pressure, the reality that you’re here with him.

You crash your lips to his desperately. He slants his head and works his tongue along the seam of your mouth, which willingly parts for him, an open moan passing between you both, your tongue inviting him into your mouth, stroking against his. Both of you fiercely hold onto each other, keeping that close chest to chest contact while you kiss more than you breathe. When you ultimately have to break off from each other to get air back in your lungs, the heaving expansion of your ribcages against each other is such a simple but intense intimacy, breaths mingling – another moment that adds to the replenishment for how much his soul had been depleted without you.

“Need you inside me,” you plead.

He nods while turning and tossing you onto the bed.

As he climbs up to join you, you quip, “No more clothes, Alpha.”

“Bossy Omega,” he chuckles, but complies in pushing his boxer briefs down and tossing them away.

You quirk your lips. “Give me what I need, and I won’t need to be so demanding.”

He growls, but it’s teasing, the feeling in his heart is a light one, a feeling he feels echoed in you, lines of it running through the overwhelming need.

Bucky moves up the bed, hooks his fingers beneath the band of your underwear, and you lift your hips so he can remove them immediately. He leans down and presses a broad flat lick of his tongue over your hip bone, causing you to squirm – desire and a sensitive spot of skin he discovered on your years ago. “I know what you need, Omega.”

“Yes, Alpha,” you nod eagerly, and he flips you over onto your stomach

He hears your breath hitch. He knows you love roughness and to be handled as often as you love softness, but the latter isn’t what you need right now. He crawls up over you and plants his left arm up by your shoulder while he slots himself between your legs. Your left hand finds his, twining your fingers together while he lines up his cock with your slick entrance, and the sigh of ecstasy that escapes you as he pushes his length in sings in his ears. The feeling of your warm channel gripping him is better than he remembered – or at least it feels that way – and he tries to push in as slowly as he can to savor coming home to where he belongs inside you, but it’s not nearly as slow as he wants it to be.

Once he’s fully sheathed in you, he kisses your shoulder, then nips along until he’s at the juncture of your neck, and you keen and bare your neck to him. He licks over his bonding mark, then bites down, reclaiming you, and you cry out, body thrumming beneath him. He starts to move behind you, pulling his hips back before thrusting back in. Your right leg hitches back to tangle up and over his, urging him on. He grips your hip, and then he fucks you. It’s the most primal it’s ever felt with you, the force of it rocking the bed to knock against the wall, and he almost worries about whether or not it’s too much, but you rock back against him, meeting his thrusts as much as you can in your prone position, eagerly taking all of him.

“That’s it, darling, take my hard cock inside you,” he urges you both on.

You sob out a breathless, “Yes,” that makes his chest rumble in satisfaction.

He can feel your cunt fluttering around him, can feel you on the edge of ecstasy, but it also feels like you’re refusing to fall over the edge.

“Come on, darling, let go.”

“No.”

That shocks him but doesn’t slow him down.

He maintains his pace and slips his hand down between you and the mattress, cupping your pussy and finding your clit. “Yes.” He starts to rub quick, concentrated circles over your tight bundle of nerves.

You shake your head desperately. “No, I don’t want it to end,” the words tumble out, and he hears the sound of you crying again.

“Omega, I will give you more. I’ll give you as much as you need, but I need you to give in to this, surrender and fall over the edge with me again.”

“Bucky!” you cry out as you’re unreservedly flung over the edge. Your cunt clamping down on him was the last of what he needed to reach his own climax, and so his shout echoes your own, and he exerts those final thrusts to pump his seed deep within you.

He stays sheathed within you but rolls both of you to your sides, brackets his arm around your waist, and keeps you close, nuzzling into your neck. You sink back against him, resting your arm over his and threading your fingers together.

“That was…”

He nudges your chin for you to turn your head back so he can kiss away the tears that escaped during the emotions that came through there at that end.

“Intense?”

“Yes.”

“We both needed it, Omega. I need you as much as you need me. Do not doubt it.” You shiver in his arms, and he swears, “I’ll make sure you never question it again.”

“Never let me go.”

“Never again.”

You shift and turn over to face him. He’s just as content to wrap you in his arms this way. You tangle your legs with his as you have so many times before. This is so familiar.

You brush your fingers over his face, retracing the lines and angles that define him, and he watches your face as your eyes drink in his features.

“I’m yours, Omega,” he says in a quiet, low tone.

A soft smile lifts the curve of your mouth. Your hand cradles his jaw and beckons him in to kiss you, and he is happy to acquiesce. The kisses he shares with you now are slow, solemn promises of lips and tongues, heated but not demanding.

When you eventually come up for air, you tuck yourself more closely into his chest, humming with contentment. He’s half hard again, and the frantic last moments of the sex he shared with you flashes back to the forefront of his mind. “I promised to give you more. What do you need from me? Tell me how I can please you, how I can love you.”

You reach up and press your fingers delicately against his bonding mark. “Just this. Hold me. I only need to be with you.”

He can feel how true it is as your fingers stroke lightly over the place where you claimed him all those years ago, reclaimed him here in this bed, flooding him with more peace. His brushes his lips over your forehead. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

There’s a little chirp that bubbles up out of you when he calls you sweetheart again, and it makes him just as happy as it does you. He slowly caresses your back, hand moving up and down, up and down, in a soothing motion, soothing himself as much as you.

There is still so much ahead for you both, but this – your connection to each other – he can feel that again so strongly. He never doubted it, but after being deprived, the return of how powerful it is engulfs him. This will anchor him through what’s coming.

“Buck?” you murmur against his neck.

“Mmm?”

“I can tell your brain is beginning to work away from here.”

He sighs. “Can you blame me?”

“No, but talk to me, take me with you if you’re going to think.”

“There’s so much to think through.”

“Start with one thing.”

You’ve done this with him before – late nights, afternoons, mornings, on a drive, on a walk, sharing a meal – you could always feel when he started to get tied up in his brain with his thoughts, and you’d listen, ask questions, sift through with him. He was perfectly capable of sorting through things on his own, but sharing with you made it altogether different. It was one of the best parts of having you as his mate.

“Why…?” He frowns and trails off. “No, nevermind.”

“No, Buck. I worked hard to soothe and relax my alpha. I want this gift of respite with you, however brief it is, and whatever string you don’t want to tug on first clearly is one that’s important.”

He nips your shoulder. “My gutsy omega.”

“Alpha,” you press, also literally pressing a finger insistently against his chest.

“Alright…” His tone turns serious. “Why didn’t you try to escape – especially here where he leaves you alone sometimes?” From the way he’d found you, it was clear this wasn’t an anomaly.

You cluck your tongue impatiently and roll your eyes. “First, how was I reasonably supposed to outrun him, hide from him, and try to find you? I don’t have any of the tactical skills or training you two do.”

“Fair enough. And second?” The first point is obvious now that he’s asked it and heard you answer, but he wants to hear the rest of what you have to say.

“Second,” you continue, your tone altering to something more somber, “he took me to lure you to him, so the most logical thing was to stay and wait for you.”

“Ah,” Bucky nods, the smallest of smiles taking over his mouth. “My smart omega.”

“And third,” you continue, though your words tone is cautious now, and you drop your eyes to his chest.

“Yes?” he urges you to finish the thought.

“He’s my alpha, too.”

This isn’t news – he’s known it from the second he witnessed that bite to claim you, he thought of it frequently while he was hunting for you both, he knew it would be the new reality, you’d even discussed the two bonds together in this bed – and yet having to think about it yet again in this light is still straining on him.

Clearly you feel his unrest, because your hands come up to cup his face and basically attempt to soothe him with gentle but insistent strokes along his jaw. “Bucky, I’m always going to be yours.”

He sighs and angles his head down to touch his forehead to yours. “I know.”

And it’s not jealousy that drives his unrest – it’s the not knowing what this means, not right now and not for the future. He’s started thinking about possibilities, but he’s limited until he can confront the other alpha. So, he decides to concentrate on what it has meant so far.

He makes sure his tone is soft but serious when he asks, “Did he hurt you?”

You’re quiet for a beat, then say, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Bucky starts to sit up, but you pull him back down to the mattress, trying earnestly to soothe him. “What he did hurt us both, and it was meant to hurt. It was absolutely calculated. But they broke him, Bucky. They tortured him and tried to make him comply for weeks. They were experimenting on Sam, trying to pull the science they could from old records on you and what they could pull from analyzing Steve’s blood, but they weren’t having success, and so they enacted their last use for Sam – and they killed him in front of Steve. It destroyed him.”

Bucky’s own chest aches as he listens, throbbing painfully at this reveal, and his vibranium hand fists the sheet.

“And when he was at his most devastated and spent emotionally, what I have been able to piece together is that that’s when he couldn’t stand to feel anymore, shut off his emotions – or his humanity more like, and it’s his humanity that made him Steve. That’s when they were able to take over and mold him into the fist they wanted in Captain Hydra.”

Hurt, anger, the horror of his own past life as the Winter Soldier, it’s surging through his veins, but you continue.

“So that night in Wakanda? That was Captain Hydra at his height of cruelty. I haven’t seen that iteration of him since that night. It’s been slow, but he’s different now. He’s not our Steve, but he’s not Captain Hydra.”

It’s a few moments before he registers that you’re done – at least with that piece of sharing.

He cups your jaw and looks into your eyes. “Do you trust him?”

He sees you clearly put thought into your words before answering, worrying your bottom lip. “The heat he and I shared was intense in every way. It changed things fundamentally between us, but since the heat our connection has still been very tenuous. We’ve both been very guarded with each other. I know he’ll keep me safe, but I’m still wary of him.”

He nods.

“Where is he right now?”

A wry laugh tumbles out of your chest. “I don’t even know where we are right now, Bucky. I know we got off a train in Bordeaux, but then he moved us here while I was in one of my heavy end of heat sleeps. From the food, books, and supplies he’s brought for us, I know we’re in France, but that’s it. There’s not a lick of technology kept in here while I’m alone. We don’t even a radio.”

Bucky grunts at this news. He doesn’t like this, but other than being kept here cut off from the rest of the world and having claimed you and separated you in the first place, it seems you’ve been appropriately cared for.

“Wait, no radio?” He growls. Bucky had looked away to consider the new information, but his eyes snap to you again. “Have you had any music?”

“No,” you groan, and he can feel the pained irritation.

“That won’t do.”

He quickly rolls off the bed to a small whine of protest from you, but it was so rare that he’d ever been in a space with you and there hadn’t been music playing – loud for you to sing, or low in the background keeping you company – and this is something he can fix easily.

He fishes the small communications device he had put together out of the pocket of his discarded pants, then comes back to sit on the foot of the bed and begins typing away. You’re quick to crawl up behind him, and you wrap your arms around his chest and settle your chin on his shoulder while he works. You don’t see the smile that breaks across his face as he feels your excited impatience radiate off you, having figured out what he’s doing. It’s so palpable he wouldn’t have needed your emotional bond as alpha and omega to sense it.

Once he’s modified his device to play music, it doesn’t take him much longer to hack into your music account. He pulls up the list of your most-played songs, picks one that he thinks will be perfect for this moment, and hits play.

You croon with joy and then fall back on the bed, arms spread out in pure rapture. He beams and then crawls up next to you, handing you the device. You hold it close to your chest with one hand and pull him in for a kiss with the other.

You break off the kiss so you can sing along to the chorus, and he laughs. He knows exactly the last time he felt this happy: the last day by the river with you in Wakanda. When the chorus is over, you actually kick your feet in delight, grinning at him. You kiss his nose, scoot your body as close to him as possible, then settle back into the mattress and pull his arm to rest over your stomach.

The two of you talk, sing, and continue to hold each other for a while. A string of two or three softer songs play, and you and up drifting into sleep, late afternoon sun pouring over both of you, its warmth too much for you to ignore after the physically and emotionally exhausting afternoon. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, his hand over your heart, no thought for time. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to take his eyes off you. How did he survive without you for all those weeks?

A flare of light across the room pulls his focus though. It’s a repetitive flashing coming through the window to the wall.

Morse code. His blissful mood evaporates.

C-O-M-E O-U-T-S-I-D-E

The other alpha is out there, summoning him.

He identifies which window the light is being directed into, then pads over, and releases the drape to cover the window, pulls it back, covers it again, and then secures it back in its open state. The other alpha will know he’s received the message.

Bucky has referred to him as the other alpha for so long now, but he’s ultimately about to discover who this man is. You say he’s no longer The Captain Hydra that he was, but not yet his Steve either.

He doesn’t hurry getting dressed. The other alpha isn’t going anywhere. He’s waited this long. He can continue to wait.

Bucky takes a long look at you from across the room before he leaves.

He’s relatively sure he will come back to you. There’s only one outcome that will keep him away, and now that he knows the potential danger, he won’t let this man ambush him ever again.

Bucky stalks as carefully to the tree line where the signal had come from as he had when he’d first approached the little house. He can smell the other alpha on the breeze that rustles through the trees. He tracks him in a kilometer or so – not in the direction Bucky had left his vehicle, but that works fine for him because if he needs to cut and run, he’ll be able to get to you in the house and then continue on to get to the getaway without having to double back and without the other alpha being able to cut off the route.

Bucky will think through every possible scenario as each moment of this unfolds.

His brain got him here.

His brain can get him out.

He will keep you safe.

The scent he’s known nearly his whole life grows stronger, and when he reaches a small pocket of the forest devoid of trees – not quite large enough to be called a clearing – instead of slipping silently out of the shadows, the other alpha steps out unabashedly to meet him.

“What took you so long, Buck?” he has the gall to ask, his voice barely covering notes of anger.

Bucky roars and hurls himself at the man standing before him, taking him to the ground easily, and they scramble against each other. They’re so closely matched in skill, prowess, and power, and the energy they’re both exuding is raw, primal, and angry. Bucky is incredulous that the other man is angry with him.

His own rage lands him a punch. He takes a blow to the ribs, and the other alpha gets a hand on the collar of his shirt, resulting in a tear, but it allows Bucky to grab his wrist, twist him around harshly, and pin the arm behind his back as he decisively thumps him into the ground, pinning him there.

The man beneath him only makes two attempts to struggle and shift out from under his hold, but then he sighs and sags into the tall grass they’ve been tussling in.

Is he feinting?

Bucky honestly doesn’t know.

“Who am I talking to?” he asks – the same line of inquiry Steve used on him in an abandoned warehouse outside of Berlin.

He knows it, letting out a guffaw beneath him. “I’m not him anymore.”

“Not who?”

“I’m no longer their Captain Hydra,” he pauses before adding, “but I’m not the kid from Brooklyn either.”

Bucky knows they’re not going to stay like this forever, and he needs to see this man’s face and look into his eyes if he’s going to be able to sort out any of this, so as swiftly as he can, he releases the alpha, pushes himself up, and takes a wary stance a few meters away.

Steve remains on the ground, but rolls over and sits up, planting his feet on the ground, and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It’s almost a casual.

Bucky will have the advantage of already being up on his feet if the man before him tries anything.

Bucky needs to know how to read whoever this is, so he decides to go with a different line of questioning – things that are more cut and dry.

“When you left the base in Geneva, there were two Hydra security with you. You stopped over a bridge two hours into your journey, and they weren’t with you when you switched vehicles in Albstadt. Who were they, and why the elaborate ruse only to drop them in a river so quickly?”

Rather than being surprised, it seemed he was satisfied that Bucky knew this much about what had played out. “Alright, we can start there. Leaving under the initial guise of a mission on security footage was supposed to be helpful when they started looking for me.”

“And why move the records of their transfer files to other facilities with two others?”

“I’m glad you picked up on that, too. Buying more time for some missing personnel before it was suspect and they figured out they really didn’t know where they were.”

“And why them?”

“Arbitrary.”

“Bullshit. You’ve gone on solo missions as Captain Hydra and you didn’t buy enough extra time by leaving with a two-man team to make it worth the set up only to drop them in the river without a reason.”

Steve’s brows knit together, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering. “One was arbitrary. He just happened to be the roommate of my target. The one I was after? He was part of the extraction team who took our omega out of Turin. Specifically, he’s the one who handled her so roughly she had bruises from his casual brute strength. I watched the footage to figure out who hurt her.”

Bucky cocked his head and studied the man before him.

“I had only been an alpha to her for a month and I was willing to kill someone who harmed her. What are you going to do to me, Buck?”

Bucky turned and paced way, running his hands through his hair. He didn’t want to show this much unrest in front of the other alpha, but he was thinking and feeling so much, trying to read and decipher too many pieces.

He lets out a long exhale and just speaks the truth. He can’t try and take any other angle. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Before all of this, if there had ever been a situation in which Bucky would have needed to trust someone else to keep you safe, Steve would have been his immediate answer.

Steve waits silently.

There are so many questions he wants answers to, and so he starts asking them. The answers don’t shock him, and he can see that even when Steve doesn’t tell him the full truth, it’s a cautious guarding of information, but he detects no lies in any of it. That Steve has some guards up also seems tenuous, possibly temporary, like if he can only ask the right question, the tide will turn.

But it couldn’t be that simple with Steve, could it?

And when did he start to think of him as Steve again?

Bucky deals out one of the questions he’s had the longest, since the very beginning of this. “What you said that night in Wakanda – you did all of this to draw me out. Why?”

Steve lets it hang in the air for a moment, but Bucky can see this is a crux for this conversation with him, too.

“I can’t explain everything that went into that plan – I don’t know if the machine of Captain Hydra was fully in control or if part of the old me was trying to grasp at you as a lifeline, but as the weeks wore on, the strategist in me knew he needed either the Soldat to join him or his best friend to save him.”

Those words sink into Bucky, and he can understand that explanation as no one else in this world can.

“What took you so long?” Steve asks again, but this time it’s tinged only with angst, not anger.

The accusation in it unsettles Bucky.

He’s still not sure how to address the question, but he starts with, “The Soldat is gone. The Winter Soldier? Not who I needed to be to get here either.”

Steve pushes up from the ground but maintains the distance Bucky put between them. “Who are you now then?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Depends on who’s standing in front of me.”

Steve looks off into the trees for a moment – in the direction of the cottage.

Bucky’s instincts have failed him less than a handful of times.

They’re telling him now that’s where to start, even though he’s not sure exactly where it will end. “I’ve seen a lot of versions of you – my childhood best friend, the punk who couldn’t stay out of trouble, the stars and stripes symbol, Captain America, the target who wouldn’t let me assassinate him and then refused to finish me off in the hellicarrier, the Cap who went against the Accords, Nomad in exile – but always Steve. You’ll never be who you were before – I never was. Doesn’t mean you’re irredeemable.”

Steve scoffs. “It’s not that easy.”

Bucky gives a wry laugh and shakes his head. “I more than know that. But you’re shades of all those men right now in front of me. She sees it, too.”

“God, she…” Steve shakes his head, puts one hand on his hip, and scrubs over his face with the other.

“If you can be you, if you can be Steve, she will have you.” He’s not sure where the words came from, but he himself believes them as he says them.

“I don’t know if I can be.”

“Do you want to be?”

Steve doesn’t answer immediately. Bucky can see him sincerely work over the question in his mind. It’s a simple inquiry, but one that will define everything, and Bucky knows he will be completely behind whatever answer he gives because that is the core of who this man is and always has been – fully committed to his convictions.

When Steve says, “Yes,” Bucky can hear the heaviness in his voice. Bucky nods.

“What about you?” Steve asks.

Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he digs back into himself and where his head, his heart, and his gut now sit with all of this. But the answer is clear enough. “Till the end of the line,” he answers.

“Even after I–“

“Stop,” Bucky cuts him off. “I’ve had little more to think about over the last six weeks than us – all of us. And it felt like my heart started beating again when I found her, but you… Before this I never fully understood why you fought so hard to get through to me when I was trying to kill you in DC all those years ago, why you searched for me for years, why you were a goddamn pain in the ass who wouldn’t abandon me in Berlin and believed in me without question, but now I get it. We are in each other’s bones.”

He doesn’t move, but Bucky sees the look change in Steve’s eyes, and he can practically feel the air alter between them. They’ve always had an acute awareness of each other, and Bucky can feel the tentative return of it, like déjà vu even though he’s still figuring out who this Steve is or who he will be.

“When did you start giving Captain America speeches?” Steve finally asks.

Bucky shrugs. “One of us had to do it.”

“What now then?”

Bucky has sketched out many scenarios for how things play out from here, but every stage of this, every new revelation shifts the direction they’re heading. Even in the last two minutes things have significantly shifted again.

Bucky licks his lips and stares at Steve for another beat before he decides to head down a path he hopes is the right one. “You’re always a man with a plan, so you tell me. Tell me where this started, when it changed, where you think it ends. I figured out a lot, I have theories, and I still have questions.”

“We went to Italy to investigate a lead that came up on our radar. We thought it was an innocuous enough whisper about a couple of Hydra scientists. And don’t,“ Steve pauses to pointedly look at him because Bucky was already opening his mouth to argue. “I already know you’re going to say we should have involved you, I thought of it every day they were holding us captive. I thought it the second I heard their boots. It was a week after you left for Wakanda, and Sam–“

He pauses again, and his shoulders fall just a fraction.

“Sam and I weren’t gonna bother you.”

“She told me about Sam,” Bucky says.

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips together. “I told her enough about what happened, but I didn’t tell her everything.” He opens his eyes and meets Bucky’s again. His face is truly haunted, and Bucky nods, his own chest tight. He knows more than enough about that. He had still had to face the demons of his past, but when he was ready, and he had fought to find his way to do that. Steve would find a way, but it would take time, and not likely be the same journey.

“After they killed Sam, they got a raw version of me, shut down, and they went to work conditioning me, shaping me into Captain Hydra. I was too lost to fight anything. I couldn’t save him. I failed us. I didn’t want to be me. It was easy too easy for them to get the version of me they wanted when I was like that.”

There’s a full shift in how Steve lays everything out – and as he shares, Bucky knows it’s still not everything, but he can feel that it’s everything Steve can bear to tell him.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Steve tilts his head and looks off into the forest. “It was and it wasn’t. It will always haunt me.”

“It will, but less and less.”

Bucky walks to the edge of the small clearing and sits on a fallen log. Steve follows him.

“When I was trying to find you after DC and taking down S.H.I.E.L.D. I read everything they had on record about you, how they conditioned you. They used some but not all the same methods on me.”

“I couldn’t find anything on you, and I found more than enough other hidden monstrosities in their networks these past weeks.”

“I think they got smarter after we were hunting them after exposing them – they couldn’t keep everything off the databases, but they have projects now that they keep paper-only, small teams. There was the team that captured us, but after they put us in a holding cell, we were transferred. From that point through the torture, the breaking point, and the conditioning I only saw four faces – three scientists and one officer who became my liaison. When they sent or let me out into the field, I never went with a team of more than four of their men, always the same four. Two of them I ended at that bridge.”

Bucky nods.

Already his mind is calculating – this means they could potentially contain and eliminate all of the people who knew any specifics about Captain Hydra.

“One of the scientists was killed when you stormed the facility in Turin.”

Bucky raises his brows. Even better.

Steve goes on to tell him about how he was sent on a few missions to test his loyalty before he was given the task to bring back the Soldat.

“I didn’t have a chair, and they were very adamant that my point person was my liaison and not a handler, they gave me a fair amount of autonomy. They didn’t want me to drag you in. They wanted you to join me. I think they felt like an asset who had to be controlled could break free as they saw with you the first time around, and this time they wanted operatives who weren’t giving controlled compliance, but allegiance instead.”

Bucky grunted. “A tether rather than a leash.”

“Yeah.”

“But you knew who I was tethered to.”

Steve’s head drops. “Yeah.”

“And you knew I’d be the most vulnerable and off my guard in Wakanda.”

“I did.”

Bucky lets him sit with that discomfort.

Bucky has replayed that night in his mind so many times.

“But your plan changed that night. I didn’t register it in the moment, but everything about you changed the moment you bit into her neck to claim her.”

Steve doesn’t deny it.

“Before you sunk your teeth into her, you were taunting me, dangling her like something to be smashed and discarded, you didn’t even know if it would work, and I think part of you thought it might even kill her.”

Bucky sees Steve’s jaw tick.

“You were in no way prepared for how a bond would change you fundamentally as an alpha.”

“Obviously it didn’t flip a switch immediately, but yes, it altered what I intended to do,” Steve admits.

He goes on to explain some of the things that happened in Turin – missions he went on, how things had developed with you, the clothes, and the books.

“The books were for her?” Bucky breathes. “I saw security footage of you in the bookshop.”

“I wasn’t worried about exposing myself because you were already taking longer than I wanted you to take, but when you didn’t access any of the Avenger networks, bases, or safehouses, I expected you were underground and untraceably hunting for us.”

“What else did you expect?”

“I wanted you to get foolish in your desperation and tip your hand.”

“Not with her on the line.”

“No.” Steve narrows his eyes. “You never left Turin once you showed up on our radar, did you?”

Bucky scoffs. “Course I didn’t.”

Steve nods. “A ploy to see all the defenses of the base.”

“But you left dangerously close to her heat,” Bucky shoots, the disapproving accusation blatant in his tone.

“And that’s when you made your unsuccessful move to get her back. If you’d killed everyone you’d encountered from the beginning, you probably would have made it to her in time.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“No, I know you do.” Steve sighs. “You know, back in 1945, I thought you were dead when you fell off that train.”

Bucky doesn’t interrupt. He knew Steve knew he knew this. They’d touched on it before. But clearly there was more and a reason for Steve to bring it up again now.

“The thing is, when they found you, I know Zola did what he did to you because of me, your tie to me. When they took me and Sam, they tortured him and killed him because of me, again. You were both people I cared about, and you were hurt for it. I was not going to let it happen to her. The sense of responsibility I felt for her had already been growing and evolving, but when I felt that surge of adrenaline and fear through the bond when you attacked the base and they moved her? It had been a slow melting of ice, what was developing there, but that shattered the ice. When I found out they had moved her, I kept my personal weakness guarded, and I knew I would do everything I could to get her out of their web and keep her safe.”

At this admission, Bucky is quiet. So is Steve. Bucky knows Steve is letting him think. There’s so much to consider there – the guilt Steve has still carried for him for years, the fresh hell of Sam, and the fervent determination to keep you from being another victim by association.

He could think over this for much longer, but there are more pieces he still needs context for, so next Bucky asks, “Why did you leave the Geneva facility during her heat?”

“Best cover for time – alphas are given room to take care of their needs during rut or care for omegas if they’re bonded during their omega’s heat.”

It verifies what Bucky had theorized himself.

“But it’s been eight days since you came here.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“And you’ve just…been here.”

“Yeah.”

This is the piece Bucky has been suspicious of now.

“Explain.”

“When I took her to Turin, yes, it was a trap to lure you. When I brought her here, it was to wait for you to find us. I couldn’t find you when you went underground before, and I couldn’t find you this time, and if I tried too hard, I didn’t want to risk Hydra finding us, but I knew if we stayd in one place and I focused on keeping us hidden from Hydra, you could find us.”

Bucky furrows his brow, frowning.

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that,” Steve confirms.

Bucky studies him for another quiet few seconds, then says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, what now?”

“Her,” Bucky replies simply. “We’ve still got a lot of shit to figure out, but we’ve got to do it with her.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Still with me? This was a lot. I hope I've answered some of your questions, and there are some more that have been brought up, but... we're here. We're this far.

This is the single longest story/chapter I've ever published. You can see where I've left off, and there's clearly more story, but Bucky reuniting with his omega and with Steve were the primary objectives, and both of those elements I didn't want to cheat or shorten as they began to unfold. I hope they've truly done justice to these characters and relationships, and we'll see how they can possibly move forward together in the conclusion. These three still have big things ahead.

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers #bucky barnes fan fiction #captain hydra #aspen wrote something #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x reader #omegaverse #marvel omegaverse #warm shadows au #aspen's dark forest fest

212 notes · View notes

fadedncity · 2 years

Text

wc: 5.2k

pairing: hunter!haechan x hunter!reader

cw: supernatural!au, smut, fem!reader, ex friends/fwb to enemies to fwb again, angst, sex pollen, dubcon(?), weapons, violence, gore, character death (non mcs), masturbation (reader receiving), alcohol consumption, fingering, teasing, pet names, unprotected sex

song rec: hypnotic by zella day | if you let me by sinedad harnett | love me up by etta bond | crave by tove lo

"You want me to what?!"

"Come on, there are worse things," Taeyong tried talking you down.

"I'd rather Lilith drag me to hell herself."

"Okay, now you're just being dramatic. Haechan's not that bad."

"Oh, no, he's just an annoying, pompous asshole."

"I-" before he could get in another word, you cut him off.

"Why can't you just send Sungchan? He's one of the newbies. The experience will be good for him anyway."

"I sent him and Shotaro to Oregon with Yuta to take care of a crossroads demon."

"Jaehyun?"

"Vampire nest in France with Jeno."

"Renjun?"

"Shapeshifter in Morocco."

"Kun?"

"On vacation," Taeyong sighed. "Look, you two are some of the best hunters I know, and I really need you on this case. Both of you."

You knew you couldn't keep standing here bitching over this when the real problem was still at large. People were still getting hurt, and you couldn't let your feelings of anguish toward him get in the way of your job.

You rolled your eyes before sighing, "When do we leave?"

"Been waiting on you."

Looking over your shoulder, you glare at the man standing in the doorway of the room designated to be Taeyong's office. Haechan smirked at you before winking. You scoff, turning back to Taeyong.

"You're gonna owe me," you tell him.

"Wouldn't have asked if I wasn't expecting to," he handed you the file, "Safe trip, you two," Taeyong smiled.

"We're leaving in fifteen," you told Haechan, "And we're taking my car."

Haechan held up his hands like he wasn't gonna argue with you about that, which was surprising, but you quickly brushed past it and Haechan out of the room.

"Haechan." Taeyong called him before he left, "Please don't kill each other and make it back in one piece."

"No promises," Haechan said before leaving.

. . .

The first hour was filled with tense silence between the two of you. Every time Haechan tried to start a conversation, you would shut him down, not wanting to hear anything he had to say.

It wasn't until he picked up the file from Taeyong sitting on your dashboard did you finally let him get some words in since he was actually saying something helpful.

"Says there have been four victims in the last five weeks."

"All the same motive?"

"Yeah, all four of them were drained of their blood. Completely."

"Vampires?"

"No teeth marks were found. So, it's no looking likely."

"Any connection between the victims?"

"No, not that I can tell. Aside from living in the same area code, none of these people had anything in common."

"Great, this makes our job much easier. What about a vengeful spirit? Or demon?"

"Could be. But can't say for sure until we get there."

Haechan closed the file and threw it into the backseat.

He sunk into the passenger's seat, about to change the song playing on the radio before you slapped his hand away.

"My car, my music."

Haechan sucked his teeth, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fine. I was gonna try to take a nap anyway."

"Whatever gets you to stop talking."

Glaring over at you one last time, Haechan shifts in the passenger's seat, turning his back to you and shutting his eyes.

Hours have passed, and you've been driving on the dark road with no cars ahead or behind you for miles now. The only thing accompanying you in the darkness was the low hum of music coming from the speakers and Haechan's soft snores.

It didn't even register you had been driving for so long until you started seeing the sun rising from behind the horizon.

Haechan woke up with a stiff neck to find the car at a stop, and you were no longer inside with him. Taking in his surroundings, Haechan realized you had stopped for gas.

You were so spaced out you almost didn't hear him getting out of the car, the slamming of the door bringing your attention to him.

You looked over at the Gemini, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.

"How much longer do we have to go?" Haechan asks.

"Three more hours."

"Okay, you should let me drive," He tells you.

"No-"

"You've been driving all night. It won't do any good if you fall asleep at the wheel and kill us before we can even get there."

He's right. It irks you, having to admit he's right.

You took the pump out of the tank once it was filled and closed the hatch.

You held out your keys, Haechan ready to take them, but you retracted your hand before he could.

"Be gentle with her. This is my baby."

"Baby," he scoffs, "You know I can be gentle when I wanna be," he says, taking your keys and getting into the driver's side.

You were blaming your lack of sleep on the way his words had an effect on you.

You shook the thoughts away and got back into the car, your eyes shutting almost instantly before Haechan could even pull out of the gas station.

. . .

"Oh, you gotta be fucking with me."

Now, this was an upgrade from your usual shitty motels. There was a couch a full bathroom, a minibar, and a queen-sized bed. One queen-sized bed.

And you have no doubt in mind who was probably responsible for this.

"I'm gonna fucking kill Johnny," you mutter.

"Get in line."

You were expecting to have to flip a coin or something.

"You can take the bed. I'll be fine with the couch," Haechan says, settling his things down.

"Suit yourself," you said happily dropping your things and heading towards the bed practically calling your name.

"I'm gonna shower. Then we can head over to the coroner's office?"

"Fine with me. Wake me if I'm not up in an hour." you say resting your head on the pillow.

The bathroom door closed, and you got comfortable on the bed. It wasn't the most comfortable mattress, the bed springs digging into your back, but you've had worse, so you weren't gonna complain. The sound of the water running was the last thing you remember hearing before your eyes fluttered shut, and you drifted off to sleep again.

. . .

You walked out of the morgue, thoroughly annoyed. And feeling Haechan's unbothered presence was pissing you off even more.

Bad enough that Mark thought it would be a funny enough fucking joke to give you fake badges with the same last name, leading the coroner to assume you were married. And instead of correcting her, Haechan thought it would also be funny to play along and act as if you were.

So while you were actually working, examining the bodies, and trying to figure out what was responsible for the deaths of those four people, Haechan was talking up your fake five-year marriage on the spot with the coroner. You know he's good at this part of the job, but there's no reason for him to be this good.

Haechan loosens his tie walking in tow with you back to your car after you finish your questioning.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Haechan says, and you roll your eyes at him. "Alright, when are you gonna pop this hate boner you have for me?" he asks.

You scoff, "Whenever that big ass ego of yours deflates."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Like you don't fucking know," you mutter.

"Yeah, I fucking don't. So why don't you stop acting like a pouty little brat and just tell me."

You didn't say anything, and Haechan sighed.

"I thought you said you weren't mad about that."

"I'm not but that doesn't mean I have to like you after you did it."

"It was two years ago!"

"And it was fucked up. But it's funny enough you keep showing up whenever you think I'm in need of saving."

"Need I remind you I am the one who quite literally saved you from being that werewolf's late night snack?"

You grumble at him under your breath, walking away.

He tries to keep up with your steps, following you to the car.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, and you finally stopped, "For everything. I didn't mean to shut you out. I was just...scared," he admits

"Of what? I thought we were both very clear about where we stood."

"And I still cared about you. You know what it's like getting close to something in this line of work," Haechan tells you, "And I wasn't just gonna let you die for the sake of your own ego. You're too good of a hunter for us to lose."

You didn't even think you still held this much anger towards him until now. You didn't want to anymore, seemingly taking this long to get over it. And it would make this job a lot less painful if you weren't stuck thinking about the past.

"Don't try to flatter me now, Donghyuck." You say, a phantom smirk playing on your lips. "You're still an annoying, pompous asshole," you say.

Haechan snickers, putting his hands in his pockets and walking up to you.

"And you're a heartless, whiny little brat," he smirked at your offended expression. He then stepped back and asked, "Wanna grab breakfast?" quickly changing the subject.

"You really wanna eat now?"

"Can't work on an empty stomach," Haechan says, "I'll buy," he offers.

"Fine. But, after, we're going to the crime scenes."

"Yes, Mrs," Haechan teases, laughing when you shoot him another death glare.

. . .

"You okay?" Haechan asks as he enters the run-down house.

"Yeah," you shake the unsettling feeling and follow in behind him, "We're getting close."

"But we still have time. We just need to find her heart and kill her. Simple."

Yeah, simple.

The one thing you hate about witches is how difficult they make it to hunt them. Using glamour spells to appear as whoever they want or hexing five random people as a part of some ritualistic sacrifice trying to raise something much more malicious back from the dead. They're always unpredictable.

"I'll check upstairs," you tell him.

Haechan nods, heading towards the living room to check the first floor, "Hey, Haechan."

"Yeah?" he turns around.

"Don't be stupid and get yourself killed," you say.

He nods again with a smirk, "You too."

Reaching the top of the stairs, you held up your shotgun as you crept down the halls, carefully checking every room you passed. The floorboards croaked under your weight with each step you took.

It was deathly silent; your ears started to ring. You couldn't even hear Haechan downstairs as you reached the end of the hallway.

You pushed the last door open with the barrel of your gun and started looking around. Different plants and herbs were scattered all over the room, and you made sure to stay a safe distance away, not sure what some of them were.

When you found the room was clear, you lowered your weapon and looked around, finding a book that you could only assume was her grimoire, opened to a page.

Careful flipping through the pages, you find the ritual she was trying to perform, only needing a few more things, including one last victim, before it's complete.

Supplies and ingredients were laid out all over the table, most of the things looking unfamiliar since she was using an older method of magic.

Among the items, a box unlocked. The box holding the witch's heart.

"Now, who's the heartless one," you mumble.

"That one's still up for debate," the voice sent a chill down your spine.

You turn around, aiming your gun, but it's too late.

In her true form, thin skin stretched across the witch's face, baring rotting teeth. You could barely see anything else as she wore a tattered black cloak, the hood covering most of her face.

She grabbed the barrel with long bony fingers, making you miss your shot, and shot the wall behind her instead. Before you could reload, she held out her hand, blowing the contents sitting in her palm in your face.

A floral scent invaded your senses, and your nose felt tingly as you inhaled whatever powder she possessed.

You heard the sound of Haechan calling your name, his footsteps rushing to your location as your body hit the floor.

"You both have been very entertaining to watch. You looking at him when he's not paying attention, and him looking at you once you turn away. Ugh! it's just someing about the secret pining that gets me everytime. So beautiful yet…so painful," the witch looks off dramatically into the distance, "But don't worry now, child. I have freed you of your misery." she speaks, smiling widely.

Before Haechan could get a shot, she moved faster than you'd expect, and she's a lot stronger than you's think for a few centuries-old witch.

"Haechan," you weakly called his name.

He was quickly disarmed and he couldn't seem to be able to move.

"Ah, I get what all the fuss is about. He's even cuter up close. I might save him for myself," the witch wickedly grinned, "You'd make a perfect vessel," she caressed Haechan's face.

Her skeletal fingers wrapped around Haechan's throat, squeezing his airway.

Using all the strength you could muster, you reached for the box with her heart. She fell to the ground, weakly crawling toward you to try and stop you as the shard of glass in your hand pierced through the rotted tissue. She cursed at you as she wailed out in agony.

"You'd do it too, for love," was the last thing she said before burning to ashes.

"Call us even now," you teased Haechan before you toppled in pain.

"You okay?" Haechan rushes to your side.

"No, something's very wrong. It hurts," you whine.

"What? Where?"

"Everywhere. I don't know what the fuck she did to me."

"Okay. We gotta get you outta here," Haechan slung your arm around his neck, helping you to your feet.

You clung onto Haechan, stumbling over your feet, leaving the house with Haechan's arm around you, keeping you upright.

You squirmed in the passenger's seat, the pain getting even worse.

"Haechan, I can't. Everthing fucking hurts," you cry.

Haechan's knuckles turned white from how hard he gripped the wheel, applying more pressure to the gas, rushing back to your hotel.

You felt like you were burning inside out while simultaneously being stabbed. Yet you were thinking about how hot Haechan looked. Maybe the end is near.

Haechan's face was set in a hard line, his jaw clenched as he did about 30 over the speed limit. You found your eyes drifting over to him, distracting yourself for a moment. Haechan's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his arms rippling under his skin as he held onto the steering wheel. From the dark brown strands falling over his eyes to the jeans hugging his thighs so deliciously you couldn't resist the urge to press your thighs together.

Your pain subsided for only a second before you shook those thoughts from your head, and your nerves returned to screaming in agony.

Haechan could care less about how badly he parked the car before running over to your side and helping you out of the car, rushing you into the hotel. Thankfully it was late, and no one was in the lobby other than the receptionist you slipped past without detection.

The moment you entered your room, you pushed Haechan away and locked yourself in the bathroom. You were taking a cold shower to bring your temperature back down, but you couldn't shake the thoughts of Haechan out of your mind. How good he smelled, how his body felt against yours with you tucked into his side, the genuine concern he showed for you-

You didn't even realize you had your hand between your thighs until you finally felt relief, stroking your clit. You bit your lip, trying to conceal any moans threatening to spill out of your lips. You desperately rubbed your clit, feeling the strongest need for release right now.

Your eyes were closed, and all you envisioned behind closed eyelids were Haechan. His face, his voice—everything was overwhelming.

You were already so close to cumming, as you thought of Haechan's fingers instead of your own.

You scraped your nails down the tiled walls, that knot inside you so close to breaking. Until you heard a knock on the door.

"You okay in there?" Haechan asks from the other side.

You snap out of it, opening your eyes as guilt and pain washed over you.

You cleared your throat, "Yeah. I'll be out in a second," you yelled to him.

The shower only helped temporarily. You were lying on the bed, half-naked, a thin layer of sweat covering your entire body.

You tried to wait for Haechan to come back after getting off the phone and hopefully with a solution to this. You were exhausted but still in too much pain to even try sleeping.

Your body jolted, alert once again, hearing the door slamming.

"Haechan?"

He didn't hear you calling his name as he flipped through the pages of the witch's grimoire you snagged from the house before leaving. Once Haechan stopped turning through the book, his eyes bounced around the page, reading whatever was written.

"Haechan?" you call him again.

He tore his eyes away from the page and met your gaze.

"What is it?" you ask.

For once, it seemed Haechan was at a loss for words. And his silence was beginning to scare you.

"Haechan, please just tell me," you pleaded.

He sighs, "If it's what Jaemin think's it is, it was phoenix's blossom she hit you with. It's pretty high grade and usually associated with spells of desire."

You thought this information would've clarified at least a few things, but you were more confused, leaving you with even more questions than answers.

"Okay, then why the hell does it feel like I'm dying?"

"The neglect of the heart's desires will ignite the eternal fires from within. Scorching the soul along with it," he read from the pages.

Fuck me.

You manage to roll out of bed and over to the minibar, pouring yourself a shot of whiskey.

If you're going to die before you're 30, you're going to at least have one last drink if it really is the end.

It was like you could feel Haechan's eyes on you as you poured another drink, the alcohol not being enough to eliminate your pain but numb it enough that it became bearable for you.

You didn't even notice Haechan had moved until he was standing next to you, pouring himself a drink.

He didn't say anything, just sipping on the amber liquid, carefully watching you. He looked at you blankly, and you couldn't tell what he was thinking. You were only starting to focus on how much prettier he looks up close.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you ask him, annoyed with the wordless staring.

"What are you thinking?"

You scoff before downing the rest of your drink without as much as a wince, "What am I thinking? How pissed I am some old hag got the jump on me like this. How I'm gonna haunt Taeyong's ass from beyond the grave. How I'm never getting those twenty bucks Chenle still owes me." you half-joked.

The feeling of Haechan's fingers reaching out for your hand made you finally meet his eyes.

You sighed, "How angry it makes me to look at your face sometimes. How bad I wish things didn't get so fucked up because you were still my friend," you didn't notice he was slowly pulling you closer, "And how badly I miss the way you used to touch me."

He cupped your face, staring into your eyes.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Why should I?"

"Cause I'm tired of looking at your stupid face," you didn't try too hard to push him away.

Your skin burns under his touch when Haechan grabs your waist, "Ah. Was this the same stupid face you were thinking about when you were trying to get off in the shower?"

Haechan teased you when embarrassment took over your face.

"You think I don't remember what you sound like even when you so desperately try to keep quiet."

Haechan cups your jaw, bringing your face closer.

"You don't think I miss the pretty noises you'd make for me."

You could feel the flood of arousal throughout your body, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Haechan's eyes are dark, and when you bring your hand to his cheek, you feel how warm his skin is compared to yours.

"Haechan, you're-"

"I know," was all Haechan said.

The residue of the phoenix's blossom on his clothes was evidence enough.

"This shit feels like poison coursing through my veins. And it is unbearably fucking hot in here. But I can't seem to pull myself away for you," Haechan pulled you flush against him.

"I wanna hear you say it," you stop him with your finger on his lips.

"I want you so bad, it's killing me," he said light-heartedly.

With that, your lips were on his.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, weaving your fingers in his hair. You moaned into his mouth when he pressed your body into the bar behind you.

You swipe your tongue along the seam of his lips, tangling with his before fighting for dominance. Haechan's hands were all over your body. He cupped your breasts over your bra, softly rubbing your sensitive nipples through the material, making you moan against his lips. You push the both of you away from the bar, Haechan blindly leading you to the bed.

His legs hit the bed, and you push him down onto the springy mattress, climbing on top of him. Haechan's hands guided your hips, grinding into his cock, your shorts, and his jeans being the only thing between you. His hands kneaded your ass firmly as you dragged your hips against his.

"Hyuck," you breathe his name. Haechan groans, even more blood rushing to his dick from the way his name sounded rolling off your tongue.

You started pulling on Haechan's shirt until you got it over his head and off his body, now lying on the floor. You trail your lips down his jaw, nipping his skin between his teeth, leaving openmouthed kisses on the side of his neck. Haechan slid his hand over the curve of your ass, sliding up your back, reaching for the clasp on your bra. He couldn't keep his hands off you. Haechan flipped you onto your back before he slipped one of your nipples into his mouth, flicking the perky bud with the tip of his tongue. You arch into Haechan's touch, his saliva covering your areola as he gives the same attention to the opposite one.

Haechan starts kissing down your body. He sinks his teeth into your skin, taking in how responsive you are to him.

Placing one last kiss on your hip, Haechan hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tearing them down your legs along with your soaked panties.

Haechan's intense gaze made you want to close your legs out of embarrassment, but he didn't allow them, keeping them apart with his hands. He runs a finger through your folds, coating his fingers in your slick.

Your hips instantly lift against his hand, and he takes amusement in the way you pouted when he drew his hand away.

"Fuck you," you whine.

"We're getting there, baby. Patience." Haechan doesn't hesitate to bring his fingers to his lips, licking your essence off his hand.

He hums, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. You could've sworn you watched his eyes grow darker; you could barely tell they were brown anymore.

"Taste as good as I remember, angel," Haechan licks his lips.

Bringing his hand back between your thighs, Haechan sinks two fingers into your cunt, easily breaching your walls from how wet you are. Moans bubbled up in your throat, the feeling of his fingers curling against your gummy walls eliminating the excruciating pain you were in.

You grab onto his wrist, rolling your hips into his hand.

"Haechan..please fuck me."

A sound resembling a growl rumbled in his chest, hearing you beg for him.

You pathetically whined when Haechan left you empty and untouched as he started to take off the last thing he was wearing. Kicking his jeans off, letting his boxers be the last to join the rest of the clothes on the floor, Haechan strokes his cock in his hand. Your mouth waters as you press your thighs together at the sight of him.

"You know it's been a minute, baby, and I haven't properly prepped you. Think you can take it?" he teases.

You wrap your hand around his length, squeezing your fist around him, making him curse lowly.

"Can you?" you raise an eyebrow.

Haechan pushes you back onto your back, giving you no warning before slamming into you.

"Oh, my fucking god, Hyuck!" you cried, your nails painfully digging into his shoulders.

"You're so wet—shit. Pussy feels so fucking good." Haechan groaned, thrusting into you.

You roughly grabbed his hair, smashing your lips into his, and Haechan's pace started to pick up. He dropped his head to watch his cock slip into your heat easily, every time he eased out of you just to fill you up to the hilt again.

Haechan sat back on his haunches, still fucking into your messy pussy. Haechan was in awe of the sight beneath him. The way you tried to move your hips to match his movements but had a hard time keeping up because of the pleasure fogging up your mind.

With his hands still on your waist, Haechan pulled you up to sit in his lap, sinking down even further on his cock.

You threw your head back, moaning shamelessly. You held onto him, gyrating your hips against his. Haechan grabbed your ass, lifting you up before letting you sink back down, the tip of his cock brushing your sweet spot.

"You're so hot," Haechan's eyes were glossed over as he looked at you. Your walls clenched around him tightly, humming in agreement as you studied his face.

You gripped his chin between your fingers, squishing his cheeks together before you planted a kiss on his lips.

"I want—I need more. Please, Haechan," you pant against his lips.

The corners of his lips curled up mischievously. Haechan pushed you back onto the bed, leaving you empty. He then manhandled you onto your hands and knees. You kept your hips raised in the air as he easily slipped back in, bottoming out. You moaned into the sheets, gripping them, feeling Haechan's cock stretch you in the most delicious ways.

"Fuck, angel," he rasped.

Haechan's fingers gripped your body, bruisingly tight as you matched his rhythm and moved your hips, your skin meeting in sharp slaps each time. Haechan grabbed your ass, spreading your cheeks and watching your sopping pussy swallow his cock. You could feel the slick dripping down your thighs, probably making a mess on Haechan as well.

"You feel so fucking good, Hyuck," your words were muffled by bedding beneath you.

"Poor baby. So desperate to cum," he started stroking your clit, making you squirm. "Good thing you have me to help make you feel better," he pressed a kiss below your jaw.

"Unfortunately, you're the only thing that can," you tease.

Haechan scoffs as if he took real offense to those words. But oh, was it the best decision you've made all night.

He forced your head back into the pillows, deepening your back's arch and fucking you relentlessly.

"Yes, yes, yes. P-Please—Haechan!"

"You feel that? How good I'm making you feel. Have I already fucked you dumb, sweetheart?" he said in a condescending tone, "What was it you said before?" he asked. Haechan knew you didn't have half a mind to think about anything from even two seconds ago, too consumed in the euphoric feeling of him blowing your back out.

"Hyuck..." was all you could say, and he proudly smiled.

"That's right, baby. Say my name. Remind yourself who's fucking you this good."

"Please, Hyuck. I'm gonna cum."

"Me too, angel." He snaked his hand down between your legs, rubbing your puffy clit.

You cried into the sheets. The sound of your ass slapping against his pelvis mixed with your muffled whines and Haechan's breathy moans.

"Let me feel that pretty pussy cum around me," he said in your ear.

Your pussy had a vice grip on his cock, nearing the edge. Your walls pulsed around his length, your legs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

"Haechan, Haechan, Haechan," you chanted his name, riding out the wave of euphoria.

If it wasn't for Haechan still holding your hips up, your body would have collapsed to the bed. He kept pounding into your heat, your pussy enveloping his cock as he fucked his cum into you.

You whined, feeling overstimulation begin to overtake you, but Haechan continued to lazily thrust into you. His cum started to leak out of you, dripping down his length and your thighs.

Haechan's cock finally went soft, leaving you empty, the sticky white substance now coating your folds and inner thighs.

Haechan rolled you over onto your back, looking into your glassy eyes. The tension filling the room was only accompanied by your heavy breathing.

You brushed his hair out of his eyes before slapping him across the face. Haechan cursed and rubbed his stinging cheek.

"Sorry," you apologized, "Had to make sure."

"Well?"

"Spell's broken," you tell him, sitting up.

"How do you know?"

"Cause I can go back to feeling like I hate you without being in pain again."

Haechan laughs, "You still hate me?"

"Maybe just a little less," you smile before you kiss him. Haechan wasn't expecting it, but he kissed you back immediately.

"Thank you."

"Are you sure I'm not already dead and in heaven?"

You laughed, "I'm pretty sure."

. . .

"You sure you're okay?" Jaemin asks over the phone.

"Yeah."

"And Haechan?"

You heard Haechan singing in the shower and bit back a smile.

"He's fine too," you say. "You think the witch knew what she was doing?"

"Of course, she did. She could probably sense the sexual tension between you two the moment you were in town."

"What are you saying? That that was her own twisted way of playing matchmaker?"

"She's a pretty powerful love witch, that's pretty much her specialty."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you guys sent us here on purpose."

"We did. Just so you guys reconcile whatever was going on between you. But none of us thought this would've happened. You two could've died."

"But we didn't."

"Yeah, you didn't. What're you gonna do about that now anyway?"

"That is something we can figure out on the drive back."

a/n: now i’m ngl i may have self inserted a little too hard with this one except we actually have a happier ending 🙂

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venus-giirl · 10 months

Text

"A enemies to lovers"

Gyutaro Shabana x fem reader.

Fandom: Demon Salyer.

Word count: +1.8K

Rating: fighting, insults, fluff, anguish, enemies, harsh words.

N/A: I'm back, bitches. This last month I've been with final exams and couldn't find motivation to write. So last night I sat down and decided to write an enemies to lovers with Gyutaro, since I saw that the last post had been well liked. Enjoy reading, sorry for the hurtful words, but in this story the two of them hate each other… or not.

THE BOY IS A MONSTEERRRR

The room was dark. School supplies were cluttered all over the space, which was already cramped. Balls, tennis racquets, strings, mats, etc. Everything smelled like gym equipment, covered with the typical layer of dust that was hardly cleaned unless the equipment was being used.

Both of your breaths were labored, breathing hard due to the little air left inside along with the dense layer of dirt. You were angry at the stupid situation you were in.

"You shouldn't have come, it was me who was tasked to go get the mats." he growls in a serious tone, almost sounding like a dog facing his opponent.

"I've already told you a thousand times, he sent me to help you too, the mats are heavy…". you retort.

"I don't need your help, I am much stronger than you".

"You're an idiot if you think a woman can't fend for herself, Gyutaro."

"The idiot is you if you thought you were going to help me with those weak arms." His breath hits your face. It wasn't unpleasant to you, despite his hideous appearance. It smelled like a mixture of mint and body odor.

You shake your head shaking your thoughts away. My goodness, you disliked him for over two grades. He was so cruel and mean to the other students and envious through and through. He was always complaining about those who were better than him, especially in sports.

"Oh my god, you're unbearable, you know that?". You don't know what to respond and the only thing you can think to do is try to vent your anger by making him feel bad. Even though that really wasn't what you wanted, but you couldn't help it.

"Unbearable is your stupid voice and to top it off the door was locked with the keys out because of you, you clumsy girl." He had snuggled closer to you. Although the room wasn't very well lit, because the light wasn't working either, you could see his face with the small solar halo coming in through the small square window located above the wall where Gyutaro was.

His hands had reached your arms to shake you helplessly for the situation. You wince as he digs his fingers in that it almost hurts and you let out a whimper, trying to pull away from him.

"Let go of me, you brute." You fight back, trying to wiggle out of his grip. "I hadn't even seen the keys." When you had entered the materials room you didn't notice that the keys were in the lock, so you assumed that the trainer had already opened the door and that he had them hanging around his neck, as usual.

"Oh, of course. Because the girl is so dumb that even at that she's not able to figure it out." His comments were starting to hurt and tears were beginning to sting the edges of your eyes. You were not going to allow yourself to sink with his hurtful words. If he could insult you with no regard for your feelings, of course you would too. You hated him.

"You are inconsiderate, sarcastic and unbearable." You scream and press the palm of your hands on his hard chest to push him away from your body. "If you were in a different mood maybe we'd be out of here by now." You press your nails into his shirt and manage to rip a button off. He grunts and squeezes you tighter in his grip. Your arms hurt too much. It might even leave a mark on you.

"I didn't need your help!" He yells and shakes you.

"Fuck, Gyutaro, this isn't about help!".

"Then why do you always show up everywhere I go?". His question left you unsettled, blank. In fact, you also had the same feeling of running into him, in the hallways, at the lockers, when sometimes you were late because you overslept, in fights you were always around or even when he was expelled from class for confronting some teacher, you would show up by the punishment room to put some papers.

"What… What? For God's sake, I'm the deputy. It's normal for me to be doing… delegate stuff." You weren't crazy and you weren't chasing him, it's just a coincidence. right?

He laughs in a low, vile tone, not believing anything you say. "And it's also a coincidence that we're here right now?".

Your cheeks were starting to heat up from anger. "Honestly, I'd rather die than be locked in the same room as you." You spit out in a stern tone.

Gyutaro responds with a laugh too unpleasant for you "Dare to say that again and again and I'll break you". The glint of malice could be seen in his gaze. His teeth chattered with every word and his jaw tensed, you almost thought he might snap his teeth from the strain. His grip and his voice were harder and harder.

"Fuck you." You grab his shirt and try to shake him too.

"Oh, I'm flattered, but no thanks." You take a few steps forward and out of sense take a few steps back. You don't want him to touch you. You can't stand it. His touch feels rough and horrid to you. Cold and hard. Painful and… Fuck, stop thinking about it.

"I hate you, I hate you. I can't stand you and you think I'd be after you? Jesus Christ, you wouldn't believe that yourself. From the moment I saw you I couldn't stand you." Gyutaro is silent for a few moments, seconds in which a silent emptiness takes over the room, which, seconds before, had been filled with screams and voices, insults and confessions too painful and cruel to be able to say them to another person.

Seconds in which your body is pushed forcefully backwards. The air leaves your lungs abruptly and gravity takes hold of your body pulling you down. Your back crashes heavily against the mattresses and you feel a large, angry body looming over you. The vibes shook your skin and it bristled at the numerous sensations you were experiencing, fear, terror… But you were not going to show weakness before him. No way, he couldn't see you crying or in a vulnerable state.

Your breaths were agitated, loaded with words that wanted to leave your mouths to hurt again. Hands and legs move, squeeze, and you try to pull away. You sit up, but he places his palm on your chest and sinks you back down to the mattresses. You claw at his arms and groan, trying to overcome his enormous strength. He grunts gutturally and tries to grab your hands again. When he finally succeeds, he spreads your legs apart with his knees and stands over you, his bony pelvis now between your thighs, preventing you from closing your legs or kicking him. You gasp and grunt, arch your back, but nothing, you can't free yourself from him. From his prison. God…you were almost sure you'd never get out of there.

"I hate you you know." Desperate you attack him again with the only thing you have left.

"I know." He replies in a dry tone and smiles showing his menacing teeth.

"I hate your smile."

"I know." He repeats. His face moves closer to yours. Her hair, always messy, now falls around your face, forming a curtain between the two of you.

"And your face, you're so…you're so obnoxious." Your nose brushes against his, his breath hits your mouth and cheeks. If you could sink even deeper into the mattress you would have made it by now.

His weight on your body burned you more and more. "And I can't…I can't….". Your eyes widen as you feel his lips rest on yours. You don't know it at the time, as the darkness prevented you from seeing, but his eyes looked into yours with a glow…an unexplainable glow. His dry, chapped lips encircled yours in a chaste kiss.

Your breath catches and you let out a soft sigh, half-opening your lips. Gyutaro pulls away just an unbearable millimeter and you already feel the cold from the absence of warmth. In an uncontrollable impulse you sit up and kiss him back. You suck in a breath of air and crash your lips against his. Gyutaro grunts in an attempt to control himself and crushes you back against the mat without separating from you, without breaking the kiss again. His mouth opens and he sticks out his tongue to open your wet lips which you open, inviting him in. Your tongues meet, slippery with saliva. Oxygen is depleted as your kiss becomes more intense. Now it has become a war to see which tongue can dominate the other. Your mouths open in a kiss. His breath caresses your right cheek and you tilt your head so you can get more of him.

His hand held the back of your neck. Since when did his hand hold the back of your neck? His thick, calloused fingers curl and pull at it. Your body arches and his body hovers more over you, the mats supporting the weight of both of you. Gyutaro grunts and begins to eat from your mouth as if it were the last meal on earth. You follow his rhythm and you both create a dance, in which your mouths devour each other with anger, rage, hatred and uncontrolled passion. His teeth sting and graze your lower lip. From time to time he gently bites your tongue and curses, in words that crash over your lips, incomprehensible confessions.

You feel and hear Gyutaro's nails digging into the mat and breaking it as he clenches his fists. Your hands now embrace his neck and you pull at his hair, causing him to growl. At an indeterminate point, you become dizzy and can almost feel his pelvis shift between your thighs, searching for something to relieve himself with.

However, the crazy magic of that crazy kiss is interrupted by the jingling of keys and a male voice shouting, "Is someone inside, the door is locked, hello!". Everything falls apart when Gyutaro abruptly pulls away from your body and growls. His weight, his touch, his breathing, his hands…everything is now cold to you. Your mind gradually comes to its senses and you awaken your mind cold again, assessing the matter. You are still there, lying on the mats, trying to calm your breathing and organize the bomb of events in your head.

"Shit…" Gyutaro curses and turns his back on you. Before he leaves he gives you one last look showing his teeth and walks away, leaving his scent, his trail. You hear the professor hurling questions at Gyutaro who ignores him completely, until you stop hearing his footsteps. Your hands rise by inertia to your red, swollen lips and you again hear footsteps running into the material shed.

"T/n, are you okay?" Mitsuri's soft voice sounds concerned, but you don't manage to hear it. Not after what's happened.

"I… I hate him…". You whisper still feeling the trail of Gyutaro's kiss on your mouth.

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belit0 · 8 months

Note

HIIIII<3333 How are you and how have you been. First, i need to praise you for such a good work you do, i really am impressed by your writing skills and how you write the characters so realistic and understandable. You truly have my respect especially for writing some characters like Madara or Indra are really complex to write because of their personality and they truly are complicated due their backstory. So thank you dearly for accepting requests and working on them. You truly have an unique writing style wich i do absolutely admire! Please keep up but don’t overwork yourself, rest is important and please remember to drink and eat enough. I love you so much and your blog is literally my favorite. ( You 🔛🔝) So actually i wanted to ask for a request. (A oneshot or a scenario please) About Madara watching his wife giving birth to his baby and how he sees his wife holding their new born in her arms. Please i am too curious cuz i really can’t Assess this man if he would cry at this sight or not😭. I woule appreciate if you would accept my request. But there is no need to. Feel free to ignore it, i still love your blog so much.

I swear your words touched me so much that I took a screenshot and saved the message in my private chat to read it whenever I need motivation, you brought tears to my eyes (literally)!!!

Thank you infinitely for your beautiful company and for supporting my modest work, I love to share what I do, especially if I have people who like it and enjoy it, it fills my soul to read words like that💕🙏💫🛐

I can never explain the appreciation I feel upon receiving this type of messages, it's a very powerful and big feeling, too strong and too deep for words.

Thank you so much, my beautiful nonny, for being around and keeping me company, please never go away, i love u😭💕💫

Now, going back to the request, OF COURSE MADARA CRIES, he's one of those persons who cries out of anger, it bothers him a lot because he feels weak but has a great facility for tears.

Now, what I did to him in this piece is a bit cruel, I apologize🤣🙏

He can't stop pacing the hallway, anxious and nervous, desperate because of the screams he hears on the other side of the door. The midwives demanded he stay out of the room to avoid creating more chaos, his distress palpable in the air every time he asked "Is she in a lot of pain? Is the baby okay? Is something wrong with (Y/N)?"

He was kicked out of the place to avoid putting more pressure on the poor women assisting with the delivery, and even as the clan leader, he was taken away the choice of whether to be part of the moment or not. It all pushes him so far over the edge he even resorts to taking off his gloves and chewing his nails like he's 15 years old again.

"You look like crap, Aniki." Izuna comments with a smirk on his face, openly mocking his poor older brother. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he looks at him with amusement and even a bit of pity.

As always, his Otouto accompanies him.

"No shit." He snorts in anguish, tearing the skin off his finger and hissing from the burning. He may be the strongest warrior of all his time, but he can't help the little mundane aches and pains of day to day life.

"What's got you so bad? It's just a baby." He reaches out to him as if to lay a hand on his shoulder, but stops before doing so, knowing the outcome, clicking his tongue at how fickle fate is.

Staring at the ground and swapping the tortured finger for a new one, he fails to get out from inside his mind, raise his head, react. Worry consumes him, and (Y/N)'s screams of agony don't help. "Exactly that. I couldn't protect anyone, I couldn't protect you, I won't be a good father, what if-"

"Wowowo, hold your horses, Aniki. You couldn't protect me because I wouldn't let you, if anyone was going to take that idiot down it was me. We talked about it many times, didn't we?" He stands in front of him, unable to get his older brother out of his vicious cycle of insane thoughts, and crouches down to the ground to meet the path of his eyes. He smiles at him again, an act that always manages to get Madara's attention, and he finally listens to him.

"Did you think of a name? That'll be your job if it's a boy." Madara jumps in a startled gasp as (Y/N) screams louder than ever, and looks at the door separating them as if wanting to set it on fire. Respecting the midwives' wishes feels stupid, but neither does he want to get in the way of things he doesn't understand.

"Izuna." He answers without moving his eyes from the spot, walking and avoiding his younger brother like he couldn't just walk right through him. He moves a little closer to the door, waiting.

"What?" The younger Uchiha gets up, and moves back to stand next to him, not understanding.

"Izuna, for the name."

"You want to give your precious baby my terrible name? You'll doom him to be a beautiful mess."

"Tribute, so he'll always remember the uncle he never knew." And at the moment his eyes fill with sadness and melancholy, his brother decides to change the course of the situation.

"If you want to pay tribute to me, take him to visit my grave and drink sake over my remains, you idiot. I say you name him Inari, I always thought it was beautiful."

"Inari..."

"Sounds nice doesn't it? It's a good one to scold him after he gets in trouble, which I'll make sure he does."

"Will the baby be able to see you?"

"We'll find out."

"MADARA-SAMA!" the door suddenly opens, one of the midwives coming out agitated "THE BABY IS COMING, SOON!" She demands him to re-enter the room, and Madara looks at his brother for encouragement.

He smiles at him again, and that's all he needs to know that everything will be okay.

The makeshift delivery room, on the other hand, is a mess. Several women run around moving bloody towels and trying to wipe the sweat from (Y/N)'s forehead. One holds her hand tightly as his wife pushes and pushes, legs spread wide and revealing a picture both terrible and wonderful.

"MADARA-SAMA!" the midwife shoves him from behind to the side of the bed where she attempts to deliver their child, unafraid to be rough with the clan leader. Madara, unable to react, grabs the hand that was previously held by another woman, as he stares at her belly and can do nothing but try to hold back tears.

Paralyzed by inoperability and not knowing what to do, the Uchiha feels useless, incapable of helping or assisting in any way. His expertise is in fighting, combat, violence, he has no idea how to act in sensitive situations or those that require emotional intelligence. He is afraid to say something inappropriate, something that will upset (Y/N), and cannot find the strength to speak without crying.

No one told him he would feel this way, an experience so surreal as to make him break down.

The last time he cried disconsolately was with his brother's death, years ago, but his child's birth seems to challenge him in the same way, the miracle of life and the product of his own dedication coming to reward him, demanding him to pour out all his feelings through tears, no shame for being in front of strangers.

Everything seems to disappear around him, focused only on his wife and the task ahead. The stupor washes away little by little, getting into the game and helping her get through the experience as best he can.

At one point he thinks to be speaking words of encouragement, but has no track of what is going on. The image of (Y/N) suffering, crying, screaming, stirs him to the core of his very being, wishing he could take away her agony and be the one to endure this odyssey.

He holds her hand with both of his, while between his wife's legs two midwives demand further pushing. Everything is chaos, a maelstrom of speed where Madara can only concentrate on her, until he suddenly hears it.

The most beautiful cry he has ever witnessed, a small, high-pitched sound coming from a tiny baby in one of the midwives' arms. (Y/N)'s face automatically relaxes, ready to faint from exertion and exhaustion, yet she whispers "Hold the child" before smiling with genuine joy.

Madara, following orders while being totally out of his comfort zone, receives the newborn in his arms, and what was once silent tears now turns into unrestrained crying.

He crumbles in front of his baby for different reasons, moved and overwhelmed for having been able to produce something so beautiful, so delicate, after destroying and murdering as much as he did. That adorable little human being is proof enough, at least for him, of not being a disastrous person, for there being hope and kindness in his destiny, able to repent for all the lives he stole on the battlefield.

Izuna's death brought him great resentment for the world, condemning him to anger and rage as a way of life, willing to destroy whoever it takes to regain what was lost, yet (Y/N) saved him from an avoidable catastrophe, and showed him he could be more than his grief, giving him the tools to move on.

Holding the result of such pure and generous love in his hands is the mythical demonstration of how the blood on his hands is washable, how his past does not define him, and how his future is not marked by eternal pain.

The thrill of a better life engulfs him completely, as he stares with pure affection at the child he himself created. His son, utterly his, the most beautiful ray of sunshine. "Inari..." he whispers between sobs, and brings him closer to his wife for reconnection with his mother.

Upon reassuring (Y/N) is no longer bleeding and there are no further problems to worry about, the women begin to leave the room, carrying lots of bloody sheets and towels, cleaning the space little by little and giving privacy to the new family.

One of them takes the newborn for close examination, and when the room finishes clearing of people, Madara can see Izuna near his baby, making sure the midwife treats him well and takes proper care of his little Inari.

He can't help but cry again at the image, knowing his son will always have a guardian angel with him.

#uchiha madara x reader #madara uchiha x reader #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #madara #madara x reader #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto #izuna #izuna uchiha #uchiha clan #uchiha izuna

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skyloftian-nutcase · 5 months

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No pressure ifbyou arent taking writing requests, but i would love to see what you could do based off the song Battle Cries by The Amazing Devil

It gives me Skyward Sword vibes

Link stared at the loftwing feather held gingerly between his fingers.

The last few months had been... difficult. In some ways, they'd been more difficult than his actual journey to rescue Zelda and stop Demise. The pain of pushing his body past its breaking point, the anguish of never seeming to be enough, the heartache of always missing Zelda... they had amounted to such invisible wounds that he was still fighting the repercussions.

Somehow, that was worse. How was one supposed to move on when such a life altering event happened? How did one jolt out of the keep moving keep going don't ever stop or falter for a second and not just... collapse? How did one get back up after doing so?

The world continued to move ahead. His academy still had classes, though chatter of the Surface and its exploration was still a hot topic, even six months after the cloud barrier's disappearance.

The first month it had been acceptable, even understandable. Link had nearly died from his final fight, it had been one thing too many in a collection of wounds and exhaustion. Despite the healing affects of the life fruit he'd been given, he'd still slept for nearly a week upon his return to Skyloft. And after that, the headmaster had ensured he didn't have any kind of workload. Zelda had been at his side constantly, and the two had silently enjoyed each other's company, seemingly cut off from the rest of their people.

But that had been understandable. It had been a long journey. They would never be the same.

However, that didn't excuse this exhaustion lingering for so long. By the fourth month, Link was nearing a point of despair. It wasn't until Commander Eagus spoke to him candidly, told him of the affects on his mind after such an event (no one on Skyloft truly comprehended what had happened on the Surface, but some had put more pieces together than they probably should have). After all, Eagus had become commander when his own commanding officer had fallen in battle. Eagus hadn't fought as Link had, but he still understood to a small degree.

It had helped. To a point. Knowing that his mind needed time was good, that he wasn't just defective, but... it still didn't make it any easier to bear sometimes.

And that was only covering half of the issue. Eagus only spoke from a soldier's perspective. Link had seen more than battle. He'd watched his best and dearest friend become someone else entirely, he'd been told that their friendship was a carefully constructed plan, that he was a weapon as much as Fi had been.

He still hung around Zelda. She still hovered close to him. She'd said it herself, she was still his Zelda. But it... wasn't the same.

He tried not to think about it. After all, he did still love her. After all, she hadn't known any of the plan their entire lives.

But it stung. It stung. Because now... if he had been chosen for this purpose, and if Zelda had been born in the right circumstances so as to befriend him... now what?

What was his purpose now that his journey was over? Now that Demise had been defeated?

Link had never really had much of a plan for his life, honestly. He'd daydreamed his time away, relaxing and just enjoying being with Zelda and his loftwing, enjoying sights and smells and warmth and comfort. He was in the knight's academy, so becoming a knight was obviously a goal, but he had never felt particularly motivated for major life goals. He wasn't much of a planner, certainly not that far ahead.

But now... all he could think about was the future. All he could think was now what?

He knew, though. He knew what to do next. Because six months was enough time to let himself float in this haze of existing and not existing. He also knew it probably wouldn't get entirely better. But life wasn't going to stop just because he had, and for once, that meant something to him.

Link carefully wove the feather shaft into the leather cords, tying it in its place. He'd added beads to the headdress already - his loftwing's contribution was the final touch.

Because yes, he was tired. And yes, he wasn't entirely sure if his mind would ever clear of the fog that had crushed it since his journey's end. But no matter how he felt, his perception of hte world didn't change how it was.

Zelda was still there for him. The Surface was vast, endless even, and so, so new and different. The Triforce needed protecting. Zelda had already made plans for a settlement, and, with Groose's help, was in the process of setting foundations, while Link cleared the area of threats. There was hope, there was new life and a future and things beyond Link's comprehension.

His loftwing purred, bumping his beak against Link's forehead.

Link chuckled, nuzzling into his companion's feathery cheek, melting into the softness of it. "Yeah, I know. Let's go for a flight and then I'll go to her."

Crimson chittered excitedly, moving quickly towards the edge and diving off the island. Link stood there a moment, alone, and then smiled, tucking the headdress into his pouch. He felt anxiety hold him hostage a moment, and then he broke free of it, running full speed to the island's end and leaping with every ounce of energy he had.

The air whipped and whooshed around him, slamming into him layer after layer as he crashed through the sky. His wounds and worries were left behind, and he yelled in excitement and joy, he screamed in defiance at everything that weighed him down.

At the end of the day, nothing could clip his wings. Not even himself. He refused to let it.

Putting his fingers to his mouth, Link whistled shrilly, and his loftwing immediately came. He could always rely on Crimson. He knew, in the end, he could also always rely on Zelda.

And that headdress, alongside a traditional dance, would be the start of a physical representation of that.

In the meantime, his mind and heart soared with his loftwing, and he laughed as he flew through the sky.

#you ask skye answers #lovely rjhpandapaws #that song is fun!#a bit hard at the beginning when there are two different lyrics at the same time lol #I had to listen to it several times to really parse it out #but I love the message #stories inspired by music AH what a great way to send a writing request #skyward sword #skyward sword link #ss link #crimson loftwing #he's gonna go propose to zelda and he has a lot of big feelings about it :)#zelink #writing

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inkblackorchid · 7 months

Text

I watched this duel again yesterday and I honestly wish I had any sort of fresh take or unusual perspective on it, but I think the truth is that I just don't. This duel is three things for me:

Proof of concept for a very intriguing larger narrative (whose execution sadly doesn't land all the way for me)

The introduction of a character who has several interesting key aspects to them (and who could have, perhaps, been handled a bit better)

Emblematic of all the issues I have with the WRGP arc's writing.

As I said, I don't think I have any truly revolutionary things to say about this duel, but I feel like getting my thoughts out, so expect a fairly non-structured, stream-of-consciousness post below. There are multiple things here that bother me and I finally want to dissect them. Feel free to follow along if you also like examining stuff like this in more detail than it perhaps needs to be examined in. And I really mean examine them in unnecessary detail. Be warned, this post could count as a dissertation in terms of length. But I'm passionate and like analysing things, so no attempt to control its length was made.

So, I won't mince words here. The Team New World duel is absolutely where several major aspects of the time-travel-Iliaster plot completely fall apart for me. I want to make it clear that this isn't the fault of Aporia's character writing or what this duel is building up to, though. Nor do I think that the concept of a secret shadow organisation using time travel to influence world events is too out there. Lbr, this is yugioh. The time-travelling-cyborg-shadow-organisation is absolutely not the culprit of why I think some things don't work here. (And by here I mean specifically the WRGP arc.) Moreover, I'll be the first to admit that the finale this duel builds up to, with everything from the Ark Cradle beginning its descent to Yusei's final duel with Z-ONE, is stellar. So there are several things that do work here—but I think that may be exactly the reason why the other things piss me off all the more.

So what are the "other things", then?

Well, simply put, a lot of this arc's supposed setup and worldbuilding falls apart as soon as you start asking a few simple questions, first and foremost "why". And again, I will likely not be treading new ground here, but this just irks me to no end. However, so this post doesn't devolve entirely into unproductive whining about a part of the show I wish had been better than it was, I'll be doing another thing here: Trying to provide solutions for the things that irk me as I go along. As a kind of thought exercise, and because it's not hate motivating me here, merely extreme frustration about an arc that feels like it was fumbled like a hot potato. So, let's start digging through this mess.

The elephant in the room.

This whole arc (and in fact even the pre-WRGP arc before it) hinges on the concept of antagonists using monsters that can absorb synchro monsters, which is treated as such a monumental problem that we see Yusei, our protagonist, in downright anguish about it not one, but several times. Like, this eats at him.

(Pictured: A troubled boy brooding about his synchro summoning issues.)

And look, I know everyone and their mother has brought this up at this point, but this is already the first bit that falls apart under the weight of the question "why". Why is Yusei so hung up on the fact that duelling against Meklords means using synchro monsters becomes pretty risky? Why is this enough of a problem to supposedly drive the plot for a not insignificant stretch of episodes? Now, I know Yusei uses mainly synchro monsters as his heavy hitters, and I have seen someone bring up the fact before that even irl, completely altering the strategy of your entire deck is a pain in the ass, to say the least. And I do want to admit that this is a valid argument. If Yusei genuinely had to change his whole deck to accommodate the new circumstances, that would be a Herculean task, to say the least. However. While I can see the merit of that argument, I have to raise two counterpoints: One—who said he had to permanently change the entire structure of his deck? The show never gives us reason to believe that anyone other than the cyborgs will suddenly jump out of the woodwork and also use an anti-synchro strategy, and it doesn't show us anyone else who uses a strategy like that, either. And two—note the framing of this issue. The show never suggests that Yusei needs a new deck, or that all his old tricks are completely invalid now. It harps on and on about how he needs a new strategy, yes. But is that the same thing? In my opinion, nothing really demands that Yusei needs to restructure his deck completely. If anything, he only needs to keep in mind that this is now a possibility when duelling people, and thus start keeping a backup plan. And unfortunately, he kind of does, which is where I need to address the Dragon Knight Draco-Equiste-shaped elephant in the room, because it sadly undermines that sensible argument something fierce.

(Yeah, remember this thing? Because I do and sometimes wish I didn't just so I wouldn't have to get frustrated about it all over again.)

Listen. We're all not stupid. Even before the Team Unicorn match, the vast majority of people watching 5Ds would have been aware that tribute summoning, ritual summoning, and fusion summoning are very much methods to get around the dreaded synchro-killers that already exist in the card game and don't require any supernatural shenanigans to be acquired. But speaking only for myself for a moment, I was still at least a little bit willing to suspend my disbelief and accept that not being able to synchro summon would be a categorical impossibility for our beloved motorcycle family before this scene. Except, then Draco-Equiste comes out. And naturally, you're left to wonder "ah, so this is the solution to the synchro problem, then"? But no. No, it very much isn't. Because unfortunately, this is the one and only time Draco-Equiste even shows up. Immediately before and after this duel, this card is treated as though it never existed. Even though this thing could have posed a serious threat to the Meklords, what with being able to absorb the effect of a dragon synchro monster in the graveyard and being able to bounce back effect damage. (Can you imagine how differently the Team New World duel might have proceeded if Yusei had summoned this again?)

So, of course, we're left with the question: Why the fuck was this even here? And on the surface, the answer is super simple: To sell copies of Dragon Knight Draco-Equiste, naturally. But narratively? Narratively, this card's appearance is a disaster. It's a miscalculation of such insane proportions I can hardly find the words for it. Because it proves the assumption many viewers, especially TCG players, would have had from the start: Fusion, ritual, and tribute summoning are still a thing and would definitely work against Meklords. To say this takes the wind out of the sails of the central problem of "oh no, what are we going to do without synchro summoning" would be an understatement. And that's without addressing the fact that the actual "solution" the show provides against the Meklords, as cool as Shooting Star Dragon and Red Nova Dragon are, is, on paper, ludicrous: In a bind because your synchro monster gets absorbed? Just synchro summon harder! And I just. Please. We can agree that this is silly, right? Even if they're very cool dragons and I definitely appreciate them, this is almost looney tunes logic.

Swinging around to a more productive discussion, could they have done their "uh oh, synchro summoning is now impossible"-bit in a better, more coherent and less silly way? Probably, but depending on how they might have handled it, they would have probably needed to sacrifice some other things. The issue here is the thematic element. Synchro summoning is hated, and thus punished, by the emperors of Iliaster because to them, it's a symbol of humanity's greed and subsequent destruction. And originally, the show ends up vindicating its use despite their warnings about the destroyed future in a sort of awkward "with great power comes great responsibility"-way. As in, synchro summoning still has the potential to ruin humanity by the end of the show, but Yusei and the others "earn" their right to use it anyway because they and humanity as a whole learn the lesson not to overdo it. Supposedly. The metaphor is, frankly, a bit wonky, which might be another problem in and of itself. But what's relevant here is that any attempt to fix this conundrum would thus have to keep the thematic element intact. To do that, our protagonists would therefore have to rely on synchro summoning at the start of the arc, as they did before, and would also have to rely on it by the end of the arc (again). The in between is, I think, where more interesting things could have been done with the concept, though—moreover, it's where I think the plothole of "hey why doesn't anyone tribute/fusion/ritual summon" could have been addressed. Say the gang learns that synchro summoning might now get dangerous and actually tries to shift gears. Say they do try out fusion, ritual, and tribute monsters to account for that—only to run into an in-universe meta wall and realise that sure, these monsters might not get absorbed by Meklords, but their effects and strength can't keep up with the synchros their opponents use, or that they're flat out too cumbersome to summon! It could have been as simple as showing scenes where trying to get tribute fodder onto the field or play a fusion or ritual spell card would have been too slow, too inefficient in a duel. They could have also gone an even simpler route and flat out made it so that Meklords could have absorbed any extra deck monster. Would this have made them stupidly overpowered? Sure. But wasn't that kind of the point, anyway? The Meklords were supposed to be a nigh insurmountable obstacle that ultimately required discovering not one, but two new, unique ways to synchro summon—and even then, the solutions still weren't perfect because Shooting Star and Red Nova can still get absorbed under especially tricky circumstances. So I doubt making them that much more powerful would have mattered. (And they had to be heavily adjusted for the irl TCG as is, so there's not really a need to factor in that concern, either.) Finally, and I admit this pains me a little to say, I think that any version of the synchro dilemma that wanted to make sense should have flat out removed Draco-Equiste. The card does nothing except open plotholes, and especially if we want to keep the themes intact without opening the can of worms that is alternative forms of summoning possibly being a better solution than Accel Synchro or Burning Soul, its presence just becomes a hindrance. Sorry, Dragon Knight Draco-Equiste.

So much for the synchro dilemma, then. But unfortunately, this is not the last aspect of the worldbuilding surrounding the three emperors of Iliaster and especially their Meklords that's built on a shaky foundation, to say the least. Onto the next one.

2. The Meklord genocide and the many questions it asks (and never answers).

I'm gonna roll several points into one here because they're all related to the Meklord genocide—that being the supposedly unavoidable catastrophe in the future where Aporia received all his trauma from. And I want to preface this with two statements, one good and one bad. Firstly, Aporia and the way his backstory gets exposed, quickly getting us intimately acquainted with the utter devastation of the Meklord genocide, is extremely compelling. You really get a sense of the terror at play and it gives him a perfect, understandable motivation for wanting to avert that future at all costs, even if human lives have to be sacrificed along the way.

(Ahhh, the lovely smell of childhood trauma in the making.)

Secondly... The Meklord genocide makes zero sense, and it has everything to do with the fact that once again, several major aspects of it buckle under the weight of a few simple questions. But let me roll that back first and examine what those major aspects, which the Team New World duel introduces us to, are.

Number one: I went back and checked, and this is the first time in the series that we are introduced to the concept of synchro summoning resonating with Moment reactors. Previously, the reactor itself, through the concept of planetary particles, and, by extension, the Moment energy itself was only implied to be something like a perpetuum mobile, infinitely producing its own energy.

Number two: Now, we have heard of Moment rotating backwards and exploding in the show before. But there are two new things here, one being that the Iliaster trio explains that in this instance, it caused a chain reaction, and that, for some reason, all the Moment reactors began exploding one after the other. The other, more crucial part being that they claim the Moment reactors responded to people's hearts. This ties in with another small thing introduced much earlier, where Bruno/Antinomy explains that Clear Mind, Yusei's accel synchro technique, is a way of "controlling Moment". Both link the reactor and its energy, which are pillars of 5Ds' worldbuilding, to human emotions. And I already need to say this here: This doesn't make lick of sense. But more on that later.

Number three: We don't get an outright explanation for this in this duel, as in, it's not stated verbally, but right after Moment supposedly "responds to people's hearts", the Meklords show up, heavily implying that the reactor, for some reason, summoned a robot army to destroy humanity.

Now, I'm going to give you the quick-fire round of questions these three concepts immediately sparked in my mind when I saw these scenes, because I think that will illustrate just fine why I have such a problem with all this: Since when is synchro summoning linked to Moment and how? If humanity already knew through the Zero Reverse incident, which is the foundation for 5Ds' canon, that Moment reactors could spin too fast, gain a negative rotation, and subsequently explode, why on earth did nobody think to install safeguards against that? Why are the Moment reactor and its energy linked to people's hearts now? How does that even work? And how is a human supposed to "control" a sodding energy reactor that was implied to stay in perpetual motion through a set of gears, which famously know how to read hearts, through achieving a clear mind? And why, oh why did the reactor—independently of its human creators, apparently—have a killer robot army at its disposal to let loose on humanity when it grew sick of their shit?

This plot has so many holes, it may as well be a net instead. And you know what the worst part is? The show answers none of the questions above. Moreover, the implications behind the concepts introduced for the sake of setting up the Meklord genocide are buckwild, to say the least. Let me run with this real quick to highlight the absurdity here.

Taking the idea that an energy reactor can respond to people's hearts and summon an on-demand murder robot army of apocalyptic proportions when humans around it grow too evil at face value honestly makes me wonder how the Moment reactor in NDC hasn't exploded five times over since its creation. You mean to tell me that between Goodwin's Iliaster goons, the Arcadia Movement, the corrupt security forces, and all the duel gangs in Satellite, there weren't enough evil people there to make the reactor go crazy? Plus, all of these people were already synchro summoning as if their life depended on it! Synchro summoning is basically ubiquitous from the moment the show starts, to the point where it's more unusual to see a duellist who doesn't synchro summon than one who does. But somehow, that wasn't enough to affect the reactor yet? Or is the implication here supposed to be that the part where the man-made machine meant to produce limitless energy can suddenly see into people's hearts was added later into the reactor's development? That humans for some reason decided, "yeah, that's what our new energy source needs! A way to shame and punish us with violence on an unimaginable scale for our transgressions!" And that's without addressing the robot army. Who built these things? And who decided it was a good idea to put them at the disposal of the very reactor itself? Do you mean to tell me some team of utterly cracked up scientists decided that the best entity to put in charge of the robot army that was constructed for some reason was the reactor system supplying the world with energy, "computers can't be blinded by human error and would thus never deploy this army for selfish reasons"-style? (Honestly, I almost wish that had been the idea here, but I'm absolutely certain it wasn't.)

I can already hear two major criticisms to the above, purposefuly hyperbolic extrapolation in the back of my head here. Allow me to talk about them for a moment.

One—"Okay, so the WRGP arc has plotholes. Didn't the dark signers arc have those too, though? It's not like they explained everything about all that stuff."

You're right! It did! As much as I love the dark signers arc, it hardly has the most tightly-written worldbuilding of all time, either. There are lots of things, some small (why was Rudger/Roman somehow a signer and a dark signer at the same time), some not so small (why on earth did Rex' plan to summon the king of the underworld and remake the world seemingly hinge on one of the signers failing to seal their tower, which he could have never guaranteed in a million years) that the DS arc never properly takes the time to explain. But even so, the dark signers arc doesn't fall apart under questions such as "why" and "how" nearly as easily as the WRGP arc for a reason that is as simple as it is stupid: The DS arc has a much less ambitious premise, and though its antagonists are cool, they don't actually pose a greater, moral dilemma. Think about it. The premise of the DS arc is a run-of-the-mill prophecy thing. You've got your chosen heroes, your destined enemies, and a battle for the world using supernatural shenanigans. And a lot of questions of "why" or "how" are relatively quick to be brushed aside with "magic" (or rather, Crimson Dragon/Earthbound Immortal shenanigans). Moreover, the dark signers themselves, while having interesting stories relating to the heroes on a personal level, are still, fundamentally, pure evil. They're not fighting to prevent a devastating, apocalyptic future, they just deadass want to get revenge and destroy the world. And all the more complicated, major themes the arc has (class discrimination, police brutality, how societal alienation can lead teenagers to join cults, poverty, etc.) are actually not really tied in with the Earthbound Immortals, instead happening on the sidelines or only being tangentially related to the dark signers (such as when Kiryu becomes a dark signer through the abuse suffered in prison). The only major theme that ties in with the dark signers is destiny VS. freedom of choice, which also gets resolved in the battle with Rex Goodwin. (Interestingly enough, all the more complicated themes on the side were also dropped after this arc, but that's a rant for another time...) Perhaps the arc still has some inconsistencies here and there, but largely, it stays fully coherent. Thus, the DS arc makes it way easier to suspend one's disbelief, making the unexplained parts seem much less egregious.

Two—"Calm down, this show was made for twelve year-old Japanese boys. They don't need to explain any of this."

If you honestly think children don't deserve well-made entertainment whose concepts and worldbuilding can hold up to scrutiny, I have nothing to discuss with you. Sure, children will swallow some concepts much easier and will suspend their disbelief much longer and more artfully than any adult on average, but that doesn't mean "kids are dumb anyway so why bother putting as much effort into worldbuilding for their shows as for adult shows" is the hot take you think it is. I am fully congnisant of the target audience for this show—that doesn't make me any less convinced that said target audience deserved a show where things made sense while they were watching it and where things could still make sense if they decided to rewatch it years later. Because, you know, that's what I think a good show should be able to do.

And with that, I can come back to the WRGP arc and an issue that ties in with both things I just addressed: The WRGP arc's actual story premise, buried beneath the well-known, equally beloved and beloathed tournament arc format, is a lot more ambitious than the DS arc and has several, fairly heavy, core themes that it sets up and tries to resolve by the end, among them: learning how to cooperate as a team (during the WRGP) and learning how to be independent (by the end of the show), destiny VS. forging your own path (round two), and, most importantly, taking responsibility and fighting for one's future. That last one especially is not only a good topic to address in a show specifically made for 5Ds' target audience, it is also represented by both Team 5Ds and Team New World in-story. Spicier yet, both teams are actually fighting for the same thing. Team New World, having seen the supposedly unavoidable, tragic future and thus decided to take action against it, is fighting for a future that doesn't have to be marred by such tragedy, by whatever means necessary. And Team 5Ds, young, hopeful, and trusting in their connection to one another and humanity as a whole, is fighting for a better future because they believe that tragedy can be avoided. The future these two teams want is almost the same—the only, crucial difference is that Team New World has embraced the use of drastic measures to bring that future about, while Team 5Ds hasn't. To Team New World, the future presents something like a trolley problem, if you will: They think doing nothing will lead to that inevitable tragedy and erase humanity, whereas sacrificing New Domino City in the present will still kill people, but preserve humanity in the long run. And they have firmly decided pull the lever and set the course so the trolley runs over just one person instead of many. Team 5Ds, meanwhile, isn't even thinking about the lever, instead insisting there has to be another way, and that even thinking about getting anyone killed for this is stupid. The whole conflict is, on paper, wonderfully compelling, because you can see where both sides are coming from. Sure, Team New World's members still act like absolute dickheads in true yugioh-tournament-opponent fashion, but ultimately, their goals make sense. Viewers can put themselves in their shoes and perhaps think that, faced with a horrible dilemma like theirs, they would make the same, awful choice to set the course and cause suffering now to avoid greater suffering later. For the greater good.

Unfortunately, the questions I listed above undermine all this somewhat, because as good as these antagonists are on a character level, it's incredibly easy to poke holes into their backstory and especially the circumstances surrounding the horrible, distant future they want to avoid so desperately—which, in turn, undermines that terrible future somewhat, because this is a narrative that demands weight (in my opinion). But if the supposed threat at the end, the terrible thing even our protagonists briefly aren't sure they'll be able to avoid, begins falling apart at the seams in terms of logic when you think about it for more than two minutes, where is that weight supposed to come from? There is also another question to be answered here that I need to discuss so I can touch on a central aspect that hampers the plot in this arc somewhat later:

Why are they so convinced that horrible, destroyed future is utterly unavoidable?

I want you to really think about this question, with me. Canon... never really gives us any direct proof that they're justified in being this certain. However, that doesn't mean we don't get an answer, per se, though the answer is a bit vague.

The implications here are... something, to say the least. First, as our basis, we have to assume that every "correction" Iliaster has made has been to avoid humanity's destruction in the future. Because frankly, that's all we get as far as Jose, Placido, and Luciano's definition of the "correct path" goes. Then there's the second bit. Apparently, they've been merrily "repairing" history for a good while already, yet, for some reason, they always get the same outcome: The Meklord genocide. This, in turn, has led them to take more and more drsatic measures to try and avoid it. And I want to point out the very obvious, mind-boggling implication that comes with this: Apparently, after every "correction" they made, these three have either let history run its course to see where it ends up this time, or have quickly zipped over to their own time to check whether things were still shit. Meaning Iliaster's whole deal of fixing history to make sure the Meklord genocide never occurs has been a very, very long run of trial and error. (I want you to think of all the possible "fixes" this could have included for a moment. We know from BBT that killing Pegasus was one of the ideas they had, for example. Did they also try to kill the presumed Industrial Illusions employee who came up with synchro monsters? Did they try to kill Yusei's dad so Moment would never be invented? Could they not have tried to simply inhibit the creation of the robot army, then? Or made sure someone installed some bloody safeguards on the reactors, as Yusei later does in-canon, which somehow works when he does it? The list goes on.) Now, we know that in canon, their newest idea is that the future can be fixed if they just destroy New Domino City altogether.

Here, the questions begin again (you may sense a running theme): If Moment is already invented and internationally known, why would destroying its place of invention do anything? If synchro summons are already a thing, doesn't that mean destroying NDC would only slow the catastrophe down, at best? And most importantly: Why are these guys so utterly convinced that this "repair", of all the ones they've already done, will save their future? How can they know that this particular plan will work when they've supposedly already tried everything?

(There is, of course, the tragic possibility to consider that perhaps, they know that there's no guarantee this will work. They've tried everything, after all. So maybe they know this won't fix things, either. But we know that Aporia, like Paradox, like Antinomy, and like Z-ONE is, somewhere at the bottom of his despairing heart, still desperate for a shimmer of hope. And maybe, just maybe, he has reached such a point of desperation that he'll watch an entire city getting destroyed if it has even the faintest chance of succeeding. But unfortunately, this is purely speculative—the show never states this, and so, I can only leave it in the realm of fan interpretation.)

The show never answers this question, either, instead relying on the audience to suspend their disbelief some more and assume that Iliaster has put in the work and is 100% certain that the future can and will absolutely end in disaster unless they destroy NDC now. It almost acts like they have some sort of supernatural foresight; they know things nobody else in the show's world does, and due to this (and their non-human status) they label themselves as superior to the "foolish humans", who, without their guiding hands, will only bring about the apocalypse. But their superiority and the internal consistency of their actions is already wobbling under the weight of all the half-assed worldbuilding I mentioned above, which is an extra big problem due to another, major difference between the WRGP and the DS arc: While the DS arc stylised itself as a sort of funky genre mix between cyberpunk dystopia and urban fantasy (in a very broad sense, given that ancient Inca gods are very much real and their prophecies come to fruition in the modern day, yet we are not presented with any sort of magic outside of the conflict with the dark signers), the WRGP arc, aside from its tournament format, stylises itself much more as science fiction. The antagonists are no longer ancient, evil shadow gods, they're cyborgs from a destroyed future. Their motivation isn't as simple as wanting to destroy the world, either! In fact, they want to save the future! And they don't pose a threat to our antagonists through shadow duels in rings of fire and giant, magical monsters that sacrifice human souls to be summoned. No, they have advanced technology like high-tech robots that cut our protagonists off from one of their go-to tactical options, and they send out duel robot armies, and they travel through time by means of sophisticated wormhole-technology.

...But do they?

Now, I said I don't just want to complain here, I also want to provide solutions—and I intend to stick to that. But first, because these two things are so intrinsically tied together, let me address the final aspect that puts Team New World as antagonists and the WRGP arc on such shaky ground from a writing perspective.

3. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, magic-science cyborg nonsense.

So, I've talked about the strongly differing methods the Iliaster trio uses in comparison to the dark signers. Sci-fi is the name of the game now, so we've got robots, cyborgs, advanced tech and... time travel. But amidst all this, you may have noticed something. Even though our plot is supposedly decided by futuristic tech now, the magical/occult element that was there in the first half of the show doesn't actually get dropped. Why? Because it can't be. Because the signers, our protagonists, are defined by their status as a group of magical chosen ones, hand-picked by an ancient Incan deity. Regardless of what the writers of the show wanted here (and my personal guess, based on hearsay and what I've read on forums, is that they wanted to hardcore-pivot to sci-fi because they hoped it would engage audiences more), this was an element they couldn't erase. (Or, well, technically, they could. The signers do lose their marks at the end of the show, after all. But perhaps they thought doing that earlier was too risky.) So genre-wise, we've got a bit of a situation here. From the pre-WRGP arc on, 5Ds is more of a sci-fi show, yet, we've still got all this occult stuff wandering around that can't be cut out of the narrative and still influences it because it's too intrinsically tied to our main actors not to. And you might have noticed that this actually doesn't just extend to the signers. As in, they're not the only ones where sci-fi and magic elements mix. This happens for the Iliaster trio, too. Placido gets a sword that can randomly cut a hole in space-time (and it's never explained how). The Meklords can cause real damage in duels even though they're supposedly not supernatural. Moment reactors can suddenly read people's hearts. Not one, but multiple cyborgs get a magical girl transformation where they change clothes and runners, or even combine from three people into one. And for some reason, the Crimson Dragon, even though its "own", central enemies, the dark signers, are already defeated, doesn't take its marks away from our heroes until after the cyborgs are taken care of, suggesting that the ancient, magical entity recognises the robots from the future as a supernatural threat of some sort. None of this is presented with any sort of attempt to get it to make sense, yet, we're supposed to believe it isn't magic, because we're all about robots and time travel now.

(Insert the magical girl transformation song of your choice.)

And I want to make one thing clear: I'm not saying this weird genre-mix couldn't have worked. In fact, I think it's hilarious and low-key brilliant even in the wonky state we got. Sure, let's make the antagonists robots from the future while keeping our protagonists the agents of an ancient Incan god on the mortal plane! If nothing else, you absolutely can't argue the idea wasn't original.

However, even with all the love I have for the show, I can't help but feel like there's an issue here, and the only way I could put it into words would be genre dissonance. We are supposedly in a sci-fi show now, yet the central antagonists, who are also the fundamental reason for this genre shift, seemingly can't decide whether they're actually using technology or magic for their schemes. And this becomes a problem insofar as that seemingly no effort to meaningfully fuse the fantastical elements with the pseudo-scientific ones is made, yet at the same time, they aren't properly separated, either. Specifically the latter might be harming the show even more than the former. Let me explain what I mean.

I'm no stranger to the fact that sci-fi sometimes likes to use technology that's supposed to be so advanced that to an outsider, it begins looking indistinguishable from magic. And in all fairness, that is probably what the 5Ds writers were gunning for. What hampers this a little, though, is that we're just coming from an arc that had actual magic in it, which leads to the allegedly scientific elements sending some mixed messages. Especially because they're never explained. And I'm not saying we needed super hardcore, internally fully consistent sci-fi worldbuilding here. Frankly, with all the weird nonsense 5Ds has already mostly handwaved by the start of the pre-WRGP arc, that would have been absurd. But I think a few explanations here and there, hell, even just the occasional off-handed remark, could have done a world of good for this arc, and especially for the Meklord dilemma and the setup of the ruined future. I don't need a whole breakdown on how exactly a reactor knows about the greed in people's hearts, but a remark somewhere on the side about how, for example, the particles that are the central player in that reactor also happen to be copious within the human heart (which would be impossible to prove, but ignore that) would have been nice. And I don't need a full breakdown of how the robot army was built; a throwaway remark that humanity created it as weapons in their supposedly endless, petty wars could have been cool, though.

My point is, fundamentally, that unlike the occult nonsense, which can skirt by on prophecies and simple, black-and-white, good VS evil stuff, the sci-fi elements feel like they demand a surface-level justification for their existence, at least. A surface-level justification they didn't get. And this is without addressing the much, much bigger problem that may actually be the root cause of most, if not all the things I've listed above so far: The time travel.

I don't think it's any sort of new, groundbreaking opinion to say that time travel is a notoriously finicky worldbuilding element that many writers, regardless of medium and/or skill, have already massively shot themselves in the foot with. And unfortunately, I feel like this has happened in 5Ds, too. Specifically because the time travel has seemingly absolutely no limits. The Iliaster trio (and even Paradox) can seemingly be everywhere they want, in any time period, and do whatever they want/deem necessary. Worse yet, the time travel is actively shown to have massive consequences more than once. And I think it's under the weight of this massive, utterly uncontrollable element that the plot really begins to collapse. Because frankly, with the implications we're given, things just really don't look good in a universe where limitless time travel can be used! Let me circle back to two questions from above to really emphasise this: Why are these guys so utterly convinced that this "repair", of all the ones they've already done, will save their future? How can they know that this particular plan will work when they've supposedly already tried everything? In a universe with limitless time travel, these questions become an absolute mess to deal with. And the real problem is that canon never even entertains the idea of answering them. Sure, you can begin to fill in the gaps for yourself if you feel like it. Maybe it's not that all the previous "repairs" Iliaster did truly didn't work, maybe they brought about even worse futures and that was the reason why they were discarded. Or maybe there's a hidden in-universe rule that people from the future who go back to the past actually don't have the power to change anything, as in, no matter what they change, it will never affect their present, because their actions will always loop back around to causing the same things they already know. But there. Precisely there is the problem. I'm not getting this from canon, I'm making it up from scratch. And sure, all stories have gaps—that's where a lot of fanfiction lives, after all. But when you reach the point where you have so many gaps that the audience can no longer suspend its disbelief over these gaps, that's when there's a problem. And the WRGP arc, for all that its antagonists are extremely compelling, pose genuine, moral dilemmas, and for all that it resolves in one of the best arcs of 5Ds, has precisely this problem for me. The worldbuilding is stretched too thin, and my suspension of disbelief breaks and leaves me wondering why so many good themes have to be buried in an arc that is this frustrating to watch sometimes.

*deep breath*

Okay. So now I've aired all my grievances and laid out all the problems that make me shake my fists in frustration at this arc, at the Meklords, and at the Team New World duel. What about the productive part, then, you might ask. I did say I wanted to provide solutions, as far as I can, anyway. How would I try to solve this mess?

Well, honestly, I think the solution here, at least to me, would be fairly basic: More consistency. Make it make sense. The genre mashup can stay exactly the way it is, but maybe tone down the magic on the cyborgs a bit. Make them actual cyborgs. Even if their tech is justified through bullshit, at least justify it. Why does Placido have a reality-splitting sword? Oh, it's actually the Moment Express wormhole technology in miniature. Why can Moment reactors see into people's hearts? Well, duh, they contain the same, special particles as human hearts. Why is there an army of robots in the future to begin with? Humans built it. For war. Like they did so much else. And why did the reactor use it against them? Because it was just responding to their own negativity. Their own, constant desire for strife and petty conflicts amongst one another made them actually turn the weapons against themselves (or rather, against the people they personally didn't like, which ends up being everyone when everyone has a grudge against someone) through the reactor. (The show almost does this one, but not quite.) How do the three emperors of Iliaster know destroying NDC, specifically, will fix the future? They don't! They're doing this on trial and error, and more importantly—and I think this would work best if it was introduced purposefully late—they can't actually save the future by changing the past, because they're not from the past. They just don't actually know that this is a rule of time travel.

None of these fixes would have to be big, episode-spanning things. Off-handed remarks would have been enough. But I think just that could have saved many points from becoming the plotholes they did.

And with that, I think I'll finally leave you be, I've rambled quite enough. To anyone who has made it all the way to the end, I can only give a sincere, heartfelt thank you. I realise this is a LOT of words. Moreover, I'd like to leave you with one more statement: Though I can absolutely understand if this post comes off as me getting on a soapbox and cupping my hands around my mouth before yelling, it's not meant to be. I absolutely invite discussion about the the handling of, the themes behind, and all the arguments I gave regarding the Meklord worldbuilding and the Team New World duel. So, feel every bit as free as I did to yell about this. This post encourages yelling.

#yugioh 5ds #ygo 5ds #5ds #yugioh meta #Team New World #Aporia (5Ds)#meklords #orchid rambles #I just realised this post reads like a whole-ass youtube video essay #shows what I've been watching recently #anyway this isn't getting any more coherent than this #I have too many thoughts to be able to stay coherent at this point #so just take it

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 1 year

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These calls accompany Victor’s Confrontation Date, and set the premise of the date itself. So, I’m posting them first~ ❤️

⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for content yet to be released on the global server! ⌚

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【1st Call】

[Note]: This call takes place some time before the date, and is crucial for the premise of the date—

—

Victor: Didn’t you say you’d be working overtime?

MC: Yeah–– ahh–– can you not hear me typing vigorously?

Victor: All I can hear is a certain someone’s anguished wailing in search of excuses to avoid work.

Victor: If you have the time to call me for crying, why not finish up your work faster and come home?

MC: Can I understand this sentence as CEO Victor wishes that I come home sooner?

Victor: [laughs helplessly] I see that your comprehension ability still needs improvement.

MC: Sob, sob. Victor, you’re so cruel. I’m tired and want to goof off for a while. Just talk with me and give me some motivation.

Victor: Oh? Who was the one that righteously declined my offer to have dinner together this afternoon, claiming that no temptation could shake her determination to work hard tonight?

MC: …I’m really a dummy.

Victor: [chuckles softly] That self-reflection was done quite fast.

MC: I’ve been reflecting on it all evening. This is more than just dinner. It means I’ve tacitly allowed work to take away our time together.

Victor: Seeing how you’re babbling away so vigorously, it seems like you’re not tired.

Victor: However, your mental state does need to be paid attention to.

MC: So, when this busy spell is over, let’s go to the moon!!

Victor: [indulgent, dramatic sigh] Weren’t we talking about going to Mars yesterday?

MC: Let’s go! We’ll go everywhere! Let’s travel around space!

Victor: [exceedingly doting laugh] Sure. Where else do you wanna go?

MC: There’s a new concept of a role-playing game focusing on “confrontation.” Hehe, I wanna play it with you.

Victor: Is it on Earth?

MC: …in Loveland City. No, I’m being serious about this! I just stumbled upon a recommendation for it on a review website and found it intriguing.

MC: Shall we go and relax together when the time comes?

Victor: Are you sure this “confrontation” game, as you mentioned, is relaxing?

MC: Blowing off the steam can be a form of relaxation too. Besides, we don’t get to participate in activities like this often, so it could be a nice change of pace to try it out occasionally.

Victor: Then go ahead and make a reservation. I have time after this spell.

MC: Great! I’ve already entered our names the moment you said yes!

MC: Oh yes, this game’s duration is three days and takes place in a Manor. The game organizers will take care of the accommodations and meals.

Victor: [knowing soft laugh] You’re very skilled at diverting the conversation from the main point.

Victor: Well, it’s good anyway. Three days should be enough for a certain someone to blow off her steam.

—

【2nd Call】

This call takes place after the events of the date:

—

Victor: Weren’t you off playing with that group of college students? It ended so quickly?

MC: Don’t mention it… these students have too much energy. I ran out to catch my breath.

MC: Victor, you know, the script we played today in the murder mystery game is very similar to the ancient-style one we played a few years ago!

MC: The one where you played the role of the King of Liang. You still remember, right?

–

[Tidbits]: MC is referring to their 2018 Qixi date (Qixi Festival Date on EN)!

–

Victor: A certain dummy didn’t let the cat out of the bag immediately and get discovered by others, did she?

MC: Don’t underestimate me! I effortlessly uncovered the assassin in no time!

MC: However, it was over quickly ‘cause the script was too simple. They didn’t find it satisfying enough and are already preparing to move on to the next one.

MC: But I’m a little tired and don’t want to play anymore…

Victor: Then just tell them no.

MC: Uhh, I feel a little shy about it. Also, if I leave, there will be fewer people, and they will need to find other people…

Victor: Don’t say no, then.

MC: Sob, sob. But I’m tired! And I really miss you–– I miss you so much––

Victor: Ah, it must be really hard for you then.

Victor: Despite missing me so much, you still went out to play with those college students?

MC: Hehe, Victor, if you’re feeling jealous, you can just say it directly~

MC: Didn’t I ask you before, and you said you didn’t wanna play?

Victor: That’s not the same thing.

Victor: Some people “only value others for their own advancement and discard them once they are no longer useful.”

Victor: You must have called me only because you couldn’t find any other reasons, right?

MC: You really do know me so well~ TUT If I were to say that I have to work overtime, it’d be a bit too abrupt. After all, I had already told them I had a lot of free time recently.

MC: After mulling it over, it seemed like my boyfriend could be the only solution. Could you play the role of my clingy and cute boyfriend––

Victor: [LMAO the way he cuts her off] I am your boyfriend. There’s no need for me to play the role of one.

Victor: So I guess I should be taking responsibility for being your “clingy and cute” partner, shouldn’t I?

Victor: Tell them–– your boyfriend thinks that you’re not happy going out by yourself and he wants you to come home as soon as possible––

Victor: I suppose you’ve already had that excuse ready in advance, right?

MC: Says who? At best, it’s just that I really miss my boyfriend, and he really misses me too–– so I’m going back home~

Victor: If that’s the case, why are you reporting to me?

Victor: Go and say goodbye to your little friends.

────────────

#warming y’all up? yeah ig you could say that 🤣🫠 also i’m working on the subtitle simultaneously- so hopefully gonna post it tomorrow~#AKSKDJSKAB THEY ARE SO FRIGGIN CUTE. I CAN'T. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.#WHY ARE YOU TWO SO— AKDJDJDHD—#mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #恋与制作人 #李泽言 #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translations

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symmetricalkazekage · 1 year

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Okay!! I'm finally done. My late entry for March's All 4 1 TMNT Challenge (late by my timezone since it's April 1 already).

See, after reading @m1dnyt3-w0lf 's entry (read here), and fucking sobbed, I could not sit by and let our poor Red banded bara suffer. So I told her I'd write a part 2 to hers, to give us some closure. I'm sorry if it makes zero sense, I wanted to get something out before time was up.

So without further ado, here is that part 2!!

⚠️MENTIONS OF UNALIVE AND BODILY HARM. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION⚠️

It had been several months now since Raphael had his heart stomped on. Ever since then, he had been on a warpath, throwing himself into his patrols and duties; he needed the distraction from Y/N, keep her off his mind. While Leo was taking pride in seeing Raph finally take their job seriously, Donatello could tell he was only doing it as an ulterior motive. However, every time he was asked if he were okay, Raph would always brush it off saying he’s fine; he would avoid any and all confrontation if Y/N’s name was mentioned. He wanted to forget, he wanted out.

However, it was hard. Try as he might, his heart had the tendency to remind him of the agreement, and it would be the most painful reminder. Most of his nights were spent in that secret part of New York’s under belly, pounding out his anger and heartache into the old tiles and concrete, before collapsing to his knees. He fought his tears, but they still fell; and every now and then, if New York was quiet enough, you’d be able to hear the scream of someone who’s heart was breaking into tiny pieces. His pain was becoming unbearable, and his thoughts began to get the better of him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Raphael stood atop a tall building somewhere in lower Manhattan, the breeze whipping the tails of his skullcap violently around his face. He was staring out into the streets, but he wasn’t seeing anything; or well, he couldn’t see anything. He was horribly drunk, swaying gently on the ledge. How long had it been now, a year? A whole year since that day, and he had reached his limit. Y/N hadn’t even tried to reach out and properly explain, he knew she didn’t have to, but it would’ve been nice. Just to ease his aching heart, even just a little. But she hadn’t. he tried to follow her, tried to leave little clues that he wanted to talk to her, but they had gone unnoticed. He tried texting, calling, something; nothing, it had all lead to nothing.

The familiar notification sound came from his communicator; his brothers. They had been trying to contact him. Assuming they had found his GPS tracker somewhere back in the lair, but he didn’t want to be found. Eventually, he turned it off, and took a deep breath. Then he felt it; all his pain and anguish, all the suffering, it hit him like a train. He didn’t stop the tears as they fell, he didn’t try to hold back the sob that escaped his throat, he didn’t try to stop the shaking that had overtaken his body. He swayed, and then, he fell.

It was as if time began to slow around him as he fell. He closed his eyes, and the flashes of his life burned into his mind. His childhood, his brothers, Master Splinter, April, defeating Shredder, Casey, defeating the Kraang; everything flashed through, including his agreement. This was it, he was ready to die, to end his own suffering.

“Shit! Are you okay?!”

Raph opened his eyes, he had reached the bottom. A giant pile of garbage bags and boxes had softened his attempt; he felt a stinging in his right arm and his side. He closed his eyes, he didn’t need to look to know that he was bleeding. He was hoping, if he lay there long enough, he might bleed out. He felt taps to his cheek, he had to open his eyes again. Who was this person, and why wouldn’t they leave him alone?

“Hey wake up!” the voice yelled, from the pitch, he figured it was a woman.

He batted her hands away. “Leave me…”

“Okay, we’ve got the biggest gash I’ve seen on your arm and side. I can’t put pressure on both, you’re gonna have to do that part.”

She had shoved some sort of cloth into his hand and practically forced him to keep pressure as he felt her wrap his arm up in something else. His vision was still blurred with tears, and he no longer felt the alcohol in him. He blamed his uberfast metabolism on the fact that he is a mutant with science bullshit that fixes itself. He was half listening to the unknown woman rambling about he she really should have paid more attention in her first aid class on how to tie a tunicate. He really didn’t want to have to deal with someone, so he mustered whatever strength he could and pulled himself from the trash, pushing the young woman aside. Instantly, a sharp pain shot up his left leg; he might've twisted something when he landed. Nothing felt broken so that was good, but he still wanted to be alone so he tired to walk away.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” the woman asked, running and throwing her arms out to prevent him from going further.

“Away from you,” he spat, he didn’t like her tone. He tried to step around her to leave, but she just put her hands on his chest plates.

“Not like that you’re not, you’re pissing blood everywhere!” She yelled.

Now Raph was getting mad, why was this woman in his way, and why was she giving him attitude? When he tried to sidestep again, she just blocked his path again. He was starting to seethe with anger, he just wanted to disappear but this woman was making it very difficult to do that. Just as he was about to yet again try and sidestep, his left leg wobbled and he fell to his knees. He was frustrated now; his attempts failed, he was now injured, no longer feeling the effects of alcohol, and now he couldn’t even get away from this human. Y/N’s face flashed over his eyes once more, and he broke down. He began to sob as the tears left hot trails down his cheeks, his voice barely audible.

He furiously tried to wipe the tears as they fell, but they continued to soak the edges of his mask making it feel heavier on his head. He so desperately wanted to move now, the human was still standing there, watching him too closely for comfort. He had reached for her to try to push her away, but she dodged him easily and stepped forward. He was expecting a lecture from a random stranger, but what he got instead was a soft hug around his neck. The moment had made him freeze, he wasn’t expecting this; was she pitying him, cause he didn’t want that.

“I get it now,” she whispered. “Only the most broken of hearts could make someone do something so silly… I don’t know who did this to you, babe, but I’m so sorry you had to suffer under their hand like this.”

“It’s not you like ya could understand how I feel,” he whispered back harshly.

She laughed softly, “Perhaps,” he felt her arms tighten around him, “but right now, I’m not gonna let you go through this alone. So cry babe, cry and scream. Let it all out, I’ll be right here.”

Raph gritted his teeth as he tried to stop his body from trembling, “I don’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay, I won’t look,” she hushed.

It’s not like he could’ve kept up the walls even if he wanted to, he gripped onto her body with his uninjured arm and let everything out into her chest. His cries echoed of the alley walls, his tears began to soak through her shirt, and he clung to her like a lifeline he didn’t know he needed. In the back of his mind, he had expected her to push him off after a minute, but she stayed, shushing him softly and rubbing comforting circles into the base of his neck. A feeling he didn’t know would help so much.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he had finally calmed down, his body now gently trembling from the onslaught that was just wreaked upon his heart and soul. And the mystery woman hadn’t moved, she hadn’t even shifted; she still stood there, although her grip had loosened. Raph took a moment to take a deep breath before he tried to stand on shaky legs.

“Thanks,” he croaked, guess all that crying did a number on his throat too.

“I’m not done yet, darling,” she said, tugging on his arm gently. “You’re still injured, so I’m taking you home to patch you up. I’ have a pull-out futon you can crash on too.”

She began to pull Raph along with her as she went around a corner into another alley. He wanted to resist, but his feet followed.

“How do ya know I won’t try and run away,” he tried to joke.

She half laughed, half scoffed at his poor attempt, “You can honestly try, but I’m pretty sure you just expended any energy you just had.” She looked back at him with a smirk before tugging on his hand a bit firmer.

After a minute, they walked up to a large gate with a padlock. She pulled out a key from her pocket and unlocked it with one hand. She pulled him into… a car elevator? She shut the gate and relocked the gate, pocketing the key before pushing a big green button on a panel. The rickety old thing began to move up slowly, going passed two floors before coming to a stop. She opened a second gate and pulled out, making sure she shut the gate behind her.

Raph looked around the space. He was no Donnie, but he guessed that this was a warehouse floor, but it had been renovated into a home, or it was getting there. Room dividers were everywhere, some in the shape of a square with a soft pink light flooding out from over the edges. He let himself be pulled to the pull-out and sat down; he watched the woman disappear into the kitchen behind the counter, then re-emerge with a big green box. She walked back over, and he noticed the box said ‘For Ouchies’ and covered in unicorn and car stickers. She set the box down quietly before opening it and pulling out a bunch of things; he watched her hands set out and organize everything before he remembered something.

“The name’s, Raphael, but everyone calls me Raph,” he muttered quietly, feeling if he spoke any louder he would disturb the silence.

“Lahni,” she smiled at him as she soaked a cloth with an orange liquid before going to clean his arm.

Raph winced slightly as he watched her work, by this point he had stopped bleeding, she was just cleaning dried blood and whatnot. He was always a fast healer, but that didn’t stop him from getting injured a lot more than he wanted. She patched his arm quickly before grabbing a clean cloth and moving to his side, she placed it on the gash and let the liquid soak and seep into the wound before gently swiping it away.

Raph watched Lahni whisper to herself before he turned to stare at the coffee table in front of him. He saw a photo laying face down, and he got curious. He reached for it, and what he saw made him tense solid. In the picture was Lahni… and Y/N. Raph felt his blood boil and bubble up, turning his now steel gaze to the woman hard at work.

“Who’s this…?” he asked in a hard voice. Raph watched her look up, watching her face also turn hard before going back to work.

“My evil sister…” she said coldy.

“Sister?!”

“Hush, child.”

“Explain.”

Lahni placed the last piece of tape over the gauze before standing. “She’s my sister, who cares. I don’t talk to her anymore.”

Raph’s looked faltered.

“What happened…”

“I went to lunch with her, and she was going on and on about this agreement she had with someone.” Lahni sat angrily on the edge of the table and crossed her arms. “This person apparently had no idea about sex or what to do, he asked her for her help. I told her it was a bad idea.”

“Why’d ya say that?” Raph asked.

“Come on, did she really think someone who hadn’t had sex before wouldn’t become attached or even develop any feelings? She’s such an idiot!” Lahni got up and started pacing. “What did she think was gonna happen?! He would be totally okay when she called it off? Ugh! What a fucking idiot!”

Raph watched as Lahni got herself worked up. If she knew that person was him, she would probably instantly change her mind; he was a mutant after all. He continued to listen to her get angry.

“At lunch, she laughed and started belittling him. Saying that he should’ve known better, but she didn’t make any boundaries, or keep things clear! SHE should’ve known better!! You can’t just do that to someone!!”

Raph went to calm her, but the sound of small taps made him freeze.

“Mama?”

They both turned, Raph immediately began shitting bricks. Standing next to where the pink light was coming from was a smaller version of Lahni. She was wearing what he picked as her mom’s shirt, holding a stuffed samurai rabbit rubbing her eyes.

“Ah shit, come here baby,’ Lahni coaxed.

The little girl wandered over, stopping when she saw Raph. He panicked as he picked up a cushion and tried shielding himself from her eyes. She stared at him, but then her eyes got big and she ran up to him.

“Mama! He has ouchies!” she squealed as she stared at the bandages.

Lahni laughed, before sitting back down on the table. “He does, but don’t worry,” she looked up to Raph and smiled, “I fixed him.”

The little girl stared before she climbed up onto the pull-out with him, she handed the rabbit to him and kissed both his injuries. Now, if he could blush, he would be red all over. Lahni laughed hard at his face as he watched the little girl stand up, getting right into his face.

“Don’t worry Mister. My mommy is the best fixer upper. And I have magic kisses, so you’ll be better in zero time.”

She had said it in the most serious tone ever, and Raph was taken aback quite a bit. He looked to Lahni for help, but the woman just kept laughing.

“Miwa, are you gonna introduce yourself?”

The little girl practically shoved her hand into his face, “I’m Miwa, and I’m dis many numbers!” he watched as she tried to hold up three fingers but was coming out as four.

Raph chuckled, before taking her tiny hand and shaking it gently. That night went on with childish stories and giggles, until eventually Miwa fell back to sleep. Every time Lahni tried to move her, Miwa protested, saying she wanted to stay with her new friend. It got to a point where they both gave up, so Lahni grabbed extra pillows and blankets and set up the pull-out for the three of them.

And that was the first night that Raphael had slept without any nightmares.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A whole year had gone by after that night, a lot had happened. Raph was babysitting Miwa for Lahni while she ducked out to the store, when she had an unexpected and unwanted guest arrive. Y/N. She had walked in expecting to see her sister, but instead found Raph. He had frozen, he didn’t know what to do. But Miwa had stood in front of him telling Y/N to leave, they didn’t want to see her.

Y/N tried and tried to convince her it wasnt nice to talk to her aunty like that, getting closer and closer. He watched her try to reach for Miwa, and something came over him. He grabbed Miwa and pulled her into a protective embrace, and he growled defensively. Y/N tried to explain herself, but she ran out time when Lahni returned.

A screaming war began, Raph turning and covering Miwa’s ears as she huddled close to his chest plates. Y/N left, and Raph finally told her everything. Lahni knew all along, she had figured it out quite early, he always avoided her family pictures that had Y/N in them. But, she didnt want him to relive all the bad memories so she didn’t mention it.

That night, Raphael sat on the couch. It was a more comfortable one he had picked up with his brothers help. After he had explained to them everything that had happened with Y/N, when Lahni found him and even Miwa. He had gotten the lecture of a lifetime from Leo and Splinter, but they were just happy that he was doing okay now. Reiterating that he could rely on them for anything he needed.

However, during his time spent with Lahni and Miwa, his heart decided it’d play matchmaker. Anytime Lahni was close, his heart would skip beats and he’d flush. Any moment spent with Miwa, he’d get this urge to protect by any means. Donnie had said that he’d imprinted on her, if that was even possible in a turtle. Raph didn’t want his heart broken again, but he was willing to take this chance.

Lahni was sitting next to him as they watched TV, Miwa asleep on his lap curled into a ball with her rabbit. Mustering up his courage, Raph put his arm around Lahni and pulled her close to his side; his arm slipping down her back to her waist, effectively pulling her even closer. He had expected her to flinch or stiffen, but she relaxed into him and leant her head on his shoulder.

She scoffed. “Took you long enough.”

Raph chuckled. “Keep you waiting long, then?”

“A little. But I wanted it on your terms.”

Raph smiled. “Hey I wanted to ask you something...”

She turned to him, “What’s up, hun?”

He sighed, “I know, it hasn’t been long... a year isn’t a lot of time... but I really like you...” he looked away from her eyes. “And... I was wondering... if you’d let me, be a part of your family...”

Raph heard Lahni gasp, he panicked so he continued. “I can’t really see myself without you now, you’ve made an impact on me...” he looked down at the little girl in his lap “and so has Miwa. And I wanted to know... if it’d be too much to ask ya...”

He hesitated, but her hand on his knee made him finish in a rush. “IWASWONDERINGIFYOU’DLETMEBEMIWA’SDAD!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting her to reject him. But his eyes shot open when he felt Lahni kiss his knuckles.

“You know, I’d been thinking the same thing. But I wanted you to make that decision first, babe.”

Raphael’s smile couldn’t grow any wider as he pulled Lahni into a feverish but loving kiss, which she returned with just as much love.

When they broke, he laughed out of breath.

“I’m new to all this though... can you show me where to start?”

Lahni smiled at him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tags: @turtle-babe83 @thelaundrybitch @red-phoenixxx @post-apocalyptic-daydream @dilucsflame33 @leosgirl82 @tmnt-tychou anybody else that I cant remember!!

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles bayverse #tmnt bayverse #tmnt fic #tmnt fanfic #tmnt raphael #tmnt all 4 1 #tmnt all 4 1 challenge #repair the hurt from the angst #part 2 #soft raphie warm raphie little ball of emotions

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scribble-dribble-writes · 1 year

Text

⚔️Conquered ⚔️

-------------------------. 👑 .--------------------------

Pairing: Obi wan x reader

Contents: A knight is hopelessly in love with his queen. Medieval AU

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1200

State of affairs >>>

-------------------------. 👑 .--------------------------

The throne room was empty and lifeless, you sat in your designated seat, the one that was acting to be more like a cage. You could do whatever you want, that was the notion everyone had about what it took to be a ruler. But only you knew that your path was already predestined. The door creaked open and in entered a solitary figure. Alone just like you, his armour shone in the faint daylight that slipped through but to see his face again, you could feel your soul light up.

“You had called for me, your majesty?”, he dipped his head.

“Yes.”, you fought the urge to run into his arms like a young girl. Things were very different now. He wasn’t a squire and you weren’t a princess. But the silence stretched on and in your desperation to make him speak to you,

“How have you been?”, you ask him.

He doesn’t respond, instead he scuffles his feet and holds his hands behind his back.

“Is that why I was summoned? To know of my day to day events.”, he sounded passive aggressive.

“Well you won’t even speak to me under normal circumstances.”, you clutched the edge of your arm rest, you could demand an answer but all you wanted was to plead.

“And do you know why?”, he questions finally looking at you.

“Yes.”, you look away, the crown feeling heavier than it was.

“Then I will like to be dismissed.”, he dipped his head down again waiting for you to send him away.

“Obi wan, please.”, you get up from your seat but pause when you feel his gaze on you. He straightens and pushes his shoulders back like a jaguar about to announce it’s entry into the jungle. He studies you and sighs.

“You asked for me to be your knight.”, he speaks and steps forward.

“I agreed.”, he shrugged his shoulders.

“You wanted me to be your personal guard.”, he was halfway there, his boots thumping with every step he took.

“I agreed.”, solemnity was buried in his tone.

“You know of my intentions and yet you punish me. To be near you but always out of reach.”, he says softly looking into your eyes, anguish and pining intertwined to make his eyebrows crease.

“You know the reason.”, you remind yourself of your station that if you chose to, no one needed an answer from you. But he held the key to your heart. So you try to hold your head high.

“Do I not get a say in your selflessness?”, he asks kindly, now face to face.

“I do not want to disrupt your life.”, you pull at your impeccably pressed sleeve.

“A decision I need to make.”, his hands slides over yours and presses down gently.

“I know you will give it all up for my sake.”, you find his gaze so blue you forget about the present. He tips your chin to look at him,

“Then ask me.”, he whispers.

“I cannot put you under such pressure.”, you feel anxious. You knew what he would face and how they could break him.

“Everyone will want to have a piece of you. I will not allow it. I cannot watch you get hurt because of me.”, you voice it out and feel his fingers cusp your cheek to pull you closer.

“They will doubt your motives.”, you whisper.

“I will bear all of it.”, he says without missing a beat.

“How are you so sure about it?”, you trace your finger over the arch of his brow like you were trying to map out his thoughts and his strategy.

“I do not need to think twice about you.”, he smiles and it takes you back to when he was a boy.

“Obi wan, it’s an immense duty.”, you steady yourself, the power to decide was ultimately in your hands.

“I’m accustomed to duty.”, he said truthfully which you knew too.

“This isn’t like meeting in the gardens anymore.”, you feel frantic and frustrated that he was unwilling to let go.

“You worry for me and look out for me. But you stop me from doing the same.”, he blinks trying to keep his focus in the moment.

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”, in the heat of it, you admit it to him. The truth that you kept hidden.

“I fear -

You stop but he pulls you in for a hug. You wrap your arms around him and he holds you like he was the anchor. He did this every time you wanted to admit to something. He would hold you so you tell it to him and that both of you do not get distracted by your emotions.

“Tell me.”, he coaxes you rubbing your back.

“I fear you will resent me one day.”, you say it quickly.

“That, if I never walked into your life, you would have been better off.”, you hold onto him tighter, panicking that this might be the last.

“That cannot be.”, he eases you as though he knew the inner workings of your mind.

“The truth is that I walked into yours.”, He tucks his chin into your neck, his lips were feather light over your skin.

“And I have no intention of leaving.”, he sounded resolute, you were entangled in his arms.

“I do not care for the crown.”, his chest plate was cold against your touch.

“I do not care about the power.”, he breaks away.

“I only care for you.”, he said as he held your gaze.

“I cannot belong to anyone, Obi wan.”, you tell him, you belonged to a kingdom and a group of people.

“You are tied to a cause and I am bound to duty.”, you try to move away but you see him nod.

Inhaling slowly, he gets down on one knee, an act knights use to convey their allegiance. He dipped his head and you felt the weight of your crown, tip forward, ready to tumble.

“My queen.”, he addresses you.

“You cannot belong to anyone but I can. You have conquered many lands and rule the endless seas, in the same way you have conquered me. I belong only to you as I await your rule.”, he looks up at you but you meet his gaze as you crouch down to his level.

He was resolute and for a second it was up to you, not to the advisors or the people but to your own desires.

“Then so be it. I will be your queen.”, you respond and he reaches for the back of your neck. His lips, the perfect shape that fit against yours, he pulls you into his arms as he sits down, his legs spread wide as you lay on his chest. Your exquisite silk gown draped across the carpet. You kiss him and he gives in, your weight pushing him to lie down. You get lost in the moment, the crown almost invisible over your head, you were back in the middle of the garden, undisturbed even though you both commanded the throne room with your silence.

You break away to see his flushed smile, his hair spreading over his head like a golden halo. “People might think I’m missing.”, he says coyly. “You get to leave when I say so.”, you tilt his head towards you. The land you had conquered needed to be discovered. So you kiss him again.

#obi wan kenobi #ewan mcgregor #obi wan my beloved #general kenobi #master kenobi #kenobi series #kenobi tv #obi wan imagine #obi wan x reader #obiwan x fluff #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x you #obi wan series #obiwan kenobi

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esuemmanuel · 11 months

Text

LETTER TO THE THIEF.

ESU EMMANUEL G.

www.esuemmanuel.tumblr.com

www.thecanvasofmadness.tumblr.com

To you, shameless thief:

I hereby dare to let you know what I have been feeling thanks to the constant thefts of which I have been a victim, in any of the websites I mention, from your hand.

I have been affected, tremendously, by the lack, no longer of morals - because that seems to be absent in you - but of human integrity and decency, as you have been able to take as your own what is not yours and will not be yours no matter how hard you try.

While it is true that I am the author, creator and source of everything on both websites, it is also true that you are a vile, ignorant, brainless, soulless and spiritless ignoramus who needs to take what is not yours to feel special. Know that, to do what you do, anyone can move their hands, but, to create content - to burn your eyelashes, study and read in the wee hours of the morning, in a sleepless and insomniac mood, while you feel in your soul the burning of madness, the dismay of melancholy, the anguish of anxiety, the rapture of joy and the daring of love - not everyone does it. In fact, there are very few of us who dare to step out of the standards to break the paradigms and create something new; something that no one else has been able to do nor will do, least of all those of your lineage, obviously, since you come from a rotten tree, from an infertile branch, so much so that you are fervently dependent on us creators, because not only have you stolen from me nor will you steal from me, you have done it with others who, like me, take the risk of producing original content.

What do you know about it? Definitely nothing, because at home you were not taught, no longer to respect, but to be free. Your wings were clipped as soon as your mother gave birth to you and, as you grew up, instead of feeding your soul to make you aware of the creative power you carry in your entrails, they made you believe that you are useless, that you will never be someone in this life if you do not steal, if you do not kill, if you do not rape, if you do not take from others what you are not allowed to create. So pitiful is your life and your existence that you are a "nobody". Your mother gave birth to you for one purpose only: to be a copy of others, a leech, a piranha, a bird of prey, a dependent of the winners. You need to feel like a winner, but without making the slightest effort and hanging the medals of others. How pathetic and mediocre you are! And I don't even ask you if you are not ashamed of such truth, because I know you are not, you don't know about it, because, I insist, you were not taught.

I dare not say that you are a human being, since a human being has the capacity - in fact, is born with it - to be creative. You, simply, are a parasite brought into the world by another parasite; beings void of energy of your own, dependent on the energy of others to exist or, rather, to survive, since what you do is not living and you do it thanks to the theft of the divine breath of those we create. How sad it is to be you! You cannot and do not have the ability to give anything of value to the world, because you have to take it from others to feel valuable and satisfy your lack of spirit. Look that I, however you steal from me, if I decide to stop publishing what I write, you, definitely, will stop subsisting, because without me, who am the source, you will have no way to feed yourself, meanwhile I, who do not depend on anyone, but on my own will, strength and motivation, will continue to create freely in my notebooks and, perhaps, no one else but me can read me. It doesn't matter, just having the satisfaction of creating is enough for me. This is where the satisfaction of the creator lies, while yours will always depend on it, which leads me to confess to you that you are not free, but a slave of your own limitations, which you inherited from your mother and which you will never be able to get rid of. You are marked by nothingness, eternal laziness, perpetual emptiness and filthy ignorance. It is when I come across beings like you that I advocate abortion, because, a being that is born with the sole purpose of suckling its energy from others does not deserve to breathe. You don't help anyone with that, you only take away the breath, the air from those of us who need it to create, to be, to live and, consequently, to give something valuable to the world. Am I harsh? Am I? I think I only make you see the reality of your life (if that's what you can call what you are supposed to be doing in this world). Harder is having to feed leeches like you for free. You may wonder what is in it for me to tell you your truths if, after all, you will continue to commit the misdeed of stealing. Well, then, I am pleased with the satisfaction I get from spitting in your face, that's all.

You will continue to steal, because that is your destiny, that is what you were born to do, and even if you want to change, you will not; it is impossible for you to do so. In your genes you have the mark of evil, of brutality, of unconsciousness, of ignorance, of lack of soul, and nobody can be cured of these. However, I, unlike you, will continue to create, produce, write and publish because in Me lies the source of creation. I am the water, the ink, the sea, the sky, the earth, the fire, the wind… the ether… the force of life becoming word and action in every writing I do and in every step I take. You will continue to be a "Nobody" who steals and satisfies himself by receiving the applause of those who, like me, do not need that to feel satisfied.

Ah, how good it feels to tell you that you will never get out of your pigsty of mediocrity! While I, a born writer and poet (and yes, I say it with all the blessed pride I have in being one), will continue to bless my eyes with my creations at the expense of my tiredness, my time, my health, my money and my life.

Without further ado, I say goodbye with a tremendous satisfaction for telling you what I feel and knowing how to write it, something that you, in life, will be able to experience, won't you?

Esu Emmanuel G. Author, Writer, Poet and Human Being.

#esu emmanuel #el hombre de la soledad #escribiendo en soledad #escritores en tumblr #the man of solitude #writing in solitude #poetas en tumblr #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #2023 #respect copyright

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darlingpwease · 2 years

Note

oh trans yuuta has me by the THROAT i need him to cockwarm SO bad

warm up

note: I wrote two options because I couldn't decide. also, trans guy yuuta, but since I don't know how to describe in a more explicit way, then like... yes.

content warnings: established relationship, pet names (dog-like names, good boy, lapboy, g.), mild crying + drooling + begging, mild unhealthy behaviour (obsessiveness) implied

penetration giving, dirty talk, sex addiction implied, unprotected sex implied, mild pet play (puppytalk with yuuta), riding position / bottom on top, masturbation (yuuta, solo), cock(?)warming (r.), oral warming / oral sex (r.), praise (g.), light hair pulling (g.), mild orgasm denial (g.)

writing style: yuuta's genitals are not named in any way (unfortunately), but it is very clearly implied that he has a vagina, precum; both parts are small (less than 1000 words)

darlings: yuuta okkotsu x reader; top!reader, dom!reader; reader has a few 'vocal' lines

It started innocently: rubbing cheek against your shoulder, wrapping arms around your body, airily gentle kisses on your neck to attract your attention. You have long been used to the fact that Yuuta is clingy, he has always been like that, so even when he almost began to wrap himself around you with all parts of his body, you just... continued to ignore him — until heard a dreary sound, something between a growl and a whine, and were practically forced to break away from business to let him know that you are listening to him and not ignoring at all.

Actually, you would never call Yuuta intrusive or "too needy", but sometimes he was definitely more sticky when felt that you were spending too little time together, especially if your work only got bigger with time, and cooing “I have a little more left, prince, give me more time” didn't help too much when you repeated it more than once in a few hours, making him even more sad — and out of control.

And although yes, Yuuta can help you in some way so that you do everything faster, but sometimes this help was pointless when only you can cope with things — or if he was too overexcited and could not really concentrate, constantly thinking about other things and losing touch with reality; in the end, he was looking for your intimacy, and even if he constantly brings himself to senses this is not too good for motivation, despite the desire for you to praise him. After all, Yuuta wants to be a good boy, even if his head is completely empty at such moments; but he really tries, asking you for clarification and doing everything possible, starting from massage and "bring-give-take away" and ending with direct intervention to do something monotonous or simple, if you can release earlier because of this and be less tired.

... But when you say that you know how he can help without putting too much effort mentally and without sticking to you in exhausting anguish, his desire to serve and a joyful gleam in eyes literally melts your heart — and Yuuta agrees even before you explain, almost wagging his tail with impatience.

In the end, he is always here to help you and fulfill your desires.

Hot as a stove when you gently touch his hair, lightly massaging to encourage for the absence of any distracting movements even when his mouth is wet and full — Yuuta makes no attempt to move away, allowing saliva to accumulate in the corners of his lips. After all, the order was "be a good boy and don't get in the way of work," but if he's already desperate to touch you, then you'll graciously let him warm you up, making sure that when you're done, you'll definitely be able to take care of him the same way he takes care of you.

It is in his interest to make sure that you will be wet enough and satisfied with his work, so simple and uncomplicated that it seems impossible to spoil it — at first.

When you gently comb his sticky because of the heat hair back, removing them from the forehead, watching an excitedly ruddy face unable to even whine something in response, you can't resist teasing affectionate concern about his condition and feelings — but only get a mute assurance that everything is fine, even when you feel a small tremor in his body; overflowing with sweet longing from impatience and misunderstanding when will you put pressure on the back of his head to use his mouth, and not leave him in this position.

Sweet, wet, hot — something inside you fervently responds to his tearful loving gaze, full of attention and longing, but you have a work, even when feel him twitching slightly, rustling, and his face takes on an expression of shy impatience, being left unattended for too long; but you do not react in any way, despite his quick worried glances in search of hints of your discontent. But even when the quiet noise is interrupted by wet sounds, you do not react in any way — Yuuta has always been so unrestrained and sensual, full of this immense thirst and need from the slightest touches and hints, but you are understanding enough that even through the force of restrained moans pass by your ears.

Yuuta doesn't move, even when saliva drips from his chin, and you only lower hand down to stroke him, gently encouraging to continue caressing himself when he stops, abruptly recovering from your touch. But you don't say anything out loud, glancing fleetingly at his face from below from time to time; blissfully dreamy, with slightly trembling eyelashes, not at all confused with the task even when his breathing is slightly off, and the sounds become a little louder, mixed with muffled moans and soft attempts to snuggle closer to you.

Like a drunk looking for even more pleasure, even when your fingers get tangled in Yuuta's wet hair, pulling slightly, giving him what he wants so much; you can't see, but can hear and feel how he responds when shivers harder, with breath knocked out, blindly looking for even more affection and touching the skin to the skin; when his hand lightly touches your leg during excited ignition, probably dirtying the floor, he has always been such a mess

“Stop.”

Hot as a stove; quiet whining, but obedience — nothing but trembling and heavy breathing when his hand slightly touches you, frozen in place. Puppy plaintive eyes, glistening from tears appearing due to heat and overexcitation, burning rosy cheeks, even more tempting you to let him continue, feeling excitedly full of pity for his pathetic-confused look.

You weren't sadistic, at all — you liked to go along with his sloppily desperate desires and needs, indulging in various little things,

if it didn't go against your desires.

“Good boy.”

When you stroke his hair, Yuuta squints, melting with pleasure, like a puppy, relaxing from the unexpected tension — but immediately whines when he is pushed away, interrupting, forcing him to look up. His cheeks are soft — when you press on them to give him an additional understanding of the importance of your words, Yuuta trembles slightly, but obediently does not move, allowing you to choose the most comfortable way to grasp his face.

“You're such a good dogboy, aren't you?”

His eyes shine like lanterns covered with fog, and when he slightly sticks out the tip of tongue, showing understanding of what you are talking about — his breath freezes from the movement of your hand lower, to his chin, making him to follow the slow movements in impatient anticipation of your new touch to his bare skin.

Good boys don't cum without permission.

“Of course you are.”

Your fingers rub gently, making him to blissfully cover his eyes with pleasure, almost purring, not reacting even when you gradually raise hand up on his head — only to remove it when you stop caressing his hair, which causes Yuut to quietly sniff with hints of discontent,

“I'll be done soon, I promise,”

but instead of words or actions, just get more comfortable between your legs, showing no signs of disagreement, leaving a few soft, light, almost apologetic kisses on your thighs and groin — a quiet, affectionate purr reaches your ears, probably some words he said to himself under breath, but clearly addressed to someone. However, these thoughts are replaced by a hot wave when Yuuta touches you in love timidly — but immediately becomes more greedy, sticking even tighter.

Good boy.

Yuuta is purring something, but you can only hear the vibration coming from his mouth, even when his face regains that eager ruddy hue,

a very good boy,

and he himself listens intently to your every movement and sound, tightly squeezing and rubbing his hips against each other.

After all, he wants to help you.

Yuuta squeezes restlessly, nervously, as if trying to absorb you and make you stay with him forever, — or, more precisely, inside him — and you would love to go with it, giving him his favorite strokes while firmly holding his still thin wrists, making him drool with every thrust, or making him clinging to your clothes uncertainly, panting pitifully, swaying on your hips in these shyly timid movements, with this wet expression of overexcitation and embarrassment from understanding that you are looking at him, even if he likes it,

but instead you have things that cannot be postponed even if you desperately want, and the quietly whining Yuuta, comfortably settled on your hips for a long time, even if you haven't looked at the clock for the last few hours.

... Yuuta is slender, with thin features, and when you put hand on his thigh, — which fits perfectly into your palm, — you can squeeze him tightly almost without any problems, as if his body was a toy in your hands, even if it was rather caused by his thin features — but "fit into him" and "fit him" were two different things, and even when you can hold him to you, not even letting him move away from your body for a fleeting moment, Yuuta still remained too hot and tight, squeezing almost painfully tightly, as if trying to express some growing burning dissatisfaction, but then gently relaxing as much as he can, slightly trembling; wrapping his arms around you, almost noiselessly whining into your neck at first in an attempt to attract your attention — but the longer you hugged him, letting him listen to your heartbeat and softly kissing your shoulders and neck, the more lazily sleepy Yuuta became, as if trapped in a sweet resin, unable to resist or fight in any way, but only gently wrapping around you in a warm drowsiness.

But his quiet breathing was rather soothing, involuntarily forcing you to relax, feeling so enveloped in the heat of his body, wet, overexcited even when you don't move, shuddering from the most fleeting touches to his sensitive body, squeezing you even tighter in a soft pulsation that makes your thighs dirty; especially when your hand goes lower, drawing an invisible path over his hot skin, making him moan indistinctly when fingers touch his groin, teasing, feeling him freeze inside, as if holding his breath — and exhales with a loud moan when you lubricate fingers in his precum.

Apologies that you will soon finish and take care of him are interrupted when he clings even more tightly to your clothes, leaning back, hiding the space in front of you, impatiently pushing his wet soaked thighs towards your fingers, whining pitifully satisfied when you start rubbing harder, trying to match his excited trembling, even if his impatient fidgeting and the hot pulsation inside rather hinders you, forcing you to constantly be distracted and stop only to hear whining about more; when precum starts to dirty everything even more, leaving traces whenever he jerks up slightly, trying to get even a fleeting touch of your fingers, almost causing you pain due to tight pressing — but even when Yuuta kisses you desperately sweetly, leaving a barely perceptible taste of peaches, you can only continue to rub him, allowing him to finish and start kissing on his own in a painful thirst for more.

Maybe it was all about his ruddy wet face, full of this nervous blissful pleasure when he couldn't take his eyes off your fingers, watching you play with him, forcing him to soak thighs even more; or when he wetly kissed you, almost choking in blind thirst from the thought that he would get what wants; or when he squeezed you, needy and hot, wanting something more than just warming you while you're busy, even if that was what he agreed to — when you finally pay attention to him, giving him just a little, it doesn't matter.

“Lapboy, please—”

When he squeezes his hips even tighter around you, forcing you to gently hold him during the kiss — then only to hug him tighter with your hands, and if someone else were here, they would ask you to stop and relax the embrace, but Yuuta almost purrs, melting, snuggling even tighter even when this is impossible, even when he can't breathe,

looking for more.

“A couple more minutes...”

Yuuta rubs his cheek against your shoulder gently, as if half asleep, but you can feel his heart beating hard after hearing these words — although touching his back makes him relax from the sudden tension.

“Everything okay? Do you need the lubricant before start?”

“Okay; no.”

Yuuta is hot — like a stove; you don't even need to cover yourself with anything to stay warm when you can snuggle up to him, or make sure he's pressed close to you. But when your fingers gently slide down his side, Yuuta stops snuffling, freezes — and almost immediately turns his face to you.

“... Don't look at me with those dead fishy eyes.”

“Finish it.”

#.spicy♡#❖.my jewelry #✉.yuuta okkotsu #🧸.t*#🧸.cockwarming #🧸.hypersexuality #🧸.oral sex #🧸.warming #🧸.praise #🧸.penetration giving #🧸.orgasm denial #🧸.rough sex #🧸.unprotected sex #🧸.pet play #🧸.masturbation #top reader #dom reader #gender neutral reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus · 4 months

Text

Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!Reader fic)

Act One, Chapter Nine: In the Eye of the Storm

Hey guys! I'm back! Yay!

So, so sorry for the super long delay- med school has been extremely busy and on top of that, the Christmas hols have been busy as well. I had family functions, Christmas itself, and my birthday on New Year's Eve ( :3 ). I will also admit that I did briefly lose motivation for this fic, writer's block is a curse, and it was a little bit of slug to get started writing again, but I'm very happy with this chapter and I hope you are all too.

Nevertheless, here's Chapter 9- a.k.a the penultimate chapter of Act One! Yay! I'm so excited for Chapter 10! I don't want to spoil much, but let's just say we'll be getting our first glimpse of an Arcadian Son in his wolven form! 🐺

Feedback is welcome! Let's drum up some hype for Act One's finale!

Warnings: Strong language, threats of violence, emetophobia warning, violence, gore, mild body horror and animal death (I will say this happens under the final asterisk of the chapter almost at the very end and it is a bit nasty)

P.S: Fun fact- half of this came to me in a dream! Seriously, it did!

Her resolve was breaking, crumbling away like sand through her fingers. She was faltering, stumbling over a root as she dragged her body to continue on. Valeria looked behind to see she had lost sight of the base. Slowly, she returned her gaze to what was in front of her: the vague path back to their camp.

She had cast that awful mask aside, leaving it to be found at the edge of the base, where the back of that dilapidated building met the woods, hoping you’d find it and that it’d light a fire under your arse.

A life taken was, in her eyes, better than a life doomed. At least, with murder, there came some form of closure. Some form of a definitive… end.

How long until it would set in? Until he’d unravel and consume them all?

Consume you?

She prayed that the anger she had seen in your face, as she had grabbed a fistful of your hair, bringing your bloodied visage to look upon hers, meant you had it in you to fix this. There was a good chance you’d reject Ghost and flee the moment you discovered his newfound nature. And… you’d be right in doing that- you know, to kill him before he’d get into their hands. Valeria hoped you’d stab him with a silver stake in his sleep or do her the kindness of making him scream. Oooh. Something inside her giggled with sadistic joy at the thought of an Arcadian Son screaming in agony at the hands of a lamia. What a triumph that would be! An arrogant man with strength he didn’t deserve nor need, squirming about at the feet of a trafficked child. Valeria hungered for that, and she had found a substitute in reigning supreme over the Las Almas Cartel but, now that she thought about it, it wasn’t the same. It was play. It was her living in a fantasy, rehearsing all the things she wanted to say and do to her overseer. There were many people that sat at the back of her mind, giving voice to her innermost doubts and fears, whom she wanted to see burn by her hands, and he was one of them. That heartless fucker who managed to worm his way into her very being, one who she’d still want to see in awe of her, to feel a swell of pride as she’d slit his throat.

Every Arcadian Son was the same. Every single one. They all did nothing but hurt, exploit, and terrorise. Throwing around their gifts without a care in the world and making sure everyone was constantly feeling their anguish, their pain.

But what about mine?! What about my pain?!

She trudged on, doing her best to halt the tears pooling in her eyes. In an ill attempt to self-soothe, Valeria found her arms slowly snaking around her, her body pulling her into an embrace. It stung as the cartel queen felt a tear trickle from her eye, rolling down her nose, clinging to the end. Then another, and another, and another once more. Valeria wanted to beat someone half to death. She wanted to feel powerful again, toying with people. She had thought that all these years she had spent on herself, spoiling herself rotten with an underground empire and plenty of men to crush beneath her boot, she had grown. And yet, here she was, a sobbing, snivelling mess, nothing more than a weak, little girl.

Little girl.

“You wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for me.”

Little girl.

“I will always be with you.”

Little girl.

“You will always be scared of men like me. You will always be scared of men.”

The way those words had been uttered to her, all those years ago, with no anger, no emotion behind them, uttered like cold, hard facts. As if she was made to be a certain way. As if she couldn’t escape her nature. As if she was destined to be a caricature, an idea of a person. It was as if everything Valeria had ever done had meant nothing, because all this she had created, had accumulated, had achieved, was merely boiled down to a response to him. Essentially, Valeria realised that she was and would always be nothing more than his lamia.

A quivering breath escaped her, and she became still. Glossy brown eyes stared into the middle distance.

She could have said no, died in defiance.

And yet, she obeyed.

How far was she from camp?

“Valeria?”

Quick as a whip, she snapped back to reality and saw Graves, directly in front of her, standing amidst the shrubbery. His posture indicated he was concerned, slightly leaning forward, one unsure foot put in front of the other, hands hovering in place, shaking with slight trepidation. To him, she didn’t look well. Something about her indicated she wasn’t entirely here and as for her slightly unkempt armour and bloodstained face, Phillip feared she wouldn’t be able to give a decent report.

Still¸ he sighed, no harm in tryin’.

“Valeria?”

“You disgrace the army.”

Every single fucking man she had ever met had, in some form or the other, left a nasty mark on her. Every. Single. Fucking. One.

As she watched Phillip approach her, with a patronising dose of caution, her lip curled.

“I want the missiles. I want the target. And I want Hassan. And you’ve got ten seconds or I’m going to show you the difference between military and me.”

Phillip Graves was feeling sorry for himself now, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be back to his usual self, or perhaps even worse.

“Valeria?”

“What?!” she snapped.

“Have you delivered the package to the target and…”

She could tell he was looking her up and down.

“… Did the renegade do that to you?”

Valeria wasn’t fooled by his softened voice. She took a disgusted step back as he took one towards her.

“What do you think?” Valeria sighed, making to brush past him and collect her things at camp so she could leave this promptly.

He grabbed her, hard, by the wrists. She looked at him like he wasn’t even human, her eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, a face depicting someone who was taken aback by not a man, but an animal.

“I need a full report of what happened,” he spoke to her like she was a mere child.

She looked at him, trying to find his eyes behind that blank visor. Although there really wasn’t much of a height difference between them, she felt as though he was consuming her whole field of vision. Angry tears should have told him enough, but it was evident that he wanted to hear it from her lips.

“Let me go.”

“I need a report.”

“Let me go.”

“You can have your tantrum afterwards, Garza. I need a report. You do realise that this is technically a mission-”

She pulled away, trying to break free of his grip, but to no avail. Over his shoulder, she could see the tantalising shape of camp. Valeria wriggled, demanding to be released. Phillip’s grip only tightened.

Stop.

STOP!

Valeria kicked him, screamed at him and, in a moment of brief freedom, before he’d trap her in his embrace once more, she hit his armoured chest. Again, and again and again. All that came out of her were shrieks and curses that sounded as though they had been trapped in her gullet for centuries. She punched and punched his chest, fighting to break free from his grip as he reestablished control. Graves supposed he’d let her have her moment for a few seconds, however, he soon grew tired of her hysteria.

“Valeria… Valeria, will you just… Val-”

He sighed.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GIVE ME THE GODDAMN REPORT!” he roared.

Then, Phillip fell silent, as if surprised by his own voice. He sounded a lot worse than he did when she last spoke to him, merely hours ago.

Valeria glowered at him but did as he said, regaining composure. She was breathless, panting as her whole body rose and fell in time with her stifled gasps for air. Her hands were raised in front of her, held in place by his, almost framing her face.

“The renegade was there. They saw me. And as for the target… Riley’s received the package.”

He eyed the woman, seeing if he could smell any lies on her. However, it seemed she was telling the truth. Phillip let go of her hands and watched them drop to her sides.

“Clean yourself up and go log it on the lexicon-thingy. I received a call from them not too long after you left. They said they want to hear it from you.”

She pushed past him, wiping away the salty water on her lips with the back of her hand.

Dawn would be approaching and with it, heaps of planning for the final stage. They hadn’t been here for long, but to Phillip, he felt as though he had aged aeons. A sliver of him had just made its absence finally known, having spent the past few days teasing him with its liminal existence. Absentmindedly, he rested a hand on his chest, picking at the crevices of his armour as he stared off into the middle distance. He wasn’t the same. He’d hit rock bottom and now had to get on with things despite it all because he didn’t have anything else to do but that. Never had a man truly encapsulated the word ‘undead’. Phillip Graves in a sense had died in Las Almas, in that tank, at the hands of John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, but he hadn’t been reborn or redeemed in any way. The man was a soulless continuation of the previous iteration. Although he knew the inescapable reality of his situation, he couldn’t fathom it: particularly the fact that he was alive. This didn’t feel like being alive, though. He was simply… going through the motions. There was no agency here. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he did have some agency which led him to the decision he had been procrastinating on making.

The matter of the girls.

***

“What?!” 72’s voice cracked; her indignation just barely being contained. “What do you mean we can’t go?!”

Phillip winced a little, trying to find the correct footwork needed to get around the girl and get on with his life. Much to his chagrin, though, the young lamia firmly put herself in front of him, blocking his path with her feet squarely placed hip-width apart and her arms crossed. She had an aggravating scowl on her face as she looked up at him.

“Kid…”

“Kid?” she scoffed.

“72,” he sighed, pausing for a brief moment to collect his thoughts, “you and 23 need to stay put. For your own safety. You know, I’m doing this for your own good.”

“We’re supposed to be working,” she growled, “We’re supposed to be on a job.”

Phillip noticed the way her brows lowered, eyes narrowing, it brought about a sense of familiarity to him, like he’d seen that expression elsewhere but couldn’t quite place it.

Him.

Suddenly, he was aware that he was pulling the same face under his helmet.

“You’re going to be doing me a lot of favours by staying back here. So, stay.”

“But-”

“That’s an order, 72!”

She was taken aback by his raised voice, her lip trembling a little as her mind couldn’t make up whether she should be scared or continue to be angry. Graves rose to his full height no longer bringing himself down to meet her eyes, thinking that had done the trick.

He gently moved her out the way and walked past, feeling an odd sense of pride that he’d managed to avoid a teenage girl’s wrath successfully.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Phillip stopped dead in his tracks.

“Are you scared you’re going to hurt us?” 72 taunted, “I know that you were the one responsible for 23’s injury after we extracted the drug lord.”

He couldn’t… He couldn’t even bring himself to look at whatever smug grin she was probably pulling, knowing full well that it would send him over the edge. The last thing he needed right now was an excuse to lose it, especially when she was in the line of fire.

“You…” He could hear his voice had become gravelly once more, like it had done so when he’d yelled at Valeria. “… You, young lady, are skating on some mighty thin ice.”

“I don’t even need to read your mind to know you’re full of guilt.”

“72-”

“We’re here for you! We’re your lamias! You can’t just leave us here, they’ll find out we weren’t working properly, and they’ll do something about it!” she cried, throwing her arms out and vaguely upward.

He turned to face her.

“I’m supposed to be dead. I was supposed to be in a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere, not atoning for my fucking sins but here I am yet on another mission… with two children that I now have to make sure don’t get fucking killed because...”

“Because?”

“I’ve killed so many people. I’ve been a damn good contractor. But I draw the line here. I draw the line at children.”

“We’re not just children.”

“No, 72, you are and you’re in my care. I tell you what to do and you do as I say. That’s the fuckin’ deal. Got it?”

Her lips were pulled into a thin line.

“Got it?!”

She hung her head low.

“Yes, sir,” 72 said, resignedly.

He nodded to himself.

“Go into your tent and stay there until I come get you for food or whatever. If you need anything, you call me, and I’ll let you out.”

Tail between her legs, she sulkily walked back to her flimsy shelter. He watched her unzip the flap and crawl in, hearing the shrill sound of the zipper being angrily pulled along the teeth. Phillip found himself lingering a little longer, watching her silhouette greet 23’s in the warm glow of the hanging torch he’d managed to fish out of their bags for them when they first set up shop here.

Though it stung, Graves knew it had been the right thing to do. They weren’t built for the battlefield, and he’d got a glimpse of that when Valeria had been taken.

23…

His mind was still foggy on what exactly happened with her. As much as he wanted to ask, he feared it would either confirm his suspicions or leave him with only more questions. And so, Phillip had opted to wallow in his apprehension, hoping that once he’d finished this mission and hopefully be rid of them, he could either forget about his guilt or drown it in a fuck ton of alcohol like he used to.

Taken a heavy hit? Simply rock up to the nearest bar in the area and drink and drink and drink.

Having awful flashbacks to Al-Mazrah? Sip some tequila, then sip some more tequila… then keep sipping until you’ve somehow arrived at the next day with only faint recollection of how exactly you got here.

Phillip wondered if he could even get drunk anymore thanks to his newfound condition. Perhaps that’s why the rest of the Arcadian Sons seemed so… excessive, the senseless violence and enforcing of power kept them from acknowledging the tragedies that were their own existences. Maybe he should get with the programme.

No…

It felt wrong.

Then again, he’d most likely done just as bad before. Still, his previous transgressions never made him feel like this, even thinking about spilling blood made his stomach both churn and burn with hungry excitement. It would be giving into something, something that was steeped in sin.

He needed to get this job done and hope the Foundation would give him another one so he would have no time to be alone with his thoughts.

***

You took another pump of soap and rubbed it into your hands before bringing them under the tap once again. Warm water washed over you as you picked at your nails, trying to get the last bits of brown, dried blood which were stubbornly sitting in the crevices of your fingers. Eventually, you looked back up to see the red smeared across the lower half of your face, coming to almost a point, where the source was: your nose.

Damn it.

The blood was beginning to dry, becoming a nasty crust over your skin. You couldn’t help but stare at yourself- bloodied, bruising with tearstains to boot.

You thought about the lamia once more. She had been hanging about in your head for some time now, her face briefly gracing your mind’s eye with her presence. You wondered who exactly she was, not from an identity perspective but rather, you were curious about her intentions. It was just… why?! Why was she there? Why did she help you? Why help and still work for the Foundation? Why show such solidarity, tell you about the Arcadian Sons in the forest, undeniably a few kilometres away, and yet, still, presumably, enter to confirm your location?

Or was this all a ruse? No… it couldn’t be!

It wasn’t like you were going to wait around to find out, you were going to pack your shit and leave first thing in tomorrow morning. You swore to yourself that come dawn tomorrow, you were out of here.

You just hoped that the Arcadian Sons weren’t planning anything tonight.

They couldn’t be that fast, could they?

They could. They very much could.

Damn it.

You sighed, watching your reflection frown. All you really had going for you at the moment was the hope that some god above would take pity on your plight and have the Arcadian Sons miss their window of opportunity.

A long sigh escaped you as you rested some of your weight on the sink.

Ghost’s bout of nausea hadn’t been helping the overall atmosphere in the base either. He’d hogged the bathroom pretty much all morning, vomiting loudly. Soap had been lingering outside for pretty much all of it, occasionally knocking on the door to ask the man if he needed the medic… to which Ghost would reply with, “No. Gaz is keeping ‘em occupied anyway. Besides, I think I just ate-” and then he’d get cut off by puking back into the toilet bowl.

You were curious about what exactly was wrong with him but hadn’t had an opportunity to even catch a quick glimpse of his state, with Kate and Price immediately pulling you aside to ask about the events that had transpired last night the moment you were out of the medical room. Alejandro and Rudy had also interrogated you in the office with the others earlier but that resulted in them having more questions. Then, a massive argument had broken out between Alejandro and 141, with Rudy doing his best but being an unsuccessful mediator. Everything came to an end though when Ghost had sat back down after getting a word in, only to suddenly rise from his seat and make a break for the bathroom. Everyone heard his retches down the corridor, and you wouldn’t be lying if you admitted that the sounds had made you feel a little nauseous yourself.

Bewildered was the word you thought best described the base at the moment.

A pit was slowly growing in your stomach. You were dreading what nightfall would bring. They were coming for you and there are only so many times you can escape the Foundation’s clutches before luck runs out.

You were glad you had packed your silver-plated knives and stake, feeling the sweet relief of reassurance as you grabbed your toothbrush, eager to finally have a moment to yourself to freshen up.

***

The clues at the bottom of her crossword were slowly blurring into one inky blob on the page. A pen, slightly shaking with mild anger, hovered over the third row spanning across the answer area. Usually, 72 would make light work of this, but today, she seemed preoccupied.

23 looked at her with caution from across the tent as she fiddled with the new compression bandaged Phillip had quickly slipped onto her slowly healing knee. The swelling had gone down a little, but it still looked sore. She watched, with increasing anxiety, as 72 grew more and more tense. Eventually, she caved and lashed out with a loud growl, throwing her pen to the side.

“You okay?” 23 asked with trepidation.

“Can you believe he’s making us stay here? Instead of, you know, letting us do our jobs?”

23 shrugged, turning to pick up her camcorder and searching for the switch as 72 continued her rant.

“Like, the Red Room clearly thinks we’re ready or we wouldn’t have been deployed, you know? His report is what’s gonna get us out of the Red Room and actually into a definitive pack. That we’ll stay in…”

She drew her knees to her chest, hugging the newspaper.

“… Instead of being passed from one packmaster to another.”

23 shrugged.

“Maybe he’s right,” the girl suggested, flicking through her footage.

72 grumbled.

“We’re going to end up paying for this. We always do,” she mumbled into the paper, “He thinks he’s doing the right thing but as soon as he mentions on the final report that we did nothing-”

“How do you even know he’s gonna say that?” 23 looked up at her with an exasperated expression, only emphasised by the blue glow from the device’s screen highlighting her features.

“Because he has to?!” 72 sat upright. “They’ll ask.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Why are you sticking up for him?!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! You’re on his side!”

If 23 had pearls, she’d be clutching them in response to such a false and heinous accusation.

“72, I’m not taking anyone’s side. We both know that he’s nice so he’s not going to do anything to get us in trouble, okay?”

“He’s the reason your knee’s fucked up.”

72 pointed at the bandaging on the girl’s leg. 23 cast her gaze downwards and to the side, covering the dressing with her hands.

“Are you scared of him? Is that what it is?” 72 asked, before bringing her hand to her forehead. “Oh my God! You’re scared! You’re doing as your told for once because you’re scared of him!”

“I’m not scared of him! Besides, it was my fault my knee’s screwed up, I was the one that tripped… It’s just-”

“Just what? Scared the big bad wolf is gonna eat ya?”

23 glared daggers at her.

“No, I’m not scared. I’m just being reasonable. Maybe, he has a point. Maybe, we should stay here.”

72 leaned back, her eyes narrowing.

“If I left and followed them to the base, would you let me do it alone?”

Silence fell upon them briefly, only the sounds of awkward rustling filled the tent.

“Well?” 72 asked impatiently.

“I mean…” 23 trailed off, scratching her upper arm idly as she thought.

“Yes or no!”

“Fine!” the girl groaned, throwing her head back.

***

Kate’s fingers were interlocked, her hands tightly wrapped around one another, in a ball, resting on her head as she looked at the ground. Y/N was in their prime. They knew. She, on the other hand, clearly was losing touch and at an alarming rate.

Price sat across from her, a steaming cup of tea sitting atop a small table was the only barrier between the two. He let out a sigh, the air whistling a little as it left his nose. His hands were comfortably placed on his lower abdomen, a contrast to his right leg, which jigged up and down, giving away his brewing anxiety. The captain was growing to resent this silence, waiting and wanting Kate to fill it because he couldn’t, he had no words.

The tense quiet was what was left of Alejandro’s panicked anger and Rudy’s unsuccessful attempts to quell it. He had shouted, paced, accused and demanded that Y/N needed to leave. Kate had stated that she could only let Y/N go once the contact had confirmed it was safe, and as much as she hoped you’d agree, you took Alejandro’s side.

You would leave come tomorrow’s sunrise and just hope that by the time you’d reach the border, the people Kate had been talking to would be there to greet you… like the angels at the Pearly Gates.

Marks of Alejandro’s outburst were everywhere in this room: the door only now just ceasing its swinging from when he’d stormed off, the slam of his fist still ringing in Kate’s ears, the scattered papers and the empty dossier precariously hanging off the table’s edge.

Price’s brown eyes looked over to the old electric fan atop one of the filing cabinets, feeling himself become engrossed in its soothing blanket of white noise as it whirred away, fighting to do its job.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken on Y/N.”

Quickly, he turned back to Kate.

“What?”

“We already have enough shit going on. Y/N… I didn’t need to add them to the list of our problems,” she muttered, shaking her head, “Did you hear what Ghost said? And how Alejandro responded?! I could’ve sworn I saw it n his eyes for a second that he was ready to kick us out.”

“No… No!” he implored, scooting his chair, trying to close at least some of the distance, “You did the right thing.”

She looked at him, her blue eyes intense, darting, doing their best not to give away her bubbling emotions.

“It’s difficult to see that right now. We’re here because Alejandro is allowing us to be here, he’s already jumping a lot of hoops for us.”

“And you’re doing the same for Y/N. We don’t leave each other. Where would they be right now if you hadn’t found them?” Price asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Dead,” Kate stated, plain as day, “Or worse.”

Price’s eyes creased and his mutton chops rose as he gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Exactly. And besides, neither of you have screwed us over. They said it themself, the soldiers after them won’t come for us if we keep out of their way.”

“Usually, John.”

He nodded, being a little too nonchalant for Kate’s liking, as he took his cup of tea to his lips.

Then, it clicked.

“Wait, John, I know that look-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I think you do.”

Price shook his head.

“John!”

“Kate!”

She sighed, leaning back.

“I’ll go to try and appease Alejandro by telling him we’ll all- well, I’ll who’s feeling up to it- take night watch tonight, save him and his men the trouble, you know. Then, if those lads show up to take your friend, we’ll be ready and stand firmly in their way. Then, Y/N will have a clear path of escape… theoretically.”

“John,” Kate chuckled weakly, “I appreciate the offer, as I’m sure Y/N would, but these are no ordinary soldiers.”

“Neither are we.”

“No, you don’t understand. What I mean is-”

“Kate, I suggest you think about heading to the barracks soon to rest up, we’ve got a long night ahead of us,” he said bluntly, rising from his seat.

With a shaking head and tight lips, she conceded. Laswell supposed it didn’t really change her plan, which was hoping that whatever pack of Arcadian Sons were out there would decide tomorrow night would be their time of attack. However, at the same time, she didn’t want to put her friends in harm’s way. And yet, having people available to raise the alarm would be beneficial, should they rock up tonight. They didn’t know what she knew though, and… well, Kate decided she’d take up Price’s advice to retire for the rest of the day to reflect on how she should prepare them, should the wolves turn up at their door.

Captain Price wandered towards the window, trying to peak through the fogged-up pane to see if there was anything interesting happening in the wilderness just outside the base. Suddenly, he yelped, staggering back, as a small bird landed just outside. Its wings hit the glass harshly as it steadied itself, before looking in to observe the strange giant beholding it.

“What kind of bird do you think that is, Kate? Looks like some sort of blue magpie to me,” Price mumbled.

Then, he straightened up and gave it a proper salute.

“Hello, Mr Magpie. How’s your wife?” he asked, giving a quiet but hearty laugh as he heard Kate snicker at one of his many British eccentricities.

“What?” Price pretended to take offence, turning around.

“I always forget you do that with birds!”

“Just magpies,” he corrected, “And they’re gorgeous little things so what does it matter!”

Kate shook her head, smiling.

Price gave a playful glare and turned back around, only to see that his small, winged friend had gone.

***

“How are you shaping up, Si?” Soap asked as he squatted down by Ghost’s bedside.

“Feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” Riley replied, voice muffled by the pillow he was speaking into, “I’m dying.”

“I don’t think you’re dying, mate.”

“I am.”

Soap rolled his eyes. Ghostie may have had a reputation for being a stone-cold killer, and a very intimidating one at that, but MacTavish had found, as he’d gotten to know him, that the lieutenant also had a subtle flare for the dramatic.

“I don’t think you are,” Soap laughed quietly, removing the lid of a hot cup of tea he had retrieved from the mess hall.

“You can’t say anything, you’re not a medical professional.”

“Well,” Soap retorted, placing the lid gently on the ground, “the medic checked up on you a few mins ago and also said you’re not dying. I don’t think yer condition has changed much from then. I think you probably just ate something that didn’t agree with ya.”

“Fair enough,” Ghost said with a groan, his voice finally becoming clear as he turned his head to face Soap instead of the pillow.

He noticed the tea in Soap’s hand.

“That for me?”

MacTavish briefly looked down at what he was holding, and then back up at his friend.

“Oh aye,” the sergeant chuckled as he handed it over, “I made it black though, I’m worried the milk might set you off again.”

“Thanks, Johnny,” Ghost sighed, pulling his mask up to take a sip.

Soap sat himself down on the floor, fiddling with his hands as he watched Ghost drink up.

“You sound better,” MacTavish remarked.

“Really?” Riley asked between swigs of tea, “I feel worse.”

“Ah, that’s because it’s coming out,” Soap happily informed, “So, layering a fuck ton of blankets on top of you and making you sweat is working!”

“You’ve been pestering the medic all morning, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.” Soap shrugged.

“Ugh, Johnny. I told you not to bother her. She’s supposed to be helpin’ Gaz.”

Soap was about to say something, then paused, reevaluated, and tried again.

“I’m sorry,” The Scot folded his arms. “One minute you’re acting like you’re on your deathbed and the next, you’re telling me that I can’t be seeking out medical advice on your behalf?”

Ghost scoffed, giving him a playful punch in the arm. Only it wasn’t as light as it was playful. Soap took it well, not quite getting knocked over, but, once the shock had worn off, he couldn’t help but nurse his shoulder.

“Oh shit!” Ghost hurriedly pulled off the covers, practically leaping out of bed. “Sorry, Soap, I didn’t- Fuck!”

As he had tried to remedy the situation, the poor man had spilt his tea all over the floor.

“It’s fine, Si.” Soap brushed him off, rising to his feet. “I see you’ve not quite lost your strength. That’s good, I guess. I’ll go get some tissues.”

“No, I’ll go. I made the mess.”

As much as Soap wanted to protest, it’d be no use. He could see Simon’s mind was already made up.

“Sure.”

Soap conceded, giving way for Ghost as he grabbed his balaclava and rushed out.

***

As he was making his way there, he couldn’t help but feel this sense of unease. He was pretty certain it was what remained of Alejandro’s outburst. Though it was shocking, Ghost could understand where he was coming from; Riley himself had initial reservations about Y/N’s presence here. However, those reservations quickly died once Ghost had seen them and their desperation. He understood that kind of fear. Y/N was vulnerable right now, and needed time to rebuild their strength, hence why Ghost had vehemently protested against Alejandro’s demands to do away with Y/N.

That had led to a stern reprimand from Price and a very surprised look from Soap… and then of course, Ghost had to worsen everything by being this stupidly ill.

Simon actually had no clue what was wrong with him. It was like it had happened overnight; just suddenly, the poor bastard had come down with a pounding headache, high fever, nausea and these weird cramps in his lower abdomen and legs.

Just as he was thinking about them, another wave of pain hit him. Ghost took a moment for himself, resting a hand and his forehead on the wall, trying to find some relief in long, steady breaths.

“Are you alright?” a timid voice asked from behind him.

He turned around ad saw you, toiletries in hand, looking up at him with a worried expression.

“Yeah,” Ghost replied, “What, uh, what about you? Are you okay? You recoverin’?”

You nodded.

“That lamia got a few good hits on me, but I’m in one piece and alive, so that’s good.”

You both chuckled as you casted your gaze off to the side.

“I just… feel bad, though,” you confessed, drawing your belonging close to your chest, “Alejandro seemed so scared, like I was bringing some curse to this place.”

Ghost sighed.

“He’s been through a lot recently. That-”

“Lamia.”

“-lamia,” Ghost continued, “and her break-in probably was the last straw for him.”

“I see…”

Ghost watched as your eyes shifted, a ponderous look emerging on your face as you seemed to process this new take on prior events. He felt a small smile creep onto his face, under his mask, as you fell into deep thought, clearly having really taken in what he had said. The man would’ve let you fully enter a meditative state if it weren’t for the small splodge of dried toothpaste he noticed on the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, Y/N.” His rumbling voice snapped you right out of your trance. “You’ve got a little something on your mouth.”

“Where?” you asked, brows furrowing.

Your hand began to hover at various places around your face as a non-verbal game of ‘hot-n-cold’ ensued, with you trying to gauge whether you were near the right spot or not from Ghost’s expressions… which of course was incredibly difficult, because most of Ghost’s face was concealed.

Eventually, Ghost couldn’t take it anymore.

“Here, let me.”

Before you could even give or deny permission, he reached forward, swiping the blob away with his thumb. His touched weighed heavy on you, the sensation lingering as he drew his hand away. A shudder, confusingly hot, spread through you.

It… it was nice to feel the hand of another just touch you. It felt affectionate, and the way it felt menial, simple… you wanted him to do it again.

You couldn’t help but smile giddily.

“Thank you,” you said as you tried to locate exactly where his hand had been, “I’ll be around in the barracks, so if you need me to get you anything, just let me know.”

“Sure, Y/N.”

With that, he watched you hurry off. Then, he turned around and continued on his quest to find some tissues.

As Ghost continued down the corridor, he finally found himself at the fire exit. He stopped in his tracks, looking around for clues as to how he’d gotten here. The mess hall was back where he came…

He was quick to realise his error: you. When he saw you off, he went down the wrong way, taking him to the fire exit, and beyond that, the woods the base sat at the edge of. Ghost was about to take his leave and retrace his steps when he heard something. A rustle, then a call.

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt himself being drawn to the incessant cawing coming from around the corner, just outside. Slowly, making sure his steps were as quite as possible, Ghost crept across the threshold and onto the soil.

There, on the ledge of a window, was a small bird.

Ghost cocked his head to one side, uncertain as to why such an innocuous thing had grabbed his attention.

Then, for the first time, all day, Simon Riley felt hungry.

A warmth began build in his stomach, churnings threatening to surmount into a loud grumble. He didn’t want to give himself away to the poor thing, not when it was perfectly faced away from him, chittering away at whatever was on the other side of the glass.

Ghost’s eyes were focused, as his surroundings began to blur.

Hackles raised, he lowered himself a little, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. Under his mask, his mouth was filling with saliva, his tongue running over his teeth as he grew nearer and nearer. His jaw was tense, mouth almost trembling with anticipation.

Blood.

He could smell it on the bird, almost see it pumping throughout its body. The creature was filled with sweet, sweet red nectar.

Riley could barely contain himself, his hand ready to wrap around its neck and-

SNATCH!

SNAP!

CRUNCH!

It had been given a quick death, Ghost’s hands making short work of breaking its neck. Frenziedly, he pulled his mask up and stuffed as much as he could into his mouth, moaning in relief as he lapped up as much blood as he could take. Then, he stopped, examined the opening he had made for himself, and pulled apart its broken chest. The heart was easily squished into smithereens by his teeth, releasing more and more of what Ghost had desperately craved. Inebriated by the pleasure, he found himself losing balance, saving himself by planting a firm hand on the wall in front of him, just under the window, as he continued to tear and chew and lap up.

As he did so, he felt an ache emerge in his arms and legs, culminating in his extremities.

“Oh… fuck…” he mumbled between mouthfuls, digging his nails into the brickwork.

It grew, becoming more intense in his fingertips.

His muscles began to tighten, his hands locking in place, either around the bird or raking against the wall.

A distorted, inhuman groan escaped him, as claws pushed apart his nails, black and shining wet. It was in a staggered motion, in time with his fingers lengthening a little as his palm grew and thickened.

One would’ve thought this was it, that now the rest of his body would follow suit and twist and change, but instead, the painful adjustments made soon receded. In a mere minute, maybe even seconds, Simon Riley’s hands were back to looking human.

He dropped the poor bird’s corpse, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He paused, looking at the bloodstain now on his half-clenched fist. His stomach lurched, demanding to not let it go to waste. And so, Ghost licked up the red from his hand, before turning to the other one and cleaning up the mess.

“Oh God…” Mid-lick, Simon realised what he was doing. “Oh God… What the-”

He brought a hand to his mouth, wanting to gag, but nothing came of it.

What did he just do?

Did he just…

“Si! There you are! I thought you were taking too long to come back from the mess hall and Y/N said they saw you head this way.”

Quickly, he pulled the skull-print balaclava over his bloodied mouth, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants and whipped around to face Soap.

“What’re you doing out here?” MacTavish chuckled as he jogged his way over.

“I… uh…”

Before Simon could formulate a satisfactory response, Soap caught sight of the eviscerated bird on the ground.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” the Scot lamented, “A coyote probably got to it. Poor thing.”

He looked up to see Ghost was staring at it, his eyes unnervingly devoid of pity or any emotion for the matter.

“Simon?”

Soap smiled uneasily as he saw him snap back to the here and now.

“Sorry.” Ghost spoke with a slightly quivering voice. “Spaced out for a moment.”

The sergeant eyed him, and Ghost felt himself tense a little.

“Shall we head back inside?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, then. That cold’s clearly going to your brain.” Soap gestured for him to follow.

“Right!” Ghost chuckled.

Soap couldn’t shake the feeling something was off with the lieutenant, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, nor did he want to ask about it for fear that Riley might push back, and harshly. Ghost had never liked to feel interrogated; he had a tendency to lash out like a cornered animal would.

Besides, it was probably just that he was feeling poorly. Colds can make people a little delirious from time to time.

As they entered the base, Soap noticed there was a distinctive smell in the air. A vaguely metallic musk, which seemed to be hovering around Ghost.

“No offence, LT,” Soap nudged him. “But I think all that sweatin’ I made you do with blankets and everythin’ is starting to… make itself known.”

“Hmm?”

“With all due respect, Simon, you smell like a wet dog,” he said bluntly.

Ghost stopped and looked at Soap sceptically. Then, he raised his arm and took a whiff to see for himself.

“Shit, you’re right. I need a fuckin’ shower.”

It would give him a good excuse to get the last of the blood out anyway.

#bloodhound fic #cod mwii fic #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #simon ghost riley #phillip graves cod #cod mw2 werewolf au #cod mw2 #valeria garza #task force 141 #kate laswell #captain price cod #john soap mactavish

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bird-inacage · 1 year

Text

So this show had the making to be something really decent but veered off-track pretty sharpish. If you don’t mind hearing some constructive criticism, please read on. I want to find out if others felt the same way.

The story follows Uea and King’s navigation from being bed friends (aka friends with benefits) to being a bonafide couple. The overwhelming feeling I felt after watching this series is that there was a ‘let’s include everything’ mentality. The writing lacked cohesive focus and restraint in what plot points would best serve the telling of this story.

One example of the shaky writing is the poor use of conflict. There is no clear objective in why certain conflicts are included. We get multiple villains to the same effect whose only purpose is to pile anguish onto our lead and little else: Uea’s mother, stepfather, ex-boyfriend and boss all come across as caricatures with no distinction or redeemable qualities to speak of. When such components are used all too frequently, they feel less consequential - thus drastically reducing suspense, stakes, and emotional investment from the viewer. No depth results in no impact.

Episode 9 was particularly guilty of this and I’ll use this as a case study. It opens with Uea’s stepfather being arrested (this is quickly set up at the end of episode 8) and is not referenced again. Then a colleague confesses their love for Uea, which sets up a potential love rival for King. We’ve never seen him even interact with Uea before so it feels completely out of the blue. This poses no threat because we know Uea will turn him down for this very reason. Surprise, surprise, he does. Then we see King’s mother display disapproval of King/Uea’s relationship. Other than just one brief, prickly confrontation - by her next appearance - she quickly accepts Uea.

Quality over quantity is the key lesson here. Be selective. Ensure your story beats are set up and fleshed out with enough breathing room, delivered with a satisfying payoff, rather than throwing everything in and hoping something sticks. If you are ever in doubt if a scene is superfluous, always ask the why. Why include this? Does it add value (to either the story and/or characters)? Bed Friend had me questioning this a lot.

I like the nod to blood testing that both Uea and King get done after their first night together. I give kudos whenever a show makes the effort to feature and normalise concerns around sexual health.

Main Leads: Despite suffering a huge amount of hardship, Uea is a surprisingly put together human being. He knows what he wants but is reasonable when he needs to be. I really enjoyed Uea’s confidence in his sexuality. He knows his own allure and how to harness that power. King can be downright sweet and charming but sadly didn’t have a strong sense of his own personhood. There was little backstory or context given to help you understand him as a individual and his motivations outside of Uea, which left me confused sometimes as to his decision-making. As the other main lead, I’m extremely disappointed by how badly his characterisation was handled. For example Uea coins him as a playboy, but we never see evidence of King excessively flirting with other people. We need to understand why Uea perceives him so negatively, to act as a comparison for when Uea changes his opinion later on. Show, don’t just tell. Overall, it’s their situation which develops (their relationship status) rather than their characters. They are more or less the same people they were at the beginning, just together.

Other: As the series unfolds mostly around Uea’s point of view, the remaining cast do get a raw deal. Give your secondary characters more to do than just be there. Please. More creative decisions could have been made in how these smaller characters could have played into the narrative (such as Jade, Uea’s sister or King’s parents), so that their roles don’t feel relegated to being background noise.

Acting Performance: I did fall in love with Net and James as the series progressed. They have incredibly fiery and exhilarating chemistry which translates especially well in their love scenes. They manage to balance heat with incredible levels of tenderness. I would even argue that as soon as they have any physical interaction on screen, that’s when the show comes alive. They are very adept at creating sexual tension, that’s for sure. It’s the dialogue driven moments that tend to be a bit hit and miss (but I think editing has a big part to play in this). You can tell these two are still newcomers and aren’t quite as layered in their acting abilities yet but that’s understandable. Net has a habit of doing a lot of heavy breathing when he’s conveying anxiety or worry. This can be remedied with more coaching and better direction. Note: I did also watch some of their acting in 'Catch me Baby' for context. Net has noticeably improved since then but James actually felt more natural in his performance in that series than here.

Pairing Rating: [HOT + TENDER] If you want to get hot under the collar, and still maintain softness, this two have got you covered. Sizzling sensuality in buckets.

For a show that clearly has high production values, this is where the series really suffers. A myriad of issues become apparent beneath the show’s glossy exterior, and the biggest sin here is it detracts from the actor’s efforts. I really do feel for the cast because production didn’t do them justice.

Editing: There are some very odd editing choices across the board.

Excessive uses of slow motion in places where it doesn’t belong. Some border on absurd (I laughed out loud during the first NC scene *above* where King somersaults onto Uea’s lap). I don’t know about you, but kung-fu matrix style choreography is not warranted in love scenes.

Sound-mixing choices can completely kill the mood. I cringed during the cat NC scene when comedic ‘yowls (meows)’ played in the background. Just why?

Instances where conflicting shifts in mood would take place within a single scene, particularly in how music was used. This would cause me tonal whiplash.

Flashbacks are superfluously added into scenes we saw only moments ago, occupying precious run time.

The passage of space and time can feel abrupt and therefore jarring. Establishing scenes need to be better utilised to anchor the viewer in the where and when things are taking place.

Fans have noticed really lovely scenes that were cut short or completely. No clear reasoning as to what made the cut/uncut versions or not at all.

Ultimately, the show feels like its trying far too hard to be distinctive, which can discredit the gravity of the scenes or draw your attention away from the performances. Now believe it or not, I can see what they were going for (cue sultry music video with dramatic quick cuts). I’ll credit that many of the shots and way they use camera work is certainly eye-catching and fresh. But flashiness for the sake of it is not a good thing if it adversely impacts pacing or comprehension of the narrative. Some editing styles only work best in short form rather than in a series, which is a trap they fell into here. It made the direction feel clumsy, lacking consistency and finesse - a kid in a candy store discovering PowerPoint transitions for the first time.

Styling: I do love the styling and palette of this series. All the costumes and environments looked really beautiful and rich - from our two leads’ apartments to their design office. They successfully manifested a more mature feeling to the series overall.

>>>

FINAL THOUGHTS: Now don’t get me wrong, I have grown to love this pairing. I think they have fantastic potential, and this is why the production issues irk me so damn much, because it spoils what could have been. If you’re willing to ignore the more glaring problems, there are some lovely moments sprinkled in there. I personally found the issues increasingly distracting as the series went on, causing me to skip portions. But why I saw this through was because I could tell Net and James tried their best with what they were given. If less time had been spent on stylistic choices, and more energy on Net and James’ acting, we might have a different story. I still believe they are a very promising partnership that could flourish with a better script, and I pray that ‘Love Upon a Time’ showcases them better.

(Disclaimer: These are just my own opinions. It goes without saying that one still can enjoy a show for all its successes as well as recognising its shortcomings.)

#bed friend #bed friend series #kinguea #ueaking #king x uea #uea x king #netjames #net siraphop #james supamongkon #bird-inacage reviews #bed friend review #thai bl

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dave2olkat · 6 months

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Hey, are you up for receiving an entire freaking essay about how you write Dirk and how fucking incredible it is? That was a rhetorical question, YOU'RE GETTING IT ANYWAY.

So. Dirk Strider. The absolute moron who sends himself back every iteration, gets increasingly splintered as a result, and is way too emotionally compromised to do anything about it at this point. I've noticed a lot of the characters draw inspiration from beyond canon, so we can refer to this Dirk as a sort of Ultimate self if I am not mistaken. The guy has memories from all past iterations rattling around his skull after all, and it is MESSING HIM UP BIG TIME!

Like, the man is going by a script at this point. Do this, and this happens as a result. Say this to a person and they'll react that way. Let Roxy leave so you can stay with Dave alone, stab him in the back, and leave him for dead so he gets off the empire's radar, make sure he doesn't actually bite it, and then he'll end up in the position most advantageous to him. He has a ship! A crew! A small support system! He's living his best life this iteration, and he has DIRK to thank for that! Never mind that most of his relationships were completely destroyed in the fallout. Never mind that he has accumulated major trauma from the carapacian war, and was betrayed by someone who he thought he could count on for anything, that's not important. Oh yeah, he hates Dirk's guts now, but he always calculated with that loss. He sacrificed his brother's trust in him and it sucks, it sucks and nobody understands, but it was to give him a happy life, so at the end of the day Dirk's the selfless hero!

And with that, I've accumulated my thoughts on what I think went through his head when he went through with this batshit awful plan. Dirk's literally so wrapped up in himself, that he can only think in terms of other's gain versus personal cost. I don't think he's selfish, no, from a certain perspective, he's far from it, because he's sacrificing the few things he holds dear for the few people he actually gives a shit about in all these loops. His relationships with said people. It's just that he is INCAPABLE of seeing how his decisions and attempts at helping them cause more pain and anguish, and eventually, the doom of the timeline. It's like at one point, he stopped seeing them as real people, with psyches that can be damaged, and feelings that can be things beyond 'I hate you now because you hurt me', and instead thinks of them as merely... puppets.

Because he's the only one who remembers. He's the one who can see the bigger picture, while his friends and family are caught up in the mundanity of each loop, living lesser lives, being lesser people. If only they knew, if only they understood like him, maybe they could be on equal footing, but no, he'd never wish this existence on anyone, and besides, even if they had all that intel they'd never really get it, because they aren't him. So it falls on him to save everyone, him and only him, no Grimmage, just because you have a handy helmet that spouts bullshit about the loops at you does not mean you have all the answers. This is Dirk's mission, Sollux would just fuck it up. Everybody needs to stay out of the goddamn way, you're saving this goddamn timeline. All those previous ones you doomed? They were just test runs, you know what you're doing now.

I just... LOVE how AUTHENTIC he feels in your fic. Like, I look at this guy and say 'Ah yes, that right there is textbook Dirk Strider behavior,' but you wrote him with motivations and a mindset that I can see combined with his Ultimate status. He's an incredible antagonist, and I can't wait for him to show up again, because I need Dave to go up to this guy and somehow slap some sense into him. Unlikely but hey. I want a happy ending for him too, let me hope.

Okay, first of all, I loved this ask! I've put a lot of time and effort into writing Gold Pilot so if anyone has other essay-length asks or comments about the fic, go ahead and submit them, this monster AU deserves the attention. For anyone who hasn't read the fic, it's a Davesolkat Rebellion/Time Loop Au but it also will go deep into the other characters as well, particularly the Strider-Lalondes, so if you're into that, give it a read!

Okay, now onto Dirk- he's one of my fav characters in Homestuck okay, he's so complex! And I felt like they did him dirty in Beyond Canon and the Epilogues but at the same time they explored some hella interesting aspects of his character that have been in the main comic there all along, same with everyone else. Gold Pilot is MY take on how everyone's true 'Ultimate Self' would work and also them reaching their 'fullest potential' in a way? The situation is much different than in canon, of course, but overall I will try to deconstruct both, the Ultimate Self thing AND the classpect of their God Tier selves. This will happen to everyone, not just Davesolkat, though we WILL focus on those three because I have Davesolkat brainrot and Dave WILL be the only POV character because ‘unreliable narrator who might not have an idea of what’s going on’ is the best trope.

But Dirk- it's funny that you call him an antagonist because he's not that in the story. An antagonist opposes the hero/protagonist in some way, they're there as an obstacle to achieve their ultimate goal, but here's the thing, Dirk WANTS what everyone else wants. He wants an end to the Time Loops, he wants to protect his family and friends and help them reach the best version of themselves, and he also wants to kill the Condesce. Mainly because she's the one who kills Dave, Roxy and Rose, but also, because he recognizes that she's the TRUE threat in this AU (as far as we know). So no, technically, Dirk ISN'T the villain and he's helping everyone else fullfill their own goals, the role they will play in the Rebellion as it is, and he knows full well that they WON'T achieve that unless he's there to provide support.

You're right that he's sacrificing everything else to achieve this. He sacrificed Dave's trust on him, and Dave IS in probably the best position he can be because of it. Does Dave realize this at this point of the story? Probably not. There's hints that Dirk's actually going to be working with them further in on the timeline, but right now? Right now Dave thinks his brother is the person who ruined his life.

You're right in saying that Dirk's so completely wrapped up in himself, but I don't think he's incapable of seeing how his attempts at helping everyone are actually hurting them. I think he's well aware of this, and a part of him is well-aware that none of them will ever forgive him, but he's fine with this because this makes him an even more selfless hero. He does treat them as puppets, but I think he knows that he NEEDS them to be certain versions of themselves so they can properly fight the Condesce. Also, he's aware that even in this, they have a certain level of personal choice. Would he have been forced to stab Dave on the back if he HADN'T become a Treschutioner? We know Dave could have become an entertainer guy instead, and he would have STILL ended up with the Rebels. We've explored this with the Iteration Logs of the Solluxes, but the timelines are less a straight road where everything always happens the same way and more a collection of choices that give out wildly different results while still ending in the same way any way because the Condesce is such a menace, with everyone dead.

And he's another fun thing, Dirk doesn't ACTUALLY know about the helmet. Sollux has specifically kept him in the dark about it because he's convinced Dirk would exploit it if he knew about it, especially because the helmet's not only a device that spouts info about the timeloops. It's a goddamn database containing the research that EVERYONE Sollux has been able to contact has done in the past, what? 286 years or so. So yes, it's quite a powerful tool, but you're right, Mage doesn't have all the answers. And you can say that Mage's actually some kind of cheat code. It allows Sollux to have access to the memories of the loops WITHOUT all the trauma and emotional baggage that come with them, so if anything, I suppose that Dirk would think of it as the coward's way out.

Sollux quite literally decided to divide himself into two different people (or as different as two people can be when one does have all the memories of the other one) and has basically locked the part of himself that DOES remember in a digital prison/dimension, where it cannot harm anyone or control anyone else. What this has done to Mage, well, I think we’ve seen it already, so yes, one could argue that this is an incredibly selfish thing that Sollux did, meanwhile Dirk isn’t afraid to live with the consequences of his own actions, which automatically makes him the better man/hero.

As far as Dirk knows, Sollux DOES remember, he's just, you know, someone who will not do what is necessary to save the timeline. He's soft, he spends so much time trying to get along with everyone that he allows the people he loves to get killed every single time (though Dirk's doing the exact same thing, one could argue). They're more foils to each other that they're enemies, and it will be a lot of fun once we actually see them interact, because while Dirk does think Sollux is as easily manipulated as everyone else, and that he doesn't have what it takes to save everyone which is why it falls on HIM, Dirk does know that Sollux is the only person who knows him in a way. Who can recognize the sacrifice he's making and just what's at stake here, if he doesn't take exactly the same path he's taken every time to ensure everyone will be able to fight for as long as they can.

You're right on the money on the 'Dirk thinking all the other iterations are test runs for the real deal', because Dirk HAS found pretty much the 'best path' for everyone to take. We'll see more of it when we meet Rose, who IS still a very powerful seer in this AU and who also takes after him in a way, but yeah, the fantastic thing about Dirk is that he IS helping everyone and he does care. He's on Dave's side. He just, you know, also Dirk. That's why I've always found fascinating about his character, and what I liked about him in the actual comic. I feel like Beyond Canon let go of that fundamental part of him (the fact that he DOES care) and I'm using Gold Pilot to basically fix that? Basically how I think it should've been handled.

As for the happy ending- I don't think it's much of a spoiler that Gold Pilot WILL have one, because it's in the tags themselves lmao. 'Earn Your Happy Ending', they will get there, but it will take them a long time, and it won't happen in this iteration even. Dave WILL slap some sense into Dirk, but who knows, maybe it'll be Dirk who slaps some sense into him too before he does.

Once again, thank you for this analysis! I wouldn't say I'm the authority on how to write any of the Homestuck Characters, but I'm glad I at least got Dirk's character right :) as I said, he's one of my faves and his relationship with Dave will be explored and milked for all of its angst and comfort in this fanfic.

#homestuck #hom3stuck #homestuck fanfic #dirk strider #sollux captor #dave strider #gold pilot au #alec answers

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istorkyou · 2 years

Text

A Thousand Battles (Modern!Ivar AU)

A modern!Ivar x F OC (Julietta Lothbrok)

Warnings - Language. Hospital setting. Description of medical procedures (non gory!)

Synopsis - Julietta wakes up with no memory of her life or her husband, Ivar. Will it ever return? Does she want it to?

Word Count - 4534

This is for @blackseapearl 400 follower trope challenge. I asked for Amnesia :)

Shout Outs - A massive shout out to @blackseapearl and @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading, ironing out all the mistakes and the motivation to keep going with it. Special hugs to @blackseapearl for talking through the ending with me and giving me some much needed inspiration and the wonderful moodboard.

This fic kicked (and is still kicking!) my ass, I’ve never had such a hard time with motivation as I have writing this long-ass bitch so I hope you enjoy it :)

It’s also LOOOOOOOONNNGGGGGGGG..... and I’m only the tiniest bit sorry about that!

Tag List - Let me know if you want on or off :)@smears-and-spots @punkrocknpearls @youbloodymadgenius @momowhoo @zuxiezendler @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @ivar-s-my-brat-tamer @pieces-by-me @heavenly1927 @berryonasummerevening @synnersaint @out-of-the-box-and-into-alchemy @petite-hime @serasvictoria @mimiiinspace @itsmysticalmystery @lonewolf471 @mylifeisactuallyamess @draculasbride-blog @love-all-things-writing @southernbe @redhead7799 @kaybee87 @ivarlover @ivarhoegh @idgafiamallthefandoms @darkphoenix5037 @profoundtyrantharmony @snarling-through-our-smiles @crazyunsexycool @xceafh @bragisrunes@noway4u @batmandallyboy @complicatedbutrare @readsalot73 @meandmycherrytree

Chapter 1

She shields her eyes from the sun, much too bright without her sunglasses. She is standing on a white sand beach, the crystal clear waters lapping the shore. She steps into the water until it laps against her knees and then looks down. Hundreds of fish swim around her legs, the brightest hues she’s ever seen, almost luminous as the sun reflects off their scales. A giant tortoise swims past her legs and she reaches down to touch its cold, bumpy shell as it passes by.

Something occurs to her: the water is neither hot nor cold, it is the exact temperature of her skin and she can barely feel it. She looks up and down the beach and it stretches as far as the eye can see although there is not another soul in sight. Listening closely, she realises she doesn’t hear the normal sounds you would expect on the beach: the sound of the waves crashing, the sounds of the gulls squawking. All she hears is a very faint beep, and she has to strain her ears to even catch that.

She starts to panic, her breath becomes shallow and a rush of cold covers her skin as if she's been dropped into an ice bath. Where is she? Something is wrong. This place is unnerving. She can hear the beeping getting louder as the waves get larger in the silent ocean. She stumbles backwards into the soft sand, neither cold nor hot.

She feels something brush against her hand and jerks away quickly looking over her shoulder to see what touched her. A man stands behind her, a stranger, yet the look on his face suggests he knows her. She tries to step away but he reaches for her hand again.

“Liet. Wake up, please. Wake up,” he is pleading with her, face carved with anguish. “You have to come back to me, Liet.”

She focuses on a necklace around his neck, a thick silver chain with a flat circle pendant hanging from it.

“Liet?”

She shakes her head and looks around the beach again which is now filled with people and the noise you would expect at a busy beach fills her ears. The sounds of talking, shouting, and beeping are becoming unbearable. The panic that started earlier has turned into fear, she can feel her face and chest flush and the urge to scream is overwhelming and as she looks back at the man, his eyes have turned the bluest of blue, bleeding into the whites and his face has changed. His face is tipped down but he is staring up at her with brows pulled close and a menacing smile on his face.

“They know, Liet. They all know,” his voice doesn’t match his face, it’s high and almost friendly, which only makes it even more sinister and scary. “We all know, Liet.” He lunges for her, hands grabbing for her neck and as she screams and scrambles to get away she trips backwards and everything goes black.

Everything is dark.

Everything hurts.

The beeping is so, so loud.

She is lying somewhere. Where is she? She can feel warmth in her left hand. Her body feels broken. Breathing hurts, every breath takes effort, as if there is an invisible weight pressing down on her, restricting her lungs. Her head feels too big. The warmth in her hand is strange and she tries to move it away but all she manages is a twitch and the feeling of warmth leaves her skin.

“Julietta?” asks a voice in the room. The feeling of warmth is back on her hand and now it has a force, gripping her tightly.

She opens one eye. She isn’t sure why the other won’t open yet. She can make out shadows in the room. But the overwhelming pain she is feeling at the light streaming in from the window forces her eye closed immediately.

“Did she just open her left eye? Did she? Get the doctor. Now!”

The hand is still squeezing, gentler now.

“Julietta, open your eyes.” She can hear excitement in the male voice.

She starts to try again but the light is too much.

“Shut the blinds, it’s too bright for her. Quickly, Godsdammit!” The same voice commands then softens again. “Try again, my love.Try again.”

She opens it slowly and it’s much better now it’s darker. It gives her pupil time to adjust slowly and the shadows turn into people. She tries to move her head but she has something around her neck stopping her so she focuses on what she can see in the left side of the room. A window, three chairs lined up along the wall, two occupied. A chair next to the bed is occupied as well. She manages to focus on the person closest to her. A man holding her hand tightly in both of his, great concern all over his face. He looks familiar, but only vaguely. She doesn’t know why he’s now crying as he watches her open eye.

“Julietta!” The relief in his voice is palpable and he drops his head down to kiss her hand over and over again. “Thank all the Gods. My love!”

There is a flurry of movement and the man at her bedside is ushered away to the other seats where he is greeted with embraces from two other men.

The doctor and nurses go about the observations before she closes her eye again.

—-----------------------

“What is happening?! Why is she not awake anymore?”

“Mr. Lothbrok, her vitals look stable. Please don’t worry, she’s not in a coma any longer, but she will need a significant amount of rest. You should go home, we will call you when she wakes up again.”

“I’m not going anywhere! What a ridiculous suggestion,” Ivar yells dismissively.

“Ivar, she will be asleep for hours yet. Let me at least take you home so you can shower and eat. You haven’t left this room in eight days.”

“Hvitserk, I will leave this room when she’s well enough to leave it with me.”

“Okay, Brother,” Hvitserk's voice is full of concern. “I’ll bring you anything you need.”

Ivar walks to the side of her bed again and takes up the spot he has been rooted to for over a week. He looks over her face, right eye still swollen shut, right arm in a cast for the breaks and the skin that is visible is still an angry purple in places, in others the purple is fading around the edges to a muddy green and he imagines the rest of the skin he can’t see is in a similar state. Her skin has been sewn back together around her shoulder, by the best plastic surgeon in the country, but there will always be a physical reminder of what happened to her.

His beautiful Liet.

Ivar’s jaw clenches in anger. He knows she has a long way to go before she is healed fully, but now she is out of immediate danger and his thoughts at once turn to revenge and retribution. The people responsible will pay with their lives.

As he is allowing the volcano of rage to bubble inside of his chest, threatening to spill out into the world at any second, he catches her eye, open again and she studies him. He leans into her, all rage extinguished for now.

“My love, you’re awake.” He holds her hand and runs his own hand up her arm slowly, taking care not to hurt her.

“...am I?” she asks. Her throat must be so dry as her voice doesn’t sound like her own, scratchy and croaky and underused. Probably raw from intubation.

Ivar smiles at her, the relief at hearing her voice is overwhelming and his tears fall onto her hand as he bends down to kiss it again.

“Hospital. There was an… accident. You’re okay though. Broken bones and a bad head injury but you'll be okay, my love. I promise.” He smiles and lets out a relieved laugh and kisses her hand and arm.

Julietta watches him as he peppers her skin with love. “Who are you?” she asks quietly.

His face contorts into confusion, brows pulled close together, before he laughs lightly.

“Very funny, love. I’m the King of England and you are my Queen!” He laughs again until he looks at her face, and even through the bruising, the swelling, the cuts, he can see she isn’t joking. The left eye that is open is scared, her pupil is dilated in fear. He watches her chest as it is rising quicker than before and the steady beeping starts to quicken. “Julietta. It’s me, Ivar. It’s ok. Don’t worry, it’s just me.” He grabs her hand quickly and she jerks away.

There are waves of fear rolling off of her, now. He can see it, he can feel it. Ivar stands up slowly and walks to the door, his demeanour is different to how he interacts with her. Nothing soft, just a menacing aura that has the nurse's shoulders rise in fear when they see him, all avoiding eye contact and keeping the widest berth possible.

“Doctor. Immediately. She doesn’t know who I am.”

The doctor is in the room within a couple of minutes, shining a light into her eye. “Do you know your name? What year is it?”

She looks at the stranger in the room who called himself Ivar.

“Julietta Manresa. I.. I’m not sure.”

“Lothbrok, love. Julietta Lothbrok. We’ve been married for six months,” Ivar interjects before the doctor turns to him and gives him a look of reproach and a tiny shake of his head.

“Well done, Julietta. Tell me what’s wrong.”

—------------------------

She swallows thickly and winces at the feeling. The man called Ivar hands a drink with a straw to the doctor who lets her take a sip.

“I don’t know him. Or anything about me apart from my name. I don’t know my parents' names. I don’t know why I’m here, what happened to me.” She starts to breathe deeper, too deep.

“Julietta, I know this is confusing but please try to keep calm. I can assure you this is a fairly common side effect for the type of head trauma you have suffered. It’s called Post Traumatic Amnesia.”

How can she calm down? She’s woken up in a hospital bed surrounded by strangers. One claiming to be her husband. She starts to feel light headed and nauseous. She tried to move but it’s almost impossible with the thing on her neck, her arm in a cast, leg in a splint.

“I don’t know you. You aren’t my husband. I’ve never seen you before,” her voice is rising to as much of a shout as her sore vocal chords will allow.

The doctor leaves the room quickly.

Ivar steps to the bed and sits down. He doesn’t reach for her hand. “I promise you. You are my wife. Don’t worry about that now, it will come back to you. I love you so much.”

The doctor comes back into the room and starts to inject something into the IV port in her hand.

“What the fuck is that? Tell me before you give her anything. I’ve told you time and time again,” Ivar’s voice is different again. Low, calm, as intimidating as anything she has ever heard.

“Mr. Lothbrok, she needs rest. I’ve administered a sedative. She has significant brain swelling. This will help her rest and heal.”

She starts to feel woozy, the IV site has gone cold as whatever the doctor administers travels up her vein. “I’m scared,” she whispers as her eyes focus on a silver chain and pendant around Ivar’s neck; it somehow feels like home. She tried to reach for it but the drugs are making her limbs heavier by the second.

Ivar takes her hand and brings it up to his mouth to kiss again. “I am here. I will be here when you wake up. Don’t be frightened, we will get through this. My beautiful Liet.”

Julietta hears the last part, the nickname he uses and it permeates a part of her consciousness, seeps into her synapses, making them fire, she’s heard it before. There’s a faint recognition there. She urges her brain to make the connections she desperately needs to piece together her life, but she slips under sedation before anything tangible forms in her brain.

—————————

As her eyes flutter shut, Ivar's face hardens. “Don’t ever give my wife drugs I have not approved. I want to know everything she is given. I will break your legs if you disobey me again. Am I being understood?”

—————————

The doctor looks into the eyes of Ivar, blue as the arctic ocean and twice as cold. He knows who Ivar Lothbrok is, what he does, who his family are. His reputation more than precedes him. He is someone not to cross, and even though the doctor has a duty of care primarily to his patients, and in this situation he would usually tell the family member to jump, he isn’t a fool.

“Of course. If you are not here and there is an emergency how should I proceed?”

“I am not leaving her side. So that will not be a problem,” Ivar advises him. “Don’t be facetious with me. I know you were asking my brother about the guards outside her room. They are staying until she leaves.” Ivar slowly walks towards the doctor who backs up, almost tripping backwards over the IV stand. “Do not question my actions again. My patience has all but disappeared due to this whole situation and I am not known to be a patient man at the best of times. I want to know when you are off shift so I can tell the other doctors the same as I have told you.” The doctor nods quickly.

He turns away and walks back to take up his spot next to his wife. “How long will she be asleep?”

The doctor clears his throat. “At least twelve hours,” he says with a shake in his voice, nerves clear.

Ivar doesn’t take his eyes off her face. “Thank you for saving her life.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Julietta swings from consciousness to dreams for weeks, the fabric of reality stretched thin in her head, so much so that most of the time she isn’t sure if she is awake or asleep. What she does know is that when she is present in the hospital room, real or in her head, Ivar is there, at her side, talking to her gently, telling her stories she can’t recall.

Oftentimes she is back on the beach. This she knows is not her consciousness. It’s bathed in moonlight now, a blue and silver light reflecting off of the silent, black ocean. She doesn’t enter the water this time, too apprehensive in the dark. She looks up and down again and sees only a tiny beach hut illuminated by a soft yellow glow. She walks to it and can’t hear muffled talking. Heated talking. She doesn’t knock on the door, she pushes it open to find Ivar standing in front of a man she’s never seen before. The stranger has black hair shaved close to his scalp, deep olive skin and black stubble over his handsome face. He has a scar running through his right eyebrow. They stop talking and both look at her silently.

She sees love on both their faces.

The stranger stands up, taking a step past Ivar towards her. “Etta, where are you? I miss you.” He asks in Russian.

Ivar moves between them giving the stranger a look of displeasure. His face softens when he looks back to her. “Liet, who is this?” He cups her face and kisses her softly. “Who is he, love?”

She shakes her head in confusion, looking past Ivar to the stranger who has recoiled at the scene in front of him. “I…I don’t know, Ivar. I don’t know who he is.”

A laugh of disbelief leaves the stranger. “Etta? It’s me.”

“I don’t know who you are,” she replies.

“Let’s go, Liet,” Ivar weaves his arm over her shoulder and looks back over his to the man. “You are not important.”

As she allows Ivar to lead her out of the hut and back out into the night, everything goes black again. The damn beeping has returned too, she notices.

Beep.

Her eyes open. Both this time. She feels less sore than the last time she woke up from the beach. She is able to move her neck now and can see to the right for the first time. A bed is next to her, pushed up so close they are touching and Ivar is asleep next to her on it. Her head feels like a normal size now and she shifts her head on the pillow to stare at him. His hand is on her arm, his short hair is shaved in the sides but it needs cutting, making her wonder how long she’s been in the hospital, with him by her side. He has stubble over his face and she can see the thick purple lines under his eyes, he looks exhausted.

She studies him for a long time, trying to remember anything she can, but nothing comes. Nothing at all. The only memories of him are from when she came out of the coma. She tries to recall other aspects of her life. Friends, family, the name of her schools, any pets she’s had, what food she likes.

Nothing.

It’s like shouting into a bottomless chasm: nothing but the echo of the questions asked coming back to her. Like trying to enter an impenetrable castle, banging on the door and being ignored.

Nothing.

Who am I? I have not one memory of my life. Not one. Am I even real? If I don't have any memories, do I even really exist? Have I ever existed? Am I dead? Is this purgatory?

She starts to panic again and she turns to the only person in the world who has been here for her for this whole ordeal.

“Ivar... Ivar,” she whispers quietly. She needs something, she needs comfort and she only has one source of that it seems. This stranger who says he is her husband. “Ivar.” She repeats and his eyes fly open.

“Julietta! You’re awake. Do you remember me? Let me fetch the doctor.”

Her panic rises, the thought of being left completely alone in the world terrifies her so she grips his arm tightly. “NO! Don’t leave me. Please. I don’t remember you, I'm sorry.” She starts to cry. “Ivar, am I dead?”

Ivar’s face crumples at her words and he slides close to her, as close as he can without disturbing the tangle of wires attached to her. As he slides his arm over her waist he kisses her on the cheek and wipes her falling tears, then does the same to his own.

“You're not dead, my love. You are very much alive, you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. A fighter, my best shield maiden. Odin’s own Valkyrie. We will get through this together.”

His presence calms her fears, makes her breaths come easier, slows her racing heart.

“Who am I?”

Ivar sniffs and rubs his nose on his sleeve. “I think we should talk to the doctor first before I start telling you things. I don’t want to overwhelm you. Just know that you are Julietta Lothbrok, we have been married for six months now and we’ve been together for three years. Look,” he reaches for a framed photo on the cabinet next to his bed, “this is one of our wedding photos,” he says, holding it in front of her face.

It is them, on their wedding day. She is in a beautifully elegant, lace dress with gold detailing and he is in a navy suit. They are holding hands and looking at each other with massive smiles on their faces.

“See, baby. It’s us,” Ivar says, so proudly.

Julietta notices Ivar is holding a walking stick and he has something wrapped around each leg. She reaches her left hand up to touch the picture, running her finger over his legs. “You had an accident as well?” She glanced down at his legs, no braces now.

He laughs lightly at her. “No accident, love. Bone disease. My braces are over there.” He gestures to the side of the bed.

“We looked happy.” She glances at him shyly, catching his eyes and noticing how blue they are.

“We are happy,” he replies with a wide smile. “I’m going to get the doctor, okay? I will be right back, I promise.”

———————-

More time passes in the hospital. She isn’t sure how much time, she just knows she is healing more and more, but only physically. Her memory is still non-existent. She has asked Ivar many questions over her time here, questions about herself and her accident but he is always vague or evades the questions completely, saying it’s doctors orders not to overload her with information in her unstable condition.

He still hasn’t left her side. He gets food delivered to the room, by an app on his phone or by one of his four brothers, mainly one called Hvitserk who, despite being told by Ivar not to, only refers to her as “sister” and insists on hugging her every time he comes into her room. She is getting used to it now, even though at first she didn’t like it one bit; it felt overly familiar and intrusive.

Another brother, Ubbe, brings work for Ivar to sign. He often comes into the hospital room, gives her a quick smile and whisks Ivar into the hall where they have heated yet hushed discussions. She watches Ivar intently during these discussions, his face is always angry, aggressive and his body language mirrors this.

After one such visit from Ubbe, Ivar returns to the room more agitated than usual.

“Ivar. What do you do for work? You seem… different when you are speaking with others,” she questions tentatively.

His head whips to her so fast that it makes her jump, his expression one that she’s never seen directed at her before. She shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. His face softens. “Julietta , I don’t think that is a topic we should discuss first. How about something less complicated? About you?”

Julietta nods quickly. “How long have I been here?”

“We are in the fifth week now. You were in a coma for over a week and spent another few in and out of sedation until the swelling on your brain went down. There has been talk that I will be able to take you home soon,” he says with a hope filled voice.

She gives him a small smile. “Don’t I have parents? No one has visited me.” She is dreading the answer but deep down, a part of her already knows.

Ivar tips his head to the side slightly and grimaces almost imperceptibly, but she catches it. “My love, your parents died ten years ago in a car crash. I’m so sorry to have to tell you that.” He walks to the bed and she shifts over, allowing him room to lay next to her, both on their sides facing each other. They have been doing this over the last few days. She can see how much being close to her means to him, a physical need he has, and by the way it calms her own body, she figures she needs physical comfort as well.

“I think some part of me knew that,” she tells him with a little shrug. “We don’t have children?”

“No, love.”

“What happened to me, Ivar? Please tell me. I can handle it.”

He stares at her for a while and takes a massive breath in, closing his eyes. “You were hit by a car. It swerved onto the pavement and hit you when you were leaving the gym. It was a hit and run. We have…we have yet to find out who did it.”

That information shocks her to her core. She assumed she’d been in a car accident, but not a hit and run. “It wasn’t an accident? Someone meant to run me over?” The shock of the information sends a bolt of dread through her, her eyes start to sting and her nose starts to fizz. “Why?”

The pain on Ivar’s face is clear, pain at having to break the news to her, pain at having to relive the memory, there is guilt in his expression, she recognises that.

“I think that’s enough information for now. Little by little, okay, baby? The important thing is you are alive, and what is gone will return. Go to sleep, you need to rest.”

He’s right, that’s a lot of information to digest all at once, she needs time for it to sink in and sort through the feelings involved, so she nods at him.

“We will talk more tomorrow. I’m looking forward to telling you about your unhealthy love of Chinese food!”

Julietta sniffs at this information, “I’ve been thinking about noodles a lot this week. That would explain it.”

“Silly thing, why didn’t you tell me? I will get some, do you want some now? What else do you want? Actually, don’t think, I will just get your favourite.” He leans in to kiss her and she pulls back. “Sorry,” he tells her with a look of deepest disappointment, “force of habit.”

She feels embarrassed. She should have let him kiss her, he’s her husband after all. “Don’t be sorry.” She moves her face to his and gives him a soft, chaste kiss on the lips. When she pulls away his face is so happy it makes her smile and kiss him again. Her stomach does a tiny flip when she kisses him. “Thank you for not leaving me alone, Ivar.”

“I’ll never leave you.”

Chapter 2

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