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griffin-girl-r · 5 months

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You're not mine (Part 2)

Created: 10.10.2023

Finished: 15.11.2023

Edited: 15.11.2023

Age: 15

Word count: 2,793

Warnings: Abandonment, Pain

Request: Yes (Wattpad user)

Pairing: WinterWidow

Soldat = Soldier

Part 1 , Part 3

—

"Very good, soldier." A voice interrupted the brief silence that had fallen over the room "You have finally completed your training and you're now ready for a very special mission."

The man stepped forward, allowing himself to get a better view of the subject in front of him in the dimness of the room.

You lift your head, every breath coming out in labored breaths, as you took in the sight of the agent in front of you.

Today's training session has been more intense than any other one, demanding you to overuse your powers.

"And what that might be?" You breathed out, straightening your back

The agent smirked "Oh, I can guarantee that you'll love this mission." He sang

"Then I am ready for any mission the organization has for me." You replied, intrigued by all the mystery of this upcoming mission

"That's what we love to hear." The man declared "Then it's time for you to know the target of your mission."

The agent lifted his hand and held a file up, extending it for you to grab.

"You have all the details here." He declared

You curiously opened the file and peeked at the first page inside of it.

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat unexpectedly but you tried to maintain your composure as the reality of your actions and the identity of your supposed target settled in.

"I can't." You mumbled, your voice betraying your inner turmoil, as you quickly passed the file back to your boss "This wasn't the deal."

The agent chuckled.

"This was very much the deal, young soldier." He coldly replied "As I can remember, this was the plan you asked our help for."

A shiver ran down your spine and the rhythm of your heartbeat quickened its pace.

"No." You hesitantly shook your head "I said I needed help to take my revenge on her." You explained "Not on all of them. Not on him."

"But why stop there?" The agent raised his eyebrow "Why would you want to take your revenge on just one person when you can take it on all of them?"

"Even if it was true, the others are still my family." You reasoned

"Your family?!" The agent shouted, immediately silencing you "Must I remind you that this so-called family of yours abandoned you, that they threw you away as if you were mere trash?"

"It doesn't matter, Sir." You held your ground "I am not going to kill the Avengers."

You blinked.

The agent grabbed you by your vest with such force that, for a second, you weren't able to process what was happening.

"Listen here, Y/N." The agent mockingly whispered your name "This is HYDRA, not that joke of an agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. you grew up in. Your mission is to kill all of the Avengers, starting with those traitors who are now called Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes. Am I clear?"

"Sir..." You tried to conceal the fear you were feeling, failing miserably "Sir, this went too far. I'm sorry but I can't." You shook your head

A shout was heard and your body collided with the cold floor as the HYDRA agent pushed you with all his force.

"Y/N Yelena Romanova." The agent shouted "You have been ours long before Natalia Romanova decided to play pretend that she can be something she was never meant to be." He hissed "A mother."

You kept your mouth shut, too afraid of saying something that might anger the agent more as he continued speaking.

"She stole you from us, gave you another name, just for you to return on your own will to us and ask us for help to get your revenge on her." He reminded you "We took you in, trained you, gave you powers, all just so you could make her pay and now you dare to reject the opportunity to kill them?!"

"Sir, I just..." You tried to defend yourself

"Shut up!" He ordered "I am going to give you three hours to think about your answer just to show you that we can have some understanding towards our subjects and when I'll summon you back to me, I hope I won't regret giving you a chance."

You nodded "Yes, Sir!"

"Now disappear." He pointed with his head towards the door

You stood up from the ground and dusted your clothes before making your way to your assigned room.

~~~~~

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sniffled your fear away.

This was what you wanted after all.

This was what you needed.

You needed revenge and this was the only way you could achieve your goal.

Machines hummed and buzzed around you but you tried to not mind their noise as you were keeping your calm demeanor as a façade to protect yourself.

"Alright, subject." A man dressed in a white coat looked at you "Are you ready for this?"

You nodded, determination shining in your tired eyes "As ready as I can be. If this will help me prove to my mother that I can be useful too, then hurry up and do it."

"She's ready." Another man's voice was heard from somewhere inside the room but you couldn't tell exactly who spoke as the restrainents that kept you glued to the cold metallic table stoped you from looking

The man with the white coat pressed a few buttons and in a fraction of a second, pain flooded through your body as waves of electricity swirled around you, sending shocks flooding through your body.

Time seemed to stay still as you screamed out in agony out of pure reflex, your body spasming with each shockwave you received.

In that moment, buried memories resurfaced inside your mind.

You remembered the happier times and a pang of sadness weighed heavy on your heart.

But just as the good memories came to the front of your mind, so did the bad ones, reminding you of the true reason why you came to HYDRA for help.

The Avengers hate HYDRA and HYDRA hates the Avengers.

You hoped that by joining and serving the rival organization, you could make Natasha realize how wrong she was for treating you like she did.

You hoped to make them feel betrayed and rejected.

Just as you felt.

Darkness enveloped you, and your weakened body stopped spasming, but one thing remained clear as daylight to you.

You will take your revenge on your family for their betrayal by serving their greatest enemy, HYDRA.

~~~~~

You stared at the cement ceiling of your cell.

Your thirst for revenge was just as present as it was four months ago when you joined HYDRA.

The agent was right.

You wanted to kill the Avengers and make them pay for all of your suffering.

But still, one thing made you hesitate.

You sighed.

A memory of a smiling Tanya came to your mind and you remembered that she was as innocent as you were in this whole ordeal.

She deserved to grow up surrounded by the love of her parents as she has never done anything else other than loving you like her older sister who you actually were.

Then you thought of Bucky and the last memory you shared with him.

That fateful night, he had bought you a journal, hoping that it would help you manage your feelings better if you wrote them on the paper.

Comparing him to Natasha now, you realize that he was more of a parent to you than Natasha ever was.

How are you supposed to kill him?

Your door burst open and a security agent, who is in charge of maintaining order, walked inside your room.

"The boss calls you to him." He announced in a bored voice

You nodded "Tell him I am coming."

You stepped in the silence of the private office, allowing your senses to highen, as your eyes darted aimlessly around the room.

"I have been waiting for you." The voice of the man who had been in charge of your training was heard "Welcome!"

"I would thank you, Sir." You put your hands behind your back "But here doesn't exist such thing as being welcomed anywhere."

The man laughed.

"I see you learned the lesson." He smiled pleased "I hope you bring good news to me."

You kept quiet for a few moments, searching for a way to put your decision into words in such a way that HYDRA wouldn't decapitate you in a matter of seconds.

"So?" The man asked again, impatient

"Sir..." You began, taking your time to form every word that came out of your mouth "I am forever grateful for the chance you offered me and the resources you put at my disposal to achieve my ambitions."

The man slightly smiled, knowing that he had won.

"The Avengers have done me so many wrongdoings that I lost count of them." You continued "And after the time I have been granted to carefully choose the course I want for the next events to take, I came with the answer."

The man in front of you leaned backward in his chair, his body visibly relaxed as he waited for your final decision.

"I will..." You took a deep breath, steeling yourself "Not kill the Avengers, Sir. I am sorry, but I can't. They're my family no matter what."

The HYDRA agent shot up from his chair as his eyes went wide with shock.

"What did you say?!" He shouted, completely taken by surprise by your decision

"I said that I will not kill the Avengers." You repeated "I meant it when I said that everything has gone too far, Sir. Yes, I did want to take revenge on them, specifically my mother, but killing them was never my intention. All I wanted was to make them feel betrayed and hurt by becoming a HYDRA agent. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You foolish, lab rat!" The man sneered and pointed his finger at you "We created you! If you're here today it is all thanks to us! Our scientists were the ones who were in charge of creating you out of almost nothing! Now you dare defy us? You have the audacity to bite the hand that fed you?"

You looked around the room, trying to avoid the man's furious gaze.

"Please understand, Sir." You tried to reason "My heart and conscience don't let me murder the persons that saved me from hell and I realized that I made a mistake to return to the hell from where I've been rescued all these years ago."

The man calmly hummed "Hmm, so that's what you call it? A mistake?"

You braced yourself for what could happen next as you watched the man wave his hand at the shadows behind his back.

"I would call it a blessing." He said "You returned where you belong. To your true family and if your feelings stop you from taking action against your kidnappers, then we will help you gather the courage you need."

You shook your head, understanding what the agent's words meant.

"No..." You breathed out fearfully

But it was already too late.

Tanya sat on the carpet placed in the middle of the living room, playing with her toys, as she tried to distract herself from all the yelling that was happening in her surroundings.

"I am tired of your ignorance!" Bucky shouted at his wife, after he came back from another failed search mission where he tried to find you

"I haven't done anything wrong!" Natasha yelled back, her brain blocked in a phase of denial

"You did!" Bucky shouted "You did! You drove our child away! How could you do something like this, Natasha?!"

Natasha froze in place as her shoulders fell down.

She couldn't believe what she just heard Bucky say.

She refused to believe it.

"Natasha?" The woman asked hurt "Since when I am 'Natasha' for you?"

"Ever since Y/N went missing because of your recklessness and pride." Bucky shouted "My Natalia would have never done that to her own child. So, therefore, you are not my Natalia. You are not that girl I dreamed of having a family with."

"James, please." Natasha whispered, tears forming in her eyes "I am still the same Natalia you met so long ago."

Natasha reached to grab Bucky's hand but he pulled it away.

"Don't touch me." He said in a raised tone

Natasha sighed disappointed and nodded, pulling her hands back.

"You're mad." Natasha said "I get it."

"Mad is far from how I feel right now, Natasha." Bucky lowered his tone "I feel desperate because I am unable to find the child that has been entrusted in my protection and who knows where she is right now and what happened to her. She's just a child. You are the only one who failed to see this."

"James, just give me the chance to explain myself." Natasha pleaded "I beg you."

Bucky shook his head.

"I don't know what you have done to my Natalia but you are not the girl that made me remember how it feels to be human again." The man took a few steps backward before rushing out of the room, leaving his wife behind

Natasha fell on the couch, letting out a deep sigh, as she placed her head in her hands.

Tanya, that have been silently observing the argument between her parents, stood up, her toys forgotten on the soft carpet as she walked towards her mother.

"Mama?" Tanya cautiously called her mother

"What is it, baby?" Natasha sniffed, raising her head to look at her daughter

"Why hasn't Y/N come back yet?" Tanya innocently asked, still struggling to grasp the complexity of the situation "Is she still mad at us?"

Natasha thought about how to explain to a 5-year-old what was happening.

"I think she still is, Tatiana." Natasha lifted Tanya and sat her on her lap

"And Papa is sad because he couldn't find my sister, isn't he?" The little girl questioned sadly

Natasha guiltly nodded "Yes, sweetheart. That's why Mama and Papa are fighting."

Little Tanya looked down at her lap, her tiny eyebrows furrowing, as her mind tried to put her feelings into words.

Natasha gave Tanya time to speak at her own pace, not rushing her.

After a few minutes, Tanya looked up again at Natasha with eyes filled with tears.

"But Mama..." Tanya's high-pitched voice trembled "Why did you make Y/N go away? She is my sister. You never get mad at me cause I am your baby but Y/N is your baby too and you made her feel very sad. You always made her cry and I miss playing with her. She's the best big sister in the whole world."

A stray tear fell down Natasha's left cheek.

"Can you bring Y/N back home, Mama?" Tanya sniffed "Can you not get mad at her always? If Tanya is Mama's baby, then Y/N is Mama's baby too."

"I'm not sure, baby girl." Natasha let out a shaky breath, realizing her mistake "Mama messed up big time when she scolded Y/N/N."

"I know that Mama did bad." Tanya said "But Y/N is ours and she's my sister. She needs to live here with us."

"And she will, baby." Natasha said determined "I promise she will."

Tanya snuggled closer to Natasha's chest and sighed contently.

"I love you, Tanya." Natasha quietly declared

Tanya kissed Natasha's cheek before she quickly stood up and ran upstairs to her room.

Natasha stared at the open door that Tanya just walked out through, deeply lost in thoughts.

Her talk with Tanya had helped Natasha realize one important thing.

That Y/N was her baby no matter what and that she had made the biggest mistake in her life by doing what she did to Y/N.

And yet one question remains.

Where is Y/N?

"Soldat!" A voice said "Your orders are to kill the Avengers, our greatest enemies, and I want the heads of the traitors known as Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes."

The man looked at the masked soldier he had created with pride, knowing that now, they would be invincible.

"Do you understand the command?" He asked sternly

"I am ready to comply." An emotionless voice replied

You stood tall, the black suit and gray vest you were wearing appeared even darker in the shadows of the private office as the mask that covered more than half of your face, perfectly concealed your identity.

The man smirked and pointed with his head towards the door.

You turned around and started walking.

Your mission?

To kill the Avengers.

—

Permanent taglist: @lizlil , @natsxwife , @froufrousnowman , @dannipotatoo , @ravensinthedaylight , @justarandomreaderxoxo , @theunchosenonee , @lovelyy-moonlight , @circe143 , @observeowl , @darkstar225 , @mmmmokdok , @halstead-severide-fan , @daggersquadphantom , @cherlenovix , @youralphawolf72

Story taglist: @graciegoeskrazy , @superforgottensoul , @marvels--slut , @louxbloom , @aubs444 , @notmeellaannyy , @amxrist , @k4t13l0u1s3 , @easybakeoven7 , @jackiehollanderr , @kaylaromanoff17 , @alldaysdreamers , @leoniaaasworld , @finleyfray , @almosttoopizza ,

#mama nat #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha x daughter!reader #natasha's child #natasha's kid #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #natasha x teen reader #natasha x baby!reader #winterwidow #bucky barnes x daughter!reader #bucky barnes

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 2 months

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Original Writing Project: 916

OKAY, now that I've edited the first few chapters enough, I think it's finally time to have its debut to you all!

This is an original sci-fi story completely written by me, with MAJOR influences from things like Gundam and whatnot.

I want to post it here to get your all's feedback and just to share some good ol' storytelling, so please let me know what you guys think of it, your feedback/comments is always read by me!

I expect to have the first few chapters out sometime during this week after your normal schedule of simping, but this post will just be covering what the main idea of the story is/what shows/games is influencing it.

Below the cut is the blurb, inspirations, main characters, and a story excerpt!

First of all, thank you so much for even pressing the keep reading tab/showing any remote interest. I understand this isn't really what you come to this blog for, so it means the world to me!

Anyways, first up is the story blurb:

===

Story Blurb:

The year is 1177. Thirty-four years have passed since the battlefield had been introduced to the bipedal warmachines known as Soldat D’acier. Though they only stand a few meters above tanks, they were able to reduce armored divisions to scrap metal, and fortresses once thought impenetrable transformed to piles of rubble.

The entire continent of Anis rushed their militaries into an arms race to have their own versions of these steel behemoths.

In the name of expansion and rightful conquest, the country of Florence had declared war on Cumbria in 1155. The invasion saw countless deployments of Soldats on both sides, and death quickly followed in their wake. The two nations signed a peace treaty to end hostilities after five long years, but their crimes wouldn't be so easily forgotten by the people, nor its creations.

Now, the man-made atrocities emerging from the "Enhanced Human Initiative" stoke the flames of war once more, forcing an uneasy alliance. And from the same crime that threatens them, comes their final hope: Enhanced Human 916.

===

Inspirations:

Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron Blooded Orphans, Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury Mobile Suit Gundam: Narrative Mobile Suit Gundam: Unicorn Mobile Suit Gundam: Zeta The Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel, Armored Core 6: Fires of Rubicon, Scarlet Nexus, Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, Girls' Frontline,

I was not joking when I said the major influences are from Gundam. At first I was worried about not being 100% original, but eh. Write what you love, right? Elements of the story, themes, suits, and a unholy amount more is snatched from all the Gundam shows listed above.

Armored Core 6 is what inspired the look of the "Soldats", and how combat flows in the story. The main lead, 916, is called numbers bc of the player character 621. (I also learned that the reasons I chose that number came from my subconscious, specifically Darling in the Franxx and that character, 196 aka Ikuno)

Scarlet Nexus inspired some of the tech things regarding the pilots being able to "read each other's minds" so to speak. Pretty much a less space-magic version of being a Newtype from Gundam, as well as other characters.

Trails of Cold Steel and Girls' Frontline inspired the other cast members, and speaking of which:

===

Main Cast:

Wolf Company

Enhanced Human 916, "Vi", Age: 21

A young man who escaped the "Enhanced Human Initiative." Due to augmentation and surgeries, he remains stoic and emotionless, but thanks to his adoptive family, has shown signs of opening up. Earned his nickname after his violet eyes.

He pilots the Soldat R1-N0, "Rhino", a bulky mech utilizing rush and ambush tactics, armed with a 60mm Autocannon and Heat Dagger.

A/N: Titular character, heavily inspired by Byleth (Fire Emblem Three Houses), and Mikazuki (Iron-Blooded Orphans). My second favorite character to write so far in the story, ironically.

David Collins, "Boss", Age: 53

Leader of a PMC called "Wolf Company". David took 916 in at a young age and raised him to be part of the "family". Loud and proud, he takes great pride in all serving underneath him, and has known to have a temper in anything regarding his age. Earned his nickname since calling him "Boss" was more comfortable for everyone.

He pilots the Soldat "Juggernaut', a machine with the legs of a tank, but upper half of a mech with arms. Armed with wrist-mounted machine guns and twin battle-cannons on top of its shoulders.

A/N: Inspired by Maine from Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. Don't look too much into that, don't worry. You can also tell from just his dialogue how much I like writing him too. He is my number 1 favorite to write.

Chloe, "Flare", Age: 35

Second in command of "Wolf Company. Chloe is extremely loud, complementing her foul-mouthed nature. Generally regarded as the "Big SIster" of the team. Earned her nickname from her extremely short temper.

She pilots the Soldat "Mantis", a lanky and smaller machine focusing on blitz tactics, able to leap surprisingly massive heights due to its inverted legs.

A/N: Inspired by Bianca (Gundam Thunderbolt), Sasha (Attack on Titan) and Miku (Darling in the Franxx). To everyone I have shown this story thus far, she has been the fan favorite, including her partner in crime:

Hayes, "Screw", Age: 32

The newest "rookie" of Wolf Company. Impulsive, a little too confident in himself but admittedly a talented sniper, Hayes is always eager to prove himself. Earned his nickname from either screwing himself over, or the enemy.

He pilots the Soldat "Phantom", a mech focusing on stealth and sniping, able to keep itself off enemy radar.

A/N: Inspired by Connie (Attack on Titan) and Zorome (Darling in the Franxx). Him and Chloe are a fun combo, as you will soon see.

There's eight more main characters, but I'll let you read their introduction yourself! 916 and Wolf Company will be the ones we'll be following the most throughout the story. Though this part of the cast was heavily inspired by Iron-Blooded Orphans. For those who watched the show, again, don't read too much into that.

===

The last thing I'll have for this post will be an excerpt from the prologue to get things started! Hopefully my slow ass will have the prologue out soon, so please look forward to it!

Without further ado-

===

Story Excerpt:

===

“Doctor Moreau, do you think we go to heaven?” asked the small girl.

Doctor Moreau stopped typing for a moment as her eyes glanced over the terminal, seeing the child laying on the operating table, standing out from the rest of the clean black walls and white tiles. The room was supported with soft lights illuminating the room, complemented by the blue screens and dizzying amount of automated surgical equipment quietly whirring into position.

Moreau pushed her aging white hair away from her eyes, looking at the child, subject designated 403. 403 was about seven, she barely stood up to Moreau’s stomach and had long black hair that stopped at her shoulders. The light blue gown was slightly too big for her, the sleeves extending over most of her hands and just revealing her fingers. Seeing her face again reminded Doctor Moreau of 403's rather inquisitive nature.

“Why are you asking that, 403?” Moreau replied, her tone indifferent. Her fingers went back to typing as she sighed. “If you’re worried about the procedure, the chips are perfectly safe to implant. There has been no previous record of anyone dying from-”

“-But I’m going to die after.”

“...What?”

“After the chip goes into me. Will the others and I go to heaven?”

The question had caught the doctor completely off guard. Moreau had answered questions such as, “Will this hurt?”, or “Do I have to?”. This question was something she could not answer with her usual dismissive tone. She sat up straight in her seat now and turned to look at the child. 403's eyes were still fixated on the ceiling.

“Why are you so certain you’re going to die, 403?”

“That’s what my brother told me. When the chip goes into our brain, we’re sent off to die.”

The girl’s voice stated it as a matter of fact. There was no confusion in her tone of what was to become of her. Doctor Moreau had no response as she stared at 403 with her mouth slightly open. The child simply turned her head, facing her and expectantly waiting for an answer.

“... I certainly hope there’s a heaven, 403. I’m sure heaven will allow good kids like you and your brother.”

“What about my friends? Will they-”

“We’re about to begin the surgery. Please face up towards the light and close your eyes.” Moreau bluntly cut off the conversation.

403 pouted, but complied. It was clear that the answer did not satisfy her as much as she wanted it to. Doctor Moreau took a second to recover and focus back on the job at hand. Facing back towards the terminal, she began typing once more. With the input of several passwords and confirmations, the surgery to implant the combat data-chip into 403’s brain would commence. Afterwards, she would be sent to her brother’s unit, and be deployed to the battlefield.

Just like all the others.

This room had always been nothing out of the ordinary to Moreau. The same procedure had been repeated more times than she could count and yet why did this one make it so hard to breathe all of a sudden?

“Doctor Moreau?”

“Yes, 403?”

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“You may.”

“Can I listen to that song you always play? The one that goes ‘Lalalalala~’? I want to hear it one more time before I sleep. I really like it.”

Doctor Moreau’s lips suddenly dried up as she once again stopped typing. With a slightly trembling hand, she turned to the radio sitting on her desk and nodded.

“...Of course, 403. No more questions, please.”

She could see the smile form on 403’s lips as the mask was gently put onto her face, the anesthesia slowly starting to pump into 403’s lungs.

“...Thank you.”

Doctor Moreau swallowed hard as her finger pressed the on switch of her old radio. Despite being in such a high tech surgical room, her radio was comically outdated. It was a small gray oval-like object that only had a speaker and a few buttons. To even put music in it, she had to insert a smaller rectangle that contained the songs in it via tape. It was a gift from her father when she was 403’s age, the thought of their roles being reversed not lost on the doctor.

‘Sing, sing a song Let the world sing along Sing of love there could be Sing for you and for me…~’

Doctor Moreau could hear 403 softly hum along to the song as her voice gradually became quieter, and eventually turning into soft breathing. The whirring of the surgical equipment and the radio being the only things in the room left making noise. The only remaining step was for Doctor Moreau to approve the procedure to implant the chip into 403’s brain.

“Is there heaven…” the doctor quietly repeated the question to herself, attempting to ignore 403’s startling self awareness of the situation.

"Authorization confirmed, Implant procedure beginning.” A deep robotic voice rang out across the room as the sound of a drill began drowning out the other equipment. Doctor Moreau sat on her chair as she closed her eyes, waiting for the procedure to be done and turning off the radio in the process.

“For me, I don’t think so…Heaven was lost to me long ago.”

...

‘Sing, sing a song Make it simple to last Your whole life long~’

The Doctor was snapped out of her melancholy as the music continued playing. Sighing, she moved to turn it off for good.

“Piece of junk is starting to-” She stopped as her finger was about to hit the switch.

The radio was still off.

Listening closely again, Moreau realized the singing was coming outside of the door.

‘Don't worry that it's not Good enough for anyone Else to hear~’

Creeping towards the door, the doctor put her ears to it and heard what sounded like a chorus singing. The song wasn’t over the intercom, otherwise the voice would be far clearer.

Instead it sounded like-

A sudden sense of dread hit the doctor as she swung the doors open and ran towards the hangar. Multiple guards and scientists were opening the doors along the long gray hallway, joining Moreau and investigating what the noise was. When they finally got to the railing after the doors slid open, none of them could speak.

‘Just sing, sing a song (Just sing, sing a song) Just sing, sing a song~’

Inside the massive hangar stood rows of countless Soldats, giant bipedal machines that stood several meters tall, lined up next to each other as if they were statues. Their bulky legs stood firmly in place and the compact yet slender arms did not move an inch.

The only things moving were their horned box-like heads, slowly moving side to side in perfect sync. Each of the voices emerging from the Soldats were different but singing in perfect harmony.

Their normally offline and horizontal segregated visors were suddenly flickering to life with blue lights, illuminating the large dark room with bright blue rays.

‘La la la la la, la la la la La la la la la la laaaaa~’

Doctor Moreau could hear the voices of security guards rushing down the stairs to halt the singing, shouting orders at the others to back away.

However, the doctor could only hear their cheerful singing along with her breathing becoming noticeably shorter with each second, feeling her chest tighten.

Once again, the question 403 springed up to the forefront of her mind.

“Is there heaven?”

...

===

And that's the first part of the prologue done, hope to have this out soon, and again if you got this far, thanks for taking the time!

See ya soon, and back to the normal content for now!

#not an ask #chris's thoughts #oc story

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barelysleepyy · 3 months

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Gottlieb Familiefoto.

Röschen : Rose (Karla)

Soldat : Soldier (Hermann)

Bär : Bear (Dietrich)

Spatz : Sparrow ( Bastien)

I'm sick and supposed to be M.I.A but that won't stop me !! Me and Blithe was talking about Hermann's family and we ended up conjuring up a lot of ideas so.. Self-care week has come to this, then. [mischievous]

Edit: Thank you villainphim for pointing out my grammar mistake!! Fixed it.

#pacific rim #pacific rim art #hermann gottlieb #bastien gottlieb #lars gottlieb #karla gottlieb #dietrich gottlieb

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mournthebird · 19 days

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The Brand

Warnings: Hydra Trash Party, dehumanization, mentions of physical and psychological abuse, mentions of sexual assault and torture, body modification, medical descriptions, non-consensual surgical procedure, non-sexual nudity, conscious body mutilation, branding. Do not read if these make you uncomfortable.

a/n: Yay first writing post. I wrote this a few weeks ago in time to celebrate the 10 year HTP celebration but my work got busy and I couldn't finish it in time. It might seem rushed at the end and isn't the typical writing style I go with, but I wanted to try something new.

I have a lot of ideas for HTP, they won't be written in such a narrative way, they'll be more involved and not seem so empty when you read it. I wanted to practice this style of writing to get back into it. My future works will be more gritty I promise lol.

Not edited because I am impatient.

WC: 4618

If there was one thing that defined Hydra, it was their insatiable need to flaunt, to ostentatiously display their dominion over all they claimed. The agents of Hydra took a perverse pride in their control and indecorous displays of power, viewing them as a testament to their might and dominance. At the pinnacle of their assets stood the Winter Soldier, the first and arguably most potent weapon in Hydra's formidable arsenal. He was their most prized asset and possession, their most favorite plaything.

To Hydra, the Winter Soldier was nothing more than a weapon, an object to be wielded with ruthless efficiency. Or on certain occasions, he was seen as a toy, something to be played with by his handlers, depending on the day and the specific handler's whims. His existence was one of unending servitude, of being used and abused by what seemed to be a never ending pool of agents. There were times when Soldat liked to convince himself that he had grown accustomed to the pain, to the torment that was his existence. He liked to believe that he had seen everything, that there was no form of cruelty that could surprise him anymore. The agents of Hydra were nothing if not creative in their methods of torture, to put it mildly.

Yet, as each day passed, each time he was awakened from the frigid embrace of cryostasis, he was starkly reminded of how wrong he was. Each new day he was graciously kept out of cryostasis brought with it fresh horrors, fresh cruelties that served to shatter his illusions of desensitization. His life was a grim reminder of the depths to which humanity could sink in its quest for power and control.

He remembers more than what they would like, despite how many times they ‘put his brain in a blender’ as Rumlow would say. Shards of his past that were shattered into an intricate puzzle; the scattered pieces were handed back to him in a cruel game where they never quite fit together. Much of what he is able to recall stems from his intense, grueling conditioning at Hydra or the earliest, most brutal of his tortures. He has vivid recollections of the cold, unfeeling metal table and the burn of harsh straps binding him to it. His memory of those moments is hazy, his sight blurred by the glaring white light looming above, piercing his eyes and blinding him. Vague memories of the sun flashed in his mind, the wet streets of New York and himself as a child running through puddles as the sun shone down on him and provided warmth after the downpour.

At that time, he still possessed a significant portion of his left arm, the remaining limb extending just above his elbow. But the people who held him captive, the people who sought to manipulate and control him, they couldn't allow him to retain that, could they? It simply wouldn't work, wouldn't align with the function of the arm that Zola had painstakingly and so preciously created.

Zola wasn’t the one to amputate the rest of it. The faces of the medical personnel were indistinct to him - were they doctors, or were they scientists? Did the specific roles they played truly matter at this moment? It was a question he didn’t find himself pondering for long.

He remembered tensing as he heard the sickening sound of his muscle being ruined by the small, handheld rotary drill as it raked through his flesh, the wielder running it up and down his arm as if he were cutting through dough. At first, the sensation of his flesh being ripped away so viciously didn’t register in his brain, but his eyes glanced down at his arm, and saw they were taking it in segmented pieces. Seeing it seemed to get his brain to work faster now. The hot vibrations from the bone saw sliding so effortlessly through his exposed humorous nearly made him want to vomit. His wide, icy eyes were glued to the tool despite how badly he wanted to tear his sight away, the inch long piece of raw bone fell off, hitting the metal table with a small *clink* sound. A cloud of pure dread flooded his already struggling mind as he realized what they were doing. Instead of a simple amputation surgery, they were taking their sweet time, ensuring he felt every bit of it in a cruel introduction.

They only took away an inch of flesh and bone.

His anguished cries for mercy were coldly ignored, and the indifferent medical team didn't care that he was fully conscious during the gruesome procedure. Even now, years later, with his state-of-the-art prosthetic arm replacing the one he'd lost, he is haunted by phantom pains that serve as all too vivid reminders of that fateful day. The biting chill of the snow on his raw, open wound is something he can still recall with unsettling clarity, as are the sensations of the invasive surgical tools mercilessly working against him as he writhed in futile resistance against the unbending straps that held him firmly in place. In the quiet moments of solitude, he often has to take a moment to gather his thoughts, to refocus his mind, and remind himself that the gruesome ordeal is long past and that his own flesh and blood arm has been replaced with a sophisticated, very expensive piece of high-tech metal. Yet, the past refuses to be so easily discarded. His mind, an intriguing labyrinth of denied emotions and memories, continues to replay the ordeal, showcasing the fascinating, yet at times cruel, capacity of the human brain.

Unfortunately for Sergeant Barnes, that was all just the beginning of a seventy year long nightmare. His first session inside the seemingly ominous cryo chamber was a jarring experience that he hadn't expected. All he can remember is the sudden, abrupt sensation of being hurled into a sizable, and he's not too proud to admit, an intimidatingly scary device. He would soon learn it was a merciful gesture to be frozen, over the years wishing for it rather than being kept out for them to play with.

This chamber made of metal and steel only had a minuscule, circular window that seemed to serve as his only connection to the world he was leaving behind. Before he could even allow himself to succumb to the primal instinct of panic, the very air around him seemed to solidify. It was as if the invisible molecules of oxygen were suddenly turned to ice, encasing him in a frosty cocoon. He couldn’t even process his initial shock before he began to feel the icy tendrils of cold seeping into his body, freezing him from the inside out. He had mere seconds, fractions of timeless moments, to register the chill before his senses were overwhelmed and everything around him plunged into an abyss of pitch-black nothingness.

The tales of his time spent within the sinister depths of Hydra would surely elicit a shiver of sympathy from the devil himself - such was the magnitude of his torment. Every excruciating moment, every instance of his suffering was meticulously documented by his pitiless handler in that dreaded, damned red book. This was a book that he grew to loathe, a constant, tangible reminder of his puppet-like existence. It contained detailed instructions on how to manipulate him, how to control each string tethered to his spirit and body, turning him into a marionette dancing to their dark symphony. Every mission he was sent on, every dangerous venture he had accomplished was recorded in it. This included even the less polished operations from the early days of his career, when he was still learning the ropes and the art of subtlety.

His few failures, those moments of human error, were written in a cruelly conspicuous red ink. This was a color that symbolized his pain, his struggle, and his sacrifice, forced to pen down these failures himself. He would sit on the cold, hard floor of his bleak holding cell, his hand shaking as he held the inkless pen. This pen would then be dabbed into his body and would stain the pages of the book with dark, inky crimson, watched all the while by his unflinching handler.

He quickly understood that he was not valued as a human being, but was seen as nothing more than a tool for amusement, a commodity to be used and discarded, an object of entertainment for those who controlled him. His training, harsh and unyielding, began abruptly and without mercy, and with each passing day, he was forced to hone his abilities, to transform himself into a more efficient, more deadly assassin. He was taught the art of strict discipline, and the punishing consequences that followed if he failed to meet their exacting standards. Physical torment became a part of his existence, a brutal routine that he had to become accustomed to, but that didn't mean he was immune to the pain. Each strike, each wound was a stark reminder of his position. Hydra taught order through pain after all, and pain was nearly second nature to him by now.

But arguably, what was even more devastating was the mental torture he was subjected to. The psychological torment, the manipulation, the systematic breaking down of his spirit was a pain that transcended the physical. No amount of bodily harm could ever compare to the anguish of having his mind, his very sense of self, twisted and reshaped to suit their needs and desires.

He was slowly, painstakingly being reconstructed with fragments and shards that belonged to someone else, not him. As if the core of his very existence was being invaded, they were diligently, ruthlessly weaving pieces of brutality into the tapestry of his soul, fundamentally altering his essence. He was no longer the man known as Bucky, no longer James Buchanan Barnes, a name that once held so much significance. Hell, he couldn’t even recall his own name anymore, only the harsh, unkind labels they assigned him. ‘Soldat’...mostly. But there were other names, too, cruel and derogatory terms that were as far from his true identity as could be. His sense of self, his identity, who he was at his core, had been brutally stripped away, leaving him nothing more than a hollow shell of the man he had once been.

Over the years, he had found himself under the supervision of many handlers, the names and faces of most he could no longer remember. The current handler in charge of him was Alexander Pierce, who had remained his handler for the longest duration of time compared to the others. Pierce was the kingpin, the mastermind, the one who held all the reins, the dominant head of the Hydra. There were instances when Soldat was temporarily handled by either Rumlow or Rollins, but these periods never lasted too long. Despite his brutish demeanor and cutthroat attitude, Pierce was incredibly possessive of Soldat, almost obsessively so. He didn’t appreciate it when others caused harm to his possessions, like that mattered. And that was exactly what Soldat was to him, a mere possession, an object to be owned and controlled.

Pierce did not view him as a person capable of experiencing feelings and emotions. In his eyes, Soldat was just a thing, devoid of any humanity. Soldat was at his mercy, a mere puppet under his control. He could dictate Soldat's every move, treat him however he pleased, and the asset wouldn’t dare to retaliate. There were fleeting moments, few and far between, seemingly minor delays where the asset would show a hint of defiance, a subtle insubordination that manifested itself in the way he might take an extra second or two before following an order. These moments of resistance, however slight, were met with brutal and harsh punishment, administered by the man who had been assigned to handle him. Pierce was notorious for his severe punishments. Rumlow, too, was cruel in his own right. He took perverse pleasure in blending physical and psychological torture, pushing the boundaries of what the asset could endure. But Pierce...the mere mention of his name by another agent in the presence of the asset, especially during those rare moments when the asset dared to be rebellious, would strip him down to nothing but a small, quivering ball, a mass of fear and anticipation as he awaited for his true handler to lay his harsh, punishing hand.

Pierce liked to think of himself as the asset’s owner, not even just a handler. He liked playing mind games with him, ensuring his submission. He was a master of deception, delivering his taunts and insults with a veneer of charm and affability that belied his true intentions. He had a unique way with words, much like a bee that knows how to produce honey while also being capable of a deadly sting. He liked to create an aura of comfort and ease around the asset, luring it into a false sense of security. Just when the asset would start to relax and let his guard down, Pierce would shatter this illusion of safety. A backhanded strike would come out of nowhere, causing his head to jerk from the unnecessary force. Or he would give a sudden, painful tug to the asset’s chocolate locks, locking his fingers into the asset’s hair and yanking him around as if he were trying to pull his hair out.

These acts of cruelty were always accompanied by seemingly gentle words, and perhaps a caress to his head, creating a confusing and distressing dichotomy that further brought on emotional and mental confusion to the asset. Over time, the asset learned to be wary of Pierce's words, no matter how sweet they seemed on the surface. Kindness was always a precursor to cruelty, and trust became a luxury he could no longer afford. The asset began to anticipate the worst at all times, and unfortunately, this pessimistic expectation was almost always met.

Soldat found himself yearning for the majority of his day to be spent in the confines of the small, austere cell in which he was held captive. This was his preferred solace when he was not being subjected to the whims of numerous Hydra agents who took turns with him; their demands were a source of deep loathing for him. The task of satisfying such a multitude of people was not only mentally draining but also physically excruciating. Despite his body having been enhanced by the serum, it was painfully evident that he was not designed for the purposes for which they were exploiting him. No one would be. He could feel everything at an amplified level, and the agents cared not how he felt during the assaults. Sadistic and barbaric in their violent rutting, the asset was often left motionless in his cell, his breathing jagged and quick before dying down to the deep breaths of plagued sleep.

The discomfort was inescapable: he found it impossible to sit properly due to the chronic pain from his backside, not only the constant throbbing and burning in his anus, but the welts and wounds scattered along his thighs and ass. He was forced to lean at an angle on one side of his backside instead of sitting upright in a normal manner. This odd positioning offered some degree of relief, but not much. His cell was void of any comforting amenities or distractions - it was a cage after all, not a home.

The walls of his cell, a stark combination of cement and metal, were expertly crafted to withstand the immense strength he possessed. This meant that even when he wasn't restrained in chains in the corner of the room, his attempts to break free would prove futile. The stone floors were unexpectedly damp, a surprising observation considering that the cell was completely buried underground, devoid of any direct exposure to the elements. He thought there might be a hidden leak somewhere, a fissure in the stone that allowed the intrusion of water. The thought of snow stirred a melancholic feeling within him. It had been an eternity since he had experienced the outdoor world, the simple pleasure of feeling the crisp winter air against his skin, the sight of pristine, untouched snowfall, or the peaceful silence that came with it. His memories of these sensations were fading, blurred by the harsh passage of time. He was trapped in an endless cycle of monotonous days and nights, to the point where he couldn’t even remember just how long it had been since his last glimpse of the outside world.

His train of thought was abruptly disrupted as the hefty, imposing door started to creak ominously open. The harsh sound of metal scraping against the cold concrete floor echoed throughout the room, sending an eerie screech that sent chills down his spine and made him suppress a shiver. Agent Rumlow stood imposingly in the doorway. Looming ominously behind him was a group of other guards, each of them armed with an assortment of menacing weapons. Among these were electric prods that he had grown to despise. The guards had a tendency to press them against his skin for prolonged periods, the sharp, unpleasant sensation something he could never get used to.

He wasn’t an animal. Right?

Rumlow began to speak, his voice carrying a smug undertone that was all too familiar to Soldat. It was a tone that grated on his nerves, driving him to the brink of madness. He found himself despising the self-assured, arrogant way Rumlow spoke, as if he was perched high on a throne that was untouchable, immune to any form of downfall.

"Rise and shine, we have a unique surprise prepared just for you today," Rumlow declared, sauntering over with a gait that oozed the arrogant confidence he always fronted. His steps were strong and assured, resonating a kind of authority that was hard to ignore. Soldat barely had time to process the situation before he felt the cold presence of the guards clustering around him. Almost mechanically, they secured a thick, intimidating metal collar around his neck and arms. They had done this many times, and were experts at securing them before the asset had time to react.

Tiny rings punctuated the cold metal, attached to long, unwieldy bars. It was an apparatus designed for control, allowing them to maintain a safe distance from him while forcibly guiding him to move according to their whims and direction. The sudden and rough manhandling sparked a primal instinct within Soldat. He began to struggle against his captors, his body twisting and turning, writhing in the unforgiving grip of the bindings.

"Alright, that's enough. You should realize by now that struggling gets you nowhere," Rumlow sternly declared. He then turned on his heels, initiating their journey through the winding, oppressively dark corridors of the clandestine underground base. The team had forcefully guided him along, feeling the solid resistance he put up against his restraints. Despite his efforts, his legs continued to move forward in a mechanical fashion, carrying him onward to an unknown fate. The asset was exhibiting more resistance than usual, a defiance that was palpable in the tension of his body. Yet, Rumlow didn't pay any mind to this show of rebellion. He was well aware that after this ordeal, the asset would inevitably become much more compliant and manageable, stripped of his will to resist.

As Soldat was roughly manipulated through the threshold and into the new room, he wasn’t surprised that it held no distinct visual difference from the rest. The room was devoid of any unique color or material that would make it stand out from the other rooms he had already seen. The walls were the same drab shade, the floor was made of the same cold stone, and the air smelled just as musty. The only detail that caught Soldat's attention was Pierce, who was standing by a small, yet fully functioning smith’s furnace.

Pierce's back was turned to them, his arms crossed over his chest in a display of casual authority. He was engrossed in his observation of the red hot coals in the furnace, appearing to be in deep thought. The coals glowed with a mesmerizing intensity, casting flickering shadows that danced across the room. Tiny embers floated gently through the air, creating a surreal, fiery snowfall whenever Pierce moved around a long iron pole that was submerged in the heat. The pole, silver and gleaming, was halfway buried in the crackling coals, absorbing the heat that radiated from them.

Before the asset could even begin to comprehend the situation, he was forcibly stripped of his clothing, manhandled and roughly shoved against a harsh, unforgiving metal wall. His arms were yanked above his head with such force that it caused a painful strain on his muscles, particularly on the side where his cold, mechanical arm was attached. The pull of the metal limb was relentless, tugging insistently at the already stressed muscles of his back. They then made sure his ankles were securely bound, making it impossible for him to twist or turn his body, effectively rendering him helpless and restrained. His cheek was pressed firmly against the icy cold silver of the wall, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his flushed skin. His eyes, wide with confusion, darted around as he tried to make sense of his predicament, his brows knitted together in a deep furrow.

He was at a loss. He didn’t understand what they were doing to him. Could this be a part of his training? He had been subjected to just about everything, becoming accustomed to various forms of physical and mental torture. But this…he had no clue what this was. He was beginning to feel an inner battle, his brain suddenly felt too loud. He wasn’t used to hearing so many thoughts, the repetitive wiping and cryostasis ensured he was emotionless and focused on a single mission or task. He must be due for another brainwashing session.

Pierce appeared to be lost in a sea of deep thought. The weight of their impending plan lay heavy on his shoulders, a battle between rising to rule or plummeting into the unforgiving abyss of defeat was fast approaching. It was Hydra's chance to shine, to finally establish their supremacy. He seemed to be carefully considering the possible scenarios, weighing each outcome against the other. Although he held a firm belief in their imminent success, he was starkly aware of the risks involved. If they faltered, if they failed, there was a very real possibility they’d lose their most valuable asset. This was not a prospect he relished. As much as it irritated him, he wanted to ensure his legacy, a lasting mark of his leadership on Hydra and ownership of the soldier who became the fist.

In a moment of introspection, he reached out, stirring the metal rod amongst the glowing coals. He observed silently, captivated by the mesmerizing dance of the embers as they burst from the coals and elegantly floated down to the floor. They disappeared just as quickly as they appeared, leaving behind nothing but their fleeting beauty and the whispering echo of their sizzle, a stark reminder of the transient nature of power and control.

In one swift, deliberate motion, he pulled the rod from the smoldering coals, the tip of it glowing yellow, a color that faded gradually into a vibrant orange as it traced down the length of the shaft. Pierce turned around slowly, his dark suit miraculously untouched despite him being in such close proximity to the blazing heat of the furnace.

With measured and unhurried strides, he walked over to the asset, his predatory gaze observing the man's body with a level of intensity that was almost wolfish. His countenance, however, remained stern and unyielding, betraying no hint of emotion. Pierce was good at that. He held out the rod towards the asset, the end that burned the hottest bearing the symbol that the asset served - the emblem of Hydra. Fear caught in the asset’s eyes before he could hide it, he found himself doubting whether they were really going to go through with this.

But was that such a thing here? This place, this Hell on earth.

It wasn’t like he had time to react before he felt white-hot pain erupt from his lower back, right above the left side of his ass. The pain was excruciating, and he bit his tongue trying to hold in any sort of discomfort…but it was pointless. No amount of struggle could hold back the scream that left his scratchy throat. The rod melted his flesh and scorched his poor nerves, he could feel it in the tips of his toes, and he swore his metal arm felt hot. This was almost as bad as being wiped in that torturous chair, but at least after a few long seconds even that seemed to fade with his mind melding against his trigger words.

This was different, it got worse as the seconds dragged on, and Pierce didn’t seem like he was going to pull it off anytime soon. He held the rod taut, pressing firmly into the asset’s scarred skin, not like the asset could struggle much with his restraints anyway. With a calculated mind and a discerning eye, he strategically found a spot that was devoid of many scars. He wanted the emblem to stand out, to show without any competition from the numerous other marks that littered the asset’s body. It would shine out prominently against the skin, the deep, bold mark of it. This emblem wasn't just any ordinary mark - it was a sign of ownership, a declaration of dominance. The thought of it, the sheer power it represented, brought Pierce an overwhelming rush of sadistic satisfaction.

When he finally pulled the rod away, it had all but cooled completely, so parts of the asset’s skin were ripped away. The cauterized wound reopened as the metal was torn off roughly, Pierce let out a small grunt from the gesture. He carelessly tossed the pole back into the furnace, now not caring for it. The asset could smell the remains of his flesh burning in the furnace, it made him sick. The asset felt genuine fear, even after the deed was done, he couldn’t see it but the feeling was so agonizing he didn’t want to look at his new branding.

In an agonizingly slow pace, he was methodically detached from the wall by the nameless, faceless agents. As the restraints were removed, his body gave way, too weak to support his own weight. He crumbled to the floor, his body convulsing and shaking as if he were in shock, a reaction to the branding he had been subjected to. Unlike before, the agents didn’t bother with the formalities of restraining him to move him in the same manner. There were no thick, oppressive collars or tight bindings this time. Instead, they carelessly slung his limp arms around their shoulders, and he was unceremoniously dragged out, back to the cold, harsh reality of his cell.

He must’ve been deemed harmless by now, a muzzled, drugged dog without the will to fight. His mind was clouded, foggy with pain and fear by the time he was tossed back into his holding cell, discarded like a worthless ragdoll they had grown tired of. The asset felt his fear of Pierce, the orchestrator of his torment, multiply tenfold. During that horrific branding, the barbaric and dehumanizing torture, he remained as even as stone…Pierce didn’t utter a single word.

He didn’t have to.

..........

Thanks for reading.

-🕊

#my writing #hydra trash party #winter soldier #bucky barnes #bucky barnes whump #winter soldier whump #brock rumlow #dead dove fic #darkfic

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microcosme11 · 9 months

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“You will see the world at your knees”

[A mystical figure appears to Bonaparte predicting more success.]

Histoire de l’Empereur racontée dans une grange par un vieux soldat by Honoré de Balzac (1904 edition) Illustration by Alphonse Lalauze

Story of the Emperor recounted in a barn by an old soldier

entire book

#illustrations from a book about Napoleon #Balzac #young Bonaparte

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denkerblog · 4 months

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Wunschzettel

Wünsch Dir was:

Zeit zurück drehen, meint die Witwe

Zeit vor drehen, meint der Häftling

Wünsch Dir was:

Mein Leben zurück, sagt die, die immer nur macht.

Mehr Elternzeit wünschen sich die Eltern

Musik meint der Musiker

Entlastung meint der Erzieher

Frieden meint der Soldat

Wünsch Dir was:

#lyrik gedichte #montagsgedicht #deutsche lyrik #wir #tintentropfen #lyrikgedichte #ichsuche

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backagainpodcast · 8 months

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Lila tries to attend a party; Remus finds a new job.

A new episode of Sword and Spinner arrives, and will be followed by an episode of Back Again, Back Again on the 20th!

Between the first rex et poeta et soldat and the one Ilyaas finds herself a part of, there were still storytellers, swords, and kings that didn't care near as much as they should.

Remus's job is to solve the problems too small for the monarchy to care about. Lila's job is to tell the stories after they're through.

Sword and Spinner is a prequel to Back Again, Back Again -- but if you're a lover of monster-of-the-week fantasy stories and conlangs in any regard, you should give it a listen :)

#back again back again podcast #baba podcast #sword and spinner #sword and spinner podcast #knightcore #audio drama #the oh hellos #narnia #soldier poet king #cottagecore #queer #the witcher #queer audio drama

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nolanfa · 2 years

Photo

Art for @capreversebb ; picked by @hanitrash (AO3) who wrote the fic Soldat i Volkodav (The Fist and The Fang) for it (masterpost here). Art also on AO3 here. Edit: in case I make more of this, which has a, uh... 30-50% chance of happening? I’d say? Then you can find it in the buckyDog tag.

Edit2: no alt text available for gifs it seems? Anyway, here it is: a turnaround gif of a clay sculpture of Winter Soldier Bucky (with the long hair and the silver starred arm) sitting on a rock, with binoculars in the flesh hand and the metal one resting on the neck of a dog / wolf sitting next to him.

#fandom #hanitrash #marvel #fanart #bucky barnes #dog #clay sculpture #capreversebb #caprbb2022 #buckyDog #nosart #nosfinal #volume

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crowtrobotx · 1 year

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@whateverthefuckyouwantiguess sent me a lovely ask about what Karl and Lottie’s most chaotically fluffy moment was. Tumblr, being Tumblr, completely demolished the formatting when I tried to answer and then proceeded to just delete everything when I tried to edit lol.

Anyway, did you want a ~2k word fic in response? Because you got a ~2k word fic in response. I sell chaotic father daughter fluff and chaotic father daughter fluff accessories.

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, OC (daughter)

Warnings: Swearing, brief and non serious mention of drugs/alcohol. ***

In some other life, Karl might have been a heavy sleeper. In a world where he didn’t have the omnipresent eye of Mother Miranda burning into the back of his neck, something like the suspicious clattering coming from outside his bedroom wouldn’t have even fazed him. But in this reality, all it took was the whirr of an appliance turning on for a few seconds to send him rocketing out of bed, clothed only in his boxers and stained undershirt, his hammer at the ready to flatten whoever had the audacity to come into his factory and use his hand mixer.

Had he been more awake, he might have paused to consider that the likelihood of a villager or even one of his “siblings” breaking in only to cook a late night snack was… small. Unless the flies had broken into their mother’s wine cellar, the culprit was either ghosts, a malfunctioning soldat – personal cyborg cook, filing that away for future experiments – or….

“Lottie! Dammit, what are you doing awake?”

Karl paused in the kitchen doorway, letting his muscles relax and the hammer clunk against the floor. He heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of her, perfectly unharmed, but coated in a fine dusting flour. Well, either that or cocaine – he wouldn’t have put it past her, to be honest.

She turned to look at him from her perch atop a chair, panic evident in her features. She curled her small frame over whatever she was working on, shielding it from his view. The hand mixer that had given her away – missing a beater – dropped unceremoniously onto the table.

“Ack! Don’t look! You’re ruining the surprise!”

Karl moved cautiously into the room. It was a mess at the best of times, but it looked like a tiny tornado had passed through. There was a cracked egg lying forgotten on the tile, every spice they owned strewn about the counter, and a trail of discarded spoons leading from the sink to where Lottie was, still watching him like a hawk. He fished around the top of the fridge until he found one of his many, many cigar stashes – complete with matchbox. He used the time it took to light one to both calm his still jittery nerves and sift through the possible responses to the unusual situation.

He wasn’t going to scold her. He couldn’t. And, in truth, he wasn’t angry. Mostly just confused – what on earth had gotten into her this time? Was this normal? Did little girls go through a culinary phase? She had been acting strangely the last week, spending an inordinate amount of time sifting through his book collection and whispering to the Duke when he dropped by. Karl had attributed this to her usual antics, one of those silly games she liked to make up on the fly, but maybe they had been plotting something after all.

“Surprise, huh? So, what’s the occasion?” He gestured vaguely around the kitchen, hoping he sounded cool and casual. Kids respected that, after all. He was hip – he knew these things.

Lottie straightened up, looking sad suddenly. He could see now that she was hunched over a large mixing bowl – the mixing bowl, considering they only owned one – with a cookbook sprawled open next to it. He wasn’t quite sure how she could even read it given how much food debris had ended up on the pages.

“You really don’t remember?” she asked quietly.

Uh oh. Karl felt sweat immediately form on his forehead. Lottie’s birthday was in February. He never forgot that. Christmas was most certainly not coming up, and they never celebrated any of the villagers’ holidays unless forced to put in an appearance. There were no anniversaries worth acknowledging anymore, no special occasions to speak of for at least the next three months. Did they have some kind of social engagement? No, of course not – no one invited them anywhere out of their own free will, thank goodness.

He must have taken too long or looked particularly befuddled, because with an angry stomp of her foot Lottie interrupted his racing thoughts.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow!” She pointed at the calendar hanging lopsided over the sink. April 4th was circled in red crayon and decorated by two crudely drawn stick figures in party hats. Karl gaped at it like a dumbfounded fish.

He’d forgotten. Again.

Who could blame him? If his parents – his real parents – had ever celebrated with him, the memories had been lost to time, extinguished like the candles in one of Miranda’s miserable, rickety churches whenever a stiff wind blew through the bones of the frame. Only one other person had ever cared, and she, too, was lost forever. Decades, unnatural and agonizing, had slipped by. Older than he should have ever been, without any of the positives a long life should have brought forth.

Well, almost all.

Lottie was watching him still, no longer trying to hide her work. A hand drawn card, something wrapped hastily with twine. It made sense, suddenly. She’d tried to plan a surprise party. She was attempting to make the chocolate cake she’d found among the dusty pages. The cookbook, mostly in German, was something left in the factory by one of his ancestors that he had shoved into an unlabeled box where it could never haunt him with its presence. But she’d, apparently, struggled through it with her limited vocabulary just to try to please him.

Shit.

“Oh, Butterfly.” Karl walked to her side now, ruffling her messy hair. “You don’t have to do all this. If you wanted a cake I coulda just harassed the town baker for one. This is… nice, but I think you got more stuff on the floor than in the bowl.”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” The change in volume was jarring. “You always do things for me on my birthday! You’re supposed to let other people buy you stuff and make you stuff! At the very least you’re supposed to have fun! You never want to do anything. You’re so boring!”

Karl huffed. “Hey now, how would you know that? You ain’t been around nearly long enough to be sayin’ that kinda stuff – your old man was a party animal back in his day.”

He had never been a party animal. Not once in his life.

Lottie sighed and looked down into the bowl, defeated. The tips of her ears had begun to flush – either out of simple frustration, or a colossal meltdown was incoming. Guilt churned in Karl’s belly – this was awkward. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her, but he truthfully didn’t know how to act. He did like the idea of a day where everyone had to celebrate him and give him shit – hell, he would love to make Alcina tell him five nice things about him – but this particular act was too… personal. He was completely out of his element.

Not to mention…. What was going on in that bowl? He was no baking expert, but he was pretty sure cake batter wasn’t supposed to look like… that.

“Hic. Sniff.”

Oh God. Oh no.

The eyes. She was doing the eyes--!

No no no no no no—

“D-don’t cry! Don’t cry! I’m just surprised is all! In a good way!” Karl was nearly shouting in desperation. “Look! Here! Let’s get it in the pan so it can bake! That’ll be fun, right? WE’RE HAVING FUN?”

One of the cabinets opened on its own with a loud bang as cake pan flew like a bullet off of its shelf and into his hand. Karl slammed it down on the table and snatched the batter up, half tempted to just eat it raw with his bare hands to calm her down.

Lottie blinked, the tantrum vanishing as quickly as it had come on. She threw in an extra snuffle for good measure before nodding, placated. “O-okay.”

Humiliating. Absolutely humiliating – the fourth and most dangerous Lord, bulldozed by a child. Oh, well. No one had to know. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t eaten his fair share of expired SPAM over the years. He hadn’t died – likely because of the mutant parasite squirming in his chest, but who was counting.

There was nothing for it. Karl resituated his cigar between his teeth and reexamined the contents of the bowl. It wasn’t that bad. There were really only a few visible eggshells, a little bit of flour that hadn’t quite mixed in yet… and the ashes he’d now accidentally used as a garnish.

Lottie looked up at him, disappointed. “Flavoring,” Karl said gruffly.

He watched the contents of the bowl ooze into the pan, momentarily fascinated that his daughter had created something which appeared to be neither liquid, gas nor solid. Maybe she was actually some kind of genius – well, of course she was – and he’d have to have her recreate the substance. For science.

“Hey, Lot. Did you put everything in there it says to?”

“Yep!”

“Are you uh…. Are you sure, kiddo?”

She shot him a glare. Lottie looked mostly like him, or at least when he’d been younger. The only evidence of her mother’s participation was the constellation of freckles across her nose and the curls, tighter than his own, adorning her head. But when she was mad – really mad-- dear God. She looked exactly like her, and it sent a shiver down Karl’s spine.

“I know what I’m doing,” she hissed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled instinctively.

Lottie hopped off the chair and followed him to the ancient oven, in desperate need of cleaning, which she’d miraculously preheated without burning the entire place down. He was proud of her, considering she must have taught herself how to do… everything. He certainly wasn’t showing her how to cook. She looked pleased as punch, even though he’d inadvertently spoiled the surprise.

He should say something. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what he could say that wasn’t miserably awkward or might, God forbid, make him feel things.

“There we go!” he said once the cake was in. “Can’t wait to sample the first ever Chef Charlotte creation.”

Lottie flinched at her full name being used. “Papa.”

“What? It’s alliteration. Sounds better that way. You’d understand if you were as well-spoken as me.”

Karl gave her forehead a playful flick, to which she responded with a light punch to his thigh. Discomfort of the moment aside, he allowed himself to get a little bit excited about his birthday for the first time in years. What had she gotten him? Had she made it herself? Did she ask the Duke for recommendations? Did she steal it from the big bitch’s castle? Oh, that would be grand.

“Thanks, by the way,” he said at last. It wasn’t enough, but it was all he could do. As if she precisely knew just that, Lottie flung her arms around his middle and squeezed as hard as she could.

“You gotta promise to keep the card on the fridge, too. It’s art. I used my good crayons on it.”

Karl laughed. The good crayons. Damn, he must’ve been really important. He’d like to see one of those priceless portraits in the castle hold a candle to the good crayons.

A moment passed, a rare lull in the usual madness of the factory. While down below there were gears churning and furnaces ablaze and abominations fumbling in the dark, in their perfectly unremarkable mess of a kitchen Karl was once again reminded of why exactly he needed to dismantle the nightmare that had loomed over his head for most of his life.

“Hey,” he said excitedly, crouching down until the two of them were eye to eye. He gestured to the oven with his thumb. “It’s gonna be midnight soon. Wanna get crazy and demolish that bad boy as soon as it’s done?”

Lottie scrunched up her nose. “Are you kidding me? I’m not eating that shit. It’s your birthday.”

#whateverthefuckyouwantiguess #shamelessly spreading my “Karl is an Aries” propaganda #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #resident evil oc

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i-am-why · 9 months

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Gamma session trolls "found" by me

zeliet pyrope, drobyl capsid and Gargun Soldat. Part of the gamma session with drag strider and others.

did you forget...?https://twitter.com/_desc3nd/status/1598396135831470084…

(google doc link https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xxKp_P48qcPsxkCcnKZcyUXa8MwHuu_1PNKt7H-aNZQ/edit#heading=h.jx72wg8ub5w7…)

#homestuck #dragstrider #goncharov #gonchposting #redditors #mandela effect #unreality #gammasession

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jcmarchi · 5 months

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Creature Feature – Capturing The Curious Story Of Palworld

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/creature-feature-capturing-the-curious-story-of-palworld/

Creature Feature – Capturing The Curious Story Of Palworld

Three words come to mind when looking at Palworld: Pokémon, absurdity, and ambition.

Since its official reveal in June 2021, Palworld has raised eyebrows with its vibrant, expansive world teeming with dozens of monsters ripe for catching but in greater fidelity than Pokémon’s recent entries. In addition to capturing them and harnessing their abilities in battle, you can also wield realistic firearms and other weapons to blast them apart or, more hilariously, arm your cuddly critters with some serious heat.

“Pokémon with guns” has become the shorthand description of Palworld, but the experience packs in survival mechanics, base-building, a central narrative, and other bells and whistles. With so many promises, some have deemed Palworld too good to be true, a sentiment its Tokyo-based developer Pocketpair finds puzzling.

Chief Dev Hiroto Matsutani (right), Founder/CEO Takuro Mizobe (middle), Chief Artist Daiki Kizu (left)

“Palworld is not a ‘fake game,’” Pocketpair founder and CEO Takuro Mizobe tells me over email. “We are really surprised that some people say that.”

Palworld hits Steam Early Access in January, giving skeptical players a chance to see just how real the game is. But despite Pocketpair releasing numerous gameplay videos, an air of mystery still surrounds Palworld. How does its sizable feature list blend into a cohesive experience? Where did this wacky idea come from in the first place? Perhaps most importantly, just who the heck is Pocketpair?

The answer to the last question begins with Mizobe. A lifelong fan of video games, the NES ignited his childhood love for the medium before he graduated to the Super Nintendo. Mizobe says the turning point came when he discovered free games available through the internet in elementary school, which allowed him to sample a variety of genres easily. His broad palette is evident in his short list of all-time favorite games, which range from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time to Age of Empires to Serious Sam to Soldat, a free multiplayer action game. This exposure set him on the path of becoming an indie developer; he created his first game at 11 years old, which won awards at his school.

Fast-forward some years, and Mizobe, now a university student at the Tokyo Institute of Technology, got his first taste of professional game development by participating in the Nintendo Game Seminar. From 2005 to 2014 (with a break between ’11 and ’12), the yearly event invited Japanese game design students to learn the tricks of the trade and then work in teams to create an original title. The cream of the crop would then be released as free downloads on platforms like DS Download Play or the Wii U eShop. For the 2010 edition, Mizobe and his college friends created The Tentai Show, where players use black and white holes to absorb incoming meteors before they strike Earth. It was released as DSiWare in Japan in 2011.

In 2012, Mizobe graduated from university. He would spend a few years working “normal” jobs like JP Morgan Securities before founding Pocketpair in 2015. The team released its first title in 2019: Overdungeon, a real-time tower defense card battler that garnered a generally positive reception from players. For its second game, Pocketpair tackled something a bit more ambitious. Enter Craftopia, a game that feels like the precursor to Palworld. It, too, is a sprawling open-world survival game boasting features such as farming, crafting, dungeon crawling, base-building, pet breeding, and multiplayer. Craftopia has been playable in Steam Early Access since 2020, so it’s technically still in development. Despite this, Pocketpair is tackling perhaps its most ambitious title yet in Palworld.

Mizobe tells me Pocketpair develops games in a style that borrows ideas from others the team enjoys playing. Overdungeon takes clear influence from Slay the Spire and Clash Royale, while Craftopia has elements of Zelda, Harvest Moon, and a litany of survival games. Palworld draws from games like Pokémon, Age of Empires, Grand Theft Auto, Elden Ring, Valheim, and Fortnite to create what Mizobe calls a “unique gaming experience that is different from existing games.”

Palworld unfolds on the Palpagos Island in the Pacific Ocean. Strange monsters called Pals, of over 100 varieties, occupy this tropical land undiscovered by humankind for generations. That eventually changed, and now various factions have set up shop in pursuit of their own interests. Players control an explorer who washes ashore on the island following a shipwreck. Thus, survival is your primary goal, and you need the Pals’ help to accomplish this.

Pals are based on real animals and cultural myths from places like Europe, China, and Egypt. They come in several attributes: Neutral, Flame, Water, Grass, Electric, Frost, Earth, Dark, and Dragon. Resistances and vulnerabilities follow the rock/paper/scissor format of Pokémon: Water is resistant to Flame, for example. However, Pals can learn attacks opposite their types, so you can teach a Flame move to a Water Pal. Players can also breed Pals to create new species. This opens the door to a plethora of possible combinations, and while not all of them result in a completely new creature, others carry the traits of their parents. Mizobe says designing so many uniquely talented Pals, including the long list of breeding offspring, has been the most formidable development challenge.

Pals roam freely, with players catching them by blasting them with weapons, like guns, to weaken them. After that, you toss a blue spherical device to capture targets. Pals can then be used in battle, and the number you can use at a time varies depending on the situation. You can let Pals handle combat by issuing commands or picking them up and using them like living firearms. Pals also come with their own unique partner skills and abilities.

Your non-living arsenal includes clubs, bows, and spears to heavy gun weapons like shotguns, ARs, miniguns, and rocket launchers. As effective as these killing machines can be, some Pals can’t be beaten using conventional weaponry. Pocketpair doesn’t elaborate, only teasing that these sturdier Pals require more clever methods to defeat them.

Outside of battle, you can put Pals to work farming crops to cook beneficial dishes and constructing buildings and factories to create settlements. In fact, some Pals are better specialized for labor than fighting. Trailers have shown assembly lines of cute critters building weapons and looking decidedly unhappy about it. This plays into the game’s dark humor. You’re free to be a jerk by, for example, illegally poaching them in forbidden zones, attracting the attention of a corrupt police force that monitors the island. Mizobe tells me morality doesn’t factor into the storytelling, so if you want a (mostly) consequence-free excuse to be a monster, go right ahead.

Regarding survival mechanics, Palpagos features a day/night cycle and changing climate, meaning you need to cope with uncomfortably hot or cold temperatures. With all these spinning plates, Pocketpair tells me the general gameplay loop looks like this: You craft vital tools, gather resources, build a base, explore some more, perhaps fight a boss along the way, and repeat. In between that, you catch Pals since they’re necessary for almost every facet of play.

Additionally, multiplayer allows players to explore Palworld together. Up to four friends can play normally, but dedicated servers support over 20. With so much going on, Mizobe tells me feature creep has often reared its ugly head. Thus, cutting ideas to prevent Palworld from becoming bloated and unfocused has been an ongoing challenge. “At the beginning, we thought about having a huge underground world and the ability to live in outer space, but we decided to give up on these for the time being,” says Mizobe.

According to Mizobe, Palworld carries lessons learned from the studio’s previous efforts. Mainly, simply mashing together disparate genres isn’t enough and should be done carefully. Pocketpair had trouble defining the rules of Overdungeon because it was so focused on replicating the RTS elements of Clash Royale. Craftopia had so many ideas that some mechanics clashed, which the team is still correcting.

“Palworld is being made with the awareness that ‘we are working through difficult game design problems in order to keep the consistency of each genre,’” Mizobe writes. “We try to not tackle too much at the same time while being focused on meeting the players’ expectations. We’ve made a lot of mistakes along the way, but overall, we think it turned out well in the end.”

We can only hope that the team continues to zero in on what makes Palworld click, even if they still have some more tough decisions to make in the long road ahead.

“We recently noticed the potential for a PvP mode in this game and are now reconsidering if we should expand on it,” says Mizobe. “That has us facing a difficult challenge again. Game development is always difficult.”

This article originally appeared in Issue 360 of Game Informer.

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princessgriffin1998 · 1 year

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Specimen FX-23: Project Snow Fox // REBIRTH

Hello everyone!

I know I’ve been trying to edit my previous instalment to this series so that I can proudly present: REBIRTH. Part two of the Specimen FX-23 story.

I won’t lie, it’s been really challenging personally to write and have the bravery to post this, but I’m going to continue to push myself outside my comfort zone. I have quite a bit of the story completed, so I am going to do my best to see my story fully realized. I want to give a huge thanks to @maladaptivexxdaydreaming for always being so sweet to me and encouraging me to write, and I want to thank you for clicking this post and checking out my fun, zany lil world I’ve created for myself. I hope you enjoy the story and please leave your feedback in the comments!

This is a Bucky Barnes x Reader story with an AFAB reader and the use of nicknames (no Y/N).

Find the full story here!

Chapter Summary: After a few days with Shuri at the Los Angeles Wakandan Outreach Centre, Captain Rogers has arrived to bring you to the Avengers Compound.

Word count: 5.5k

RECOVERY / Next Chapter

Chapter One: Good-bye

“Good morning Soldat.” a man's voice greets you as you pant. The last of the electric current fizzled out of your system as your eyes finally unscrewed themselves and tried to focus on the technician in front of you.

“Ready to comply.” you respond breathlessly.

“We have a different training exercise for you today. New combatants. Get equipped and be in the training room in 10 minutes.” with that your technician stalked out of the room, the door bolting behind him. The clamps around your biceps and ankles launched open with a hiss and you shakily stood. You knew better than to be late as you made your way over to the metal lab table that held your equipment for the day.

You showed no emotion as you took in the suit in front of you. It wasn’t your normal lab clothing. You reached out a cautious hand to test the dark coloured fabric. It felt strong despite how smoothly the fabric flowed. You quickly stripped and changed into the suit, uncaring of the leering gaze from the scientists behind you. They only spoke English anyways and you hadn’t been able to learn enough to understand what they said about you while you undressed. You quickly slipped on the black socks and knee high boots left out for you. You secured your hair down the nape of your neck and away from your face as you glanced at the last item on the table. It was completely foreign to you. Slowly with your index figure, you traced over the smooth material of the item. You picked it up and turned to the scientists behind you.

“What do I do with this?” you called out in Russian.

You expected the eye roll from the man with the glasses; Doctor Nagel. Something deep in your gut told you that you shouldn’t let them know how much you could understand. Even though they rolled their eyes or got irritated with you, you never used any of the English words you had been able to piece together over… well, your whole life here.

“Silly girl. Can’t you see the ear hooks?” Nagel motioned his hands up to the sides of his head as if that was supposed to clear things up for you. You blinked at him till he threw his hands up and stalked over to you.

“Give that to me. Hands at your sides.” he commanded and you handed the item to him then pinned your wrists to the outsides of your thighs.

Nagel was your creator. You had no choice but to listen when he spoke to you. You’d tried to resist before, but found you were physically incapable of denying his wishes. No matter how disgusting they were. Nagel reached out and slipped the object around your mouth and nose, hooking the loops over your ears and securing what you assumed to be some kind of fabric fastening around the back of your head and along the nape of your neck. You could feel where it connected to the neckline of your suit. Out of the corner of your eye you could see your startling reflection in the lab window. Suited in all black up to your nose, your eyes glinting over the top of your new muzzle.

“Perfect. I think she’s ready for the Widows boys! Get to the training room now.” Nagel sneered and you raised your chin as best you could from under the muzzle before taking quick strides towards the training door.

When you entered the room, you were surprised to see another girl, but upon another glance around the room you realized there were several women, all similarly outfitted to you, minus the guard over the face. At the end of the gym, there were new men. They weren’t dressed in the standard lab clothing that your handlers wore. They wore suits with pressed pants. An older gentleman stood between several assumed guards, thick black glasses perched on his wide nose. He had silver hair that was slicked back and his left hand twirled a lit cigar. A ring flashed on his pinky.

“Soldat! Center of the ring.” your technician snapped.

You moved smoothly to stand opposite the young woman in the centre of the ring. She had warm, deep toned skin and piercing brown eyes. Her hair, a texture you’d not seen on any of the regular technicians that came to your lab, was twisting tightly in rows starting at her forehead and tracing down the back of her head to her neck. She glared at you and you clenched your jaw. She was beautiful. Your only human experience thus far had been the cruel men of your lab. Faintly, you wondered if she’d be allowed to live after whatever training was coming next.

“Gentlemen, welcome to the next phase of human evolution!” Nagel announced from behind you. You pressed your palms flat against your thighs as Nagel made his way around you, tossing an arm around your shoulder as he spoke to the new men.

“Today, we would like to show you the fruits of your money and our labour. Gentlemen I’d like to introduce you to Specimen 23 of Project Snow Fox.”

You startle awake, the dream leaving you in a cold sweat as you try to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding in your ears, a sure fire sign of a migraine on its way. Subconsciously you rub the back of your neck as you lay back down on your pillow, trying to breathe deeply and taking in the bumpy white ceiling above you.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, it hits you what day it is and you shoot upright in your hotel bed a second time.

Today is the day.

Any remaining traces of your nightmare vanish as you throw yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to begin your morning routine. Quickly brushing your teeth and securing your hair back and out of your face, you whip off your sleeping clothes and quickly change into an all black ensemble of cropped yoga pants, an athletic tank top with a sports bra underneath, and a black zip up. You make your bed and quickly go through your duffel bag again, everything perfectly folded and packed from when you’d refolded and packed it for the third time last night.

Today is the day.

Smiling, you slip on some black boots and grab a pair of aviator sunglasses. You put on a plain black ball cap, tucking your hair through the gap above the adjustment strap. You grab your backpack and adjust the straps slightly so that it sits comfortable on your back, giggling to yourself about the shape. Shuri had thought it was hilarious, grabbing the tiny backpack that looked like Cap’s suit. The two of you had snickered the entire time you were paying.

You quickly made sure you had all your important items inside the backpack; your music device from Shuri with your headphones, your journals and a pencil case of different pencils and fancy pens, a metal water bottle, a set of kimoyo beads Shuri had gifted you before your trip, and half a strip of photos from a photo booth. Shuri had taken you to a mall to get some American clothing and the two of you had stopped on a whim at a booth in the mall. Shuri had the top half of the strip and you had the bottom; two panels of you and Shuri grinning from ear to ear, almost spilling your smoothies on each other while laughing.

With a deep inhale, you take in one last glance at the hotel room that had been your home for the last week, before grabbing your room key and making your way down to the lobby to meet Shuri.

‘Today is the day.’

You and Shuri had been staying in a hotel down the road from the Wakandan Outreach Centre for six days. You haven’t seen Bucky or the rest of the team in nine.

After the fight in the lab you had been devastated. It had taken almost a full 24 hours for Shuri to be able to move you from your spot bundled up on the couch. All you’d had the energy for was quietly crying while Shuri rotated different movies for you. She put on all your favourites and brought you snacks that you couldn’t stomach and water you could barely sip.

You knew that Bucky might be upset with you for wanting to leave Wakanda, given that he’d been hiding the offer from you. He’d clearly not wanted you to move to America yet, and even though yesterday you had been hurting you had hoped that he still cared about you despite being worried about Hydra’s potential control. Obviously he just couldn’t trust Hydra, and you knew with his background that you would probably always be a threat to his family.

Maybe this was your fault too. You’d evidently read too far into his kindness. You’d been too unstable when you were first freed. Maybe he’d gotten close to you in order to tame you. Aside from Shuri, you didn’t have a metric for how much was too close to someone. He could’ve been a regular level of attentive and you’d misconstrued it.

Eventually after a day and a half you decided that your pity party needed to end. Shuri had already rescheduled some plans for the two of you because you couldn’t get off your couch. You still had Shuri, and even though you would be moving away from her she was still in your corner and so were Sam and Steve. You decided that you truly meant what you’d said in the lab. You didn’t need Bucky’s approval. You wanted to take the next step to better yourself and if he didn’t like it that was on him. Shuri had been surprised to see you up and about the next morning after two days of being almost comatose, but there you stood. Fresh from the shower, hair pulled back and secured away from your face, zipping up the athletic jacket you’d decided would be comfortable to travel in.

Oh and travel you did.

You didn’t think you’d ever tire of staring at the ocean. Shuri had let you sit in the cockpit of the jet with Ayo while she flew. The sun hitting the water had been beautiful, but the sun setting over the vast ocean as you made your way to America had been magnificent. Overwhelming in the best way possible. Shuri teased you mercilessly as you gazed out over the water for hours on end. After touching down in LA, Shuri decided it might be fun to stay in a hotel to try and help you integrate with regular society. It had been absolutely terrifying. Your nerves constantly telling you everyone who walked near you was a potential threat. You’d clenched your fists so hard in an effort to calm yourself your nails had broken skin. Shuri had gotten you your own room so that you could work on being by yourself, and that first night you spent in America you’d dragged the couch in your room in front of the door in addition to locking and dead bolting it.

Shuri had teased you about that too after making sure you were ok sleeping on your own.

You’d spent most of the week working in the Outreach Center with Shuri. It was a very similar routine to what you’d already established in Wakanda. During the day you had spent your time helping out around the Center, moving heavy things or just being an extra set of hands for the team and their work there. The Wakandan Outreach Center’s main focus was making sure that people of colour in the surrounding areas could have a place to go and feel supported. Most of the work in the Center was community based. Making sure kids could afford school supplies and lunches or have the resources they needed to complete projects and explore the advanced technology Wakanda had to offer. Shuri’s personal focus was encouraging girls to pursue science. The Outreach Center offered multiple different scholarships geared towards encouraging minorities to pursue fields that for centuries had been unattainable. One of your favourite memories of the week had been watching Shuri sign a cheque for a young woman to go to medical school. She and her mother, who’d previously been working two jobs to support them, sobbed tears of joy and you’d been honoured to see such a special moment take place. You’d added their teary smiles to your journal the minute you’d had some spare time.

Your hours in the Outreach Centre had not only been a fantastic way to work your jet lag, but also to watch people. Having your growth accelerated meant that you’d skipped on a lot of your developmental stages, adolescence, puberty. Here, you could just sit and watch all different kinds of people walk through the doors with their own mannerisms, subconscious habits, body language, and facial expressions. You’d learned how to read the different looks people give each other, the furrowed brow of confusion and how it differed from an angry brow. Most of your people-studies had come from Shuri and Bucky, so you’d always felt comfortable understanding what they meant when they spoke to you. With new people you’d learned just how much tone and inflection changed the meaning of a phrase. It started with trying to pitch your voice up when you made dry jokes because the people here hadn’t gotten your sense of humour at first. Slouching in your seat because you found people were freaked out by your robotic posture. So many things you learned while watching coworkers, friends, and families interact in the Centre. As you studied humanity more and more you confirmed to yourself that coming to America had been what you needed. You never could’ve learned all this from within your lab.

In the evenings when Shuri was finished with her team, the two of you went out and explored the city. Los Angeles was so different to anything you’d experienced in Wakanda. The insane hustle and bustle of the streets seemingly never ended. You and Shuri had explored malls together, you tightly holding her hand while the two of you browsed American fashion. The two of you had an absolute blast and Shuri promised the next time she came to visit you’d go to a theme park together. You’d been a little too nervous to make the trek this trip and your nerves were usually shot by the end of the day. Shuri had taken you to several beautiful parks, and the two of you had even taken a day trip to the beach.

You’d been a little too nervous to actually go into the water, but you’d plopped yourself on the shore and let the waves lap at your toes for hours. Shuri thought it was hilarious that you were so easily entertained, but staring out at the endless sea and sky was soothing. It made you feel completely peaceful and when you’d gotten back to your hotel room you’d passed out almost immediately. The jet lag probably wasn’t helping but with how many hours a night you slept normally you wondered if it even mattered.

After closing the door to your hotel room you made your way down to the lobby to meet Shuri.

The plan was to go to the Outreach Centre, where Captain Rogers would be parked with the Quinjet in stealth mode. You and Shuri had wanted to keep your arrival in America quiet. No need to alert Ross to another super soldier on the compound if they didn’t need to right away. You had listened in on Shuri’s conference call with the Captain and Stark, and by their tone you could tell Stark got a sick satisfaction out of hiding something from Thaddeus Ross.

“Good morning Foxy!” Shuri called as you approached her and the concierge desk. “How did you sleep? Good? Great! We’ve got about an hour for breakfast before we head to the Centre.” She grinned, taking both your key cards and sliding them to the receptionist.

Holding out her bag, you carried your luggage together in one hand as Shuri took your other to guide on the familiar walk to the Outreach Centre. An hour for breakfast really meant fifty-five minutes of goofing off in the IHOP across the street before realising you had five minutes to be on the jet.

The two of you were seated in your favourite corner booth next to the window that let you watch all the busy people making their way through the city. Shuri chattered excitedly about her latest tech project for the Centre while you counter all the exits in the building (One to the patio, a fire exit by the bathroom, one back door through the kitchen and the main entrance by the hostess podium), despite knowing them by heart after a week of breakfasts here. Shuri had wanted to come here one morning after seeing an ad on the TV. She’d decided that she’d never been so she’d treat herself and drug you along for some chocolate chip pancakes. After that she’d gotten hooked on everything the franchise had to offer and you’d eaten more waffles than you cared to admit.

The IHOP staff, to their credit, were absolutely lovely everytime you came in. They’d quickly accepted that you would always want a corner table where you could view the door, no matter how empty the restaurant was. They’d gotten used to your strange accent, a combination of Russian and somehow African while you tried to order your food in the morning. After the first few raised brows, you’d immediately begun correcting your accent to whichever variation of English was being spoken to you. Your American accent was fairly advanced compared to the beginning of the week when you’d arrived, but some words were always spoken with a bit of East African wrapped around them. The staff had also gotten accustomed to you ordering at least two meals, occasionally a third if you were having a particularly active day.

This corner was a particularly advantageous spot because you could see every entrance to the building, not to mention you could watch the breeze change to show the arrival of a stealth craft in the parking lot across the street.

“-it’s really something special Snow, I can’t wait for you to see it! Hey, are you even listening to me?” Shuri asked, poking your knuckles with her coffee spoon and startling you out of your surveillance.

You jumped slightly, finally tearing your gaze away from the window.

“My apologies, Shuri. I think I am a little bit distracted this morning.” you answered sheepishly, heat blooming across your face.

Shuri just snickered.

“Don’t worry. I know better than to take offence. If you’re worried about travelling, don’t be. Steve’s actually a great pilot when he’s not sacrificing himself for the greater good. And Stark’s A.I isn’t half bad. You’ll get to New Jersey in no time. Plus once you’re there you’ll be begging to leave Jersey and come home to me so everything will work out.” Shuri joked. You laughed despite not quite understanding why “Jersey” would be somewhere you’d desperately want to leave.

“I guess… I am worried they will not like me. I threw Natasha into a wall, and she accepted my apology but the rest of the team does not know me at all. What if they hate me?” You whispered, fidgeting with the handle of your mug.

Shuri just smiled and reached out a hand, clasping your fingers between her own.

“Listen Snow Fox, it’s ok to be scared of things. You’ve been through so much change these last few months. It’s natural that you’re nervous, but I just want you to remember all that you’ve accomplished so far. You’ve improved your communication, your memory, even your fighting. You’re doing so well and growing so much. I’m very proud of you and even if they haven’t said it, I know the team is too.” You could hear the message behind her words; Bucky was proud of you.

It’s not that you didn’t want to believe her, but in the six days you’d been in America you hadn’t heard from any of the team personally aside from Steve. Shuri’s music device also had a communication link, so he’d messaged you briefly when you’d arrived in LA, happy that you’d gotten there safely. Aside from a few brief conversations about your room and if you had any food allergies, you’d barely heard from him.

Bucky however had not reached out since your fight.

“Thanks Shuri. It is nice to be reminded sometimes, of where I started and where I am now. I’m just nervous they won’t like me. I know I am… odd to say the least.” Shuri just laughed.

“Well who on their team isn’t? You’ve got two 100 year old super idiots, a former KGB spy, a guy who cosplays Robin Hood for a living, modern-day Icarus, and a billionaire funding all their crazy. Not to mention a witch and an android. I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine.” Shuri grinned. As you smiled back and squeezed her hand, your ears picked up a large change in the wind outside.

“Ah, I take it the Quinjet has arrived on top of the Centre. Alright let’s pay up and see you off then!” Shuri smiled, flagging down your server so she could settle the bill.

Much to your server’s chagrin, Shuri pressed a $100 note in his palm as a tip with a litany of gratitude towards him and the team for being so kind to the both of you this week. She then stuffed another five of them in the tip jar on your way out. When you were royalty, unlimited money was something fun to play with, you supposed.

As you made your way across the street, you clutched the straps of your duffle bag so hard your knuckles turned white.

‘You can do this. You can do this. Steve is very friendly. You are going to be fine.’ you chanted in your head over and over, as if the harder you thought about it the easier it would be to believe.

You forced a smile on your face and waved at the workers in the Center as you made your way up to the roof. Most of the Wakandans and volunteers were used to your strange behaviour so you hoped your expression looked cheerful. You dropped Shuri’s bag off at her office, adjusting your bags and checking their contents for the 3rd time that morning before making your way to the roof.

Before Shuri opened the door, you both put your sunglasses on and she grabbed your free hand.

“Ready?” she grinned.

You did your best to plaster a smile on your face and the reflection in her glasses was almost believable.

“Ready.” you nodded, before Shuri threw the door open.

Watching the Quinjet come out of stealth mode was a sight you didn’t think would ever get old. The wind whipped around you briefly as the ramp descended, and a casually dressed Steve Rogers came to greet you.

“Good morning Snow Fox!” he called, a grin across his face.

You could feel the tension draining out of your shoulders as he made his way over to greet you.

“Good morning Captain!” You chirped happily.

Steve just rolled his eyes.

“Y’know I said you can still call me Steve right? We’re friends. Friends don’t speak so formally.” he teased, heat blooming across your face.

“Yes.. I-I forget sometimes.” you stammered, wincing at how unsure you sounded.

Steve however did not let that deter him.

“Well that’s fine. We’ve got a whole flight for you to remember. Good morning Princess.” Steve said with a nod to Shuri.

Shuri just snorted in response.

“What are we not friends? I already call you Steve, you can call me Shuri.” she said as the two shook hands.

Steve just smiled.

“Well, the Quinjet is pretty fast. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so for us to get to the compound. I can take your bag while you say goodbye if you’d like?” Steve offered, a hand extended.

You nodded and passed your duffle along to him before turning to face your best friend. You weren’t sure what to say but luckily Shuri always had something to say and beat you to it.

“Well, you have my contact in your device and kimoyo beads. You can call me at any time. I’ll be about nine hours ahead of you, but if you need me I’ll answer at any time you know that. If you hate it you can call me and I’ll come get you, no questions asked ok? And I know you haven’t been sleeping well and I’ve already notified Helen Cho, the compound's chief doctor so she can give you something if you can’t sleep. Remember to update me on your training! I want to know exactly how bad ass my best friend is getting!” Shuri rambled, her hands wringing nervously in front of her stomach.

You could feel tears beginning to pool in your eyes as you threw your arms around her. Shuri inhaled sharply before wrapping her arms around your torso as tightly as she could.

“Thank you for everything my friend.” you started in Xhosa, knowing how much it meant to Shuri that you’d tried to learn as much of her native tongue as possible. “I promise to call often. I’ll send you so many pictures and videos of my training you will tire of me I promise. I want you to know that I never would’ve gotten to this point if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’m well aware.” Shuri teased, her words thick with emotion.

“Well you deserve to hear it. You deserve to hear that you are the most amazing best friend anyone could ask for, and if there is anything that I am grateful for in my existence, it is that we had the chance to meet and become friends. You have shown me kindness that I will never be able to repay, and I promise that I will do everything in my power to share that with the world. You gave me purpose, my friend. I swear to make your efforts worthwhile.” you grinned, pulling away from her you both giggled at the tears in each others eyes.

“Call me as soon as you’re settled in your room! I’m assuming they have a tour or orientation planned for you. So call me as soon as you can!” Shuri grinned, swiping at the moisture under her eyes.

You let out a watery laugh as you nodded.

“I will. See you soon, friend.” you smiled.

With one final hug you made your way over to where Steve was watching the two of you from the ramp. A soft smile graced his face as you turned to wave a Shuri one last time before boarding the jet.

“So how has your week in LA been?” Steve asked, trying to make small talk as the two of you made your way over to the cockpit.

“It has been… very busy.” you admitted, as you took off your backpack and settled into the seat behind Steve’s right side.

“Well that’s good! Lots of new experiences I’d ima- what is that?” he asked, pointing a finger at your bag.

You flushed under his sudden attention.

“Um.. .Shuri suggested I get a backpack and thought this one was funny…” you trailed off in embarrassment.

Steve just threw his head back and laughed.

“That’s great! Sam is gonna be so jealous.” He grinned and you beamed back.

“I would imagine he’ll be quite scandalised that there was no Falcon merchandise in the store.” you quipped, causing Steve to laugh even harder as he re-engaged stealth mode and began the launch sequence.

“Oh don’t even start. He’s such a drama queen sometimes.” Steve said with a roll of his eyes.

You smiled as Steve launched into an anecdote about Sam wanting to create merchandise for ‘Red Wing’, his robot AI that helped them on missions. Slowly the nerves set in as you thought about the rest of the team.

“Steve?” you started, the man in question humming in acknowledgement.

“What is the rest of the team like? I’ve only met Sam, Natasha, Clint, and… Well what are the others like?” You asked, unable to ask Steve about the one member of the team you were truly curious about.

“Well, Wanda isn’t that far off from you in age. I think you’re biologically around the same. Vision… Vision actually reminds me a lot of you. He’s an android so while he’s very intelligent, we all know there are some “human” things that escape him sometimes. He’s very polite though and head over heels for Wanda. The two of them are actually very sweet together. Burce, our team's previous resident doctor, is actually off the grid right now. We haven’t seen or heard from him in about two years. I’m sure you’ve seen the files on the Hulk?” Steve turned to ask and you nodded.

“Right, well Bruce used to have a really hard time controlling him. After Ultron, he took off. We hope that he’s doing better and that he’ll return someday… but after that there’s Tony Stark, Iron Man.” you winced.

“Are you sure it’ll be ok with him for me to come live with you all?” you asked in a small voice.

Steve just shook his head.

“You don’t have to worry about Tony. I made sure he saw your progress reports with Shuri before you even left Wakanda. Tony is very critical, but he’s not as much of an asshole as he makes himself out to be. He knows that you were successfully deprogrammed by Shuri and that you’re making a lot of progress, but not as much as you’d like. If he does anything that makes you really uncomfortable, if anyone on the team does, I want you to know you can come tell me. Not just as your Captain, but as your friend. We’re all here for you Snow Fox.” Steve turned to smile warmly at you and you offered a small smile back.

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes before we touch down at the compound. Any other questions before we land?” Steve asked.

You just shook your head.

“No, I am alright. I am mostly just nervous. I… I just really want to make a good impression I guess.” you bit out, picking at the skin around your nails since Shuri had worked so painstakingly last night to paint them to perfection for your first day with the Avengers.

Steve just smiled and reached a hand behind himself to pat your knee.

“Look, I promise that everyone will be thrilled to meet you. Sam’s been compiling movies for us to watch, Nat and Wanda are just happy there’s going to be another girl around the compound, and Tony might be a hard ass but I know once he meets you he’s gonna love you.”

You took in a deep breath, rubbing your knee where you could still feel the warmth from Steve’s hand.

“And Bucky?” you asked nervously. You hadn’t had the courage to bring him up until now.

Steve inhaled sharply, taking a moment to consider his next words carefully.

“Bucky is… complicated. I know you guys had a fight before we left. He wouldn’t tell me what about, but he’s requested some solo missions to hunt down a few Hydra stragglers so he’s not actually home at the compound right now. Do you.. If you want I mean- do you wanna talk about it at all?” Steve asked, his hand coming up to awkwardly scratch at his neck.

You huffed and smiled to yourself.

“Not at all, but thank you for offering.”

“Look I know it isn’t my place, but he really does care. Bucky has always been a “Mother Hen” if you will, he’s always been a protector. He had me, and a baby sister back before the war, and I’m sure he told you all the trouble we got ourselves into back then. He’s always been the man to protect his family, even if he maybe says some dumb stuff sometimes. I don’t know the details of your fight and I won’t push it if it makes you uncomfortable, but I do know that Bucky cares about you more than I’ve seen him care about something in a long time and I hope that when he gets back the two of you can work things out.” Steve turned again, offering you a hesitant smile.

You did your best to return it as you looked out the window of the jet.

“So, what kind of music have you been listening to this week?” Steve asked lightly and you sighed, grateful for the change in subject.

Steve reached a cord over to you and you beamed, recognizing the correct input to connect to your music device. Steve caught your smile and beamed right back as you went through your recently played songs.

“Well, Shuri and I have been listening to a new artist this week, his name is Stevie Wonder.”

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