#Winter training in Machine Learning

[sxorpiomooon]

What kind of person are you truly? The good and the bad - a pac reading

for the days when you feel like no one knows or truly understands who you truly are, including yourself<3

Paid readings

tip me

Pile 1-

What's up with you guys and the number four? Were some of you also attracted to the fourth pile or what? Washing machine heart comes to my mind but I said heart? These people might love talking about love and might be interested in philosophy as well. Do you guys like nail paint? This pile is very feminine, even for the ones that feel like they are not you are trust me. You guys might have a good venus placements? Perhaps libra I'm not getting much pisces but could be cancer as well. You guys are calm and compassion "hold me, console me" played in my head I said heart again instead of head. You guys might love the sea? You guys also like cinnamon girl by lana del rey. Do you enjoy juices or perhaps coffee? I heard "I can bring others happiness without sacrificing my own" and honestly please do learn that. Stop making unnecessary sacrifices that are not needed stop pulling yourself in the front of a train. You don't have to be the one in the front of the bullet every time. Oo you guys like good shoes and I think they'll suit you well. You are calm and comforting providing comfort to way more people that you know while constantly being hanged on by a thread yourself oohoo start sewing or crocheting you guys might be good heard gemini perhaps bc it's done via your hands. People also see you as an "ideal feminine woman" btw alot of girls around you might want to be like you. Do you guys like winters or mufflers hahahahhaha. You are someone who likes to hype other people ho do you like concerts? Someone passionate and determined I saw an ink pen and jo march. You have a spark in you and remember no matter how much other people might try to steal it it will remain yours no matter what.

Pile 2-

OOO this is the pile of our high achievers and ambitious people the ivy league and the pile that is on the top. You guys like to be aware of everything happening around you I keep seeing a newspaper you keep in touch with all the news and buzz around you. Very quick to notice eyes and body movements lmao. You like to be two steps ahead of everyone I see you living your life very dramatically hahah bc it adds twist. This pile has people with very very high standards and that want to and will make it very big. You guys are constantly building yourself up and levelling yourself up via your skills. Constantly learning to be at the top and never lose their position I keep hearing ceos and all that. You guys love to have titles in front of your names might have capricorn or virgo asc in their d10 or I'm seeing sun rahu conjunction or something. Wants to be at the top and will be at the top. I see these guys being winners public opinion also matters you alot in a way that you want everyone to see your success and clap for you and so they will. You guys want to be at the authority this might piss alot of you but y'all might be like your father's like him started playing. You guys might have control issues and might start acting up/tweaking when you lose it. Stop ignoring other aspects of life

Pile 3-

I thought of the word "therapist" before I pulled the cards and looking at the cards y'all need to talk to one instead of being one<3 to start with the good you guys are brilliant leaders and bring happiness whenever you go. It's like a street filled with unhappy people will be happy and bought to joy if we send you there. You have the ability to make things and people work. You have the ability to make things feel hopeful and have people wishing of the best even when they almost gave up. You are able to hype other people ho and sort of bring them hope. You are sucessful and some of you might have good family backgrounds as well privileged in some manner? Alot of respect or authority is just handed to you I heard resources? This pile has people that are OBSESSED with working not because you like it or something bc this is just something that happens to you naturally. You don't know how to never not work. You also might sometimes be obsessed with the luxurious things not because tou like it but because you want to show off or like prove it to other people? I think some of you didn't have these luxuries growing up so now when you are capable of having them you own them even when they bring you no happiness. This pile has alot of unresolved traumas and a emotional baggage. This pile might have or will have to leave alot behind to get in this position. Honestly I feel like this is not who you are currently but this is the future you. I feel like this reading is for the people who just need to hear that they will be okay and they will make all their big dreams that seem unreachable or unattainable to other people come true. I'm rooting for you my pile 3

Pile 4-

you might forget things while speaking or thinking only your mind might get foggy? This pile might be struggling with some of their issues alone I'm seeing face acne but could be any other issue that you are insecure about. You guys sort of choose to deal and suffer alone. I heard "void" and a song that translates to "please don't go like this" keeps playing in my head might be scared of getting left by people or might have the fear that they will never be known and loved for who they truly are. But how would you even know that when you will never reveal or let other people see who you truly are? in order to be loved for who you truly are you must first reveal to other people who you truly are. This pile feels ashamed to ask others for help. This pile might like lip gloss/lipstick or might look good in them. It's crazy how they deal with their problems and issues alone because all and everyone's eyes are always on them. Everyone is always looking at you and all the eyes are always on you. My pile four, you shine so bright and I think you do know this but I don't think you are able to truly grasp how much bright you shine. It's like if you are in a room full of people there is only you in front of people's eyes. And this is not something that's romantic but something that there just is. You are truly charming and enchanting. Your presence demands to be looked at and be appreciated. You make people feel hopeful and look at the bright side. You can find the light for other people even in the darkest of the streets. A true poetic by heart naturally filled with the desire to create and articulate. It's very tragic how everyone's always looking at you yet you are so lonely and alone. I heard poetic again and saw a dove? You will find your match my pile four. You will find the love and light that you give to others. Fourth of July by sufjan stevens started playing. You guys might like the piano too.

[finalgirlmorgue]

ᰔ・︴ Jason is cold ｡°✧

𝜗𝜚 Genre: Smut 𝜗𝜚 Warnings: nsfw, mentions of female anatomy 𝜗𝜚 Jason Todd x Iceberg lounge waitress 𝜗𝜚 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REQUESTS 𝜗𝜚 Pussy eater Jason Brainrot -----------------------------------------------------------------------

𝜗𝜚 You're responsible for your own media consumption :)

Winter is cold, but Jason is colder. You thought you two had made notable progress. Maybe that was just wishful thinking. You had helped him before in a heated interrogation about some high profile criminal. In which he stood over you. Donning the sleek armor, helmet, and hood. Sharp jagged edges of his words, accusatory and calculated. He never touched you in those 6 minutes. Never raised a hand at you. A few words was enough to make you spill. To make you spill information you were not aware was stored in your brain. From then on you were his preferred server. His little spy who delivered everything he wanted to know. You sought his praise, you learned what he needed.

The clientele phased in and out. You brought out plates of caviar and daiquiris with olives and offered kind smiles and an ear to listen to the Gotham elite's rants about criminal life. Their troubles were yours too when they tipped you rent money for the week. You listened with an eye to their wallets.

That was a waitress's manifesto. Hospitality is an art form.

And so, when you saw the Red Hood that bleak night, all you could do was nod politely at him as he slid into a booth. He was a large man, he dwarfed the plush corner table that was supposed to provide privacy. You swerved in between servers. Dodging plates with drinks balancing delicately on them. You approached his table, sliding him a menu from under your arm.

"Hi there," You nodded curtly at him as you set the menu on the table. "Can I get any drinks started for you?" Your eyes glanced back to his face. He was watching you intently, like a shark scenting blood.

"I'll just have an old fashioned. Thanks."

You mentally jotted it down. It was common practice to memorize orders. professionalism was a highly respectable talent, especially in such a large venue. You moved off toward another group. A few tables away you noticed that he had not taken off his helmet or mask. But, his eyes kept following your every move until you disappeared into the crowd.

The slits of his eyes disturbed you the most. The mask dehumanized him. It was like talking to an unfeeling machine. The way he observed, how he held himself. A machine. There was no warmth in his eyes. You watched his fingers twitch, and the knuckles go white as his hands flexed around the curve of the table. He was capable of breaking someone like a Barbie doll.

When you returned with his beverage you set it down on a coaster, a bit of liquid splashing over the edge of the glass.

"Gonna take a few cents off for that?" He asked. Maybe it was a cruel attempt at humor. You didn't smile, still debating on his sincerity. Your eyes widened slightly and he chuckled beneath the breath. Like he knew what you were doing, panicking internally. You tried again, offering him a pleasant expression, "Apologies, Sir." You said. You waited for him to say something further, anything that indicated he would talk to you, but his eyes stayed on your own. He watched you silently until the silence got to be too much.

"They've got you trained like a dog."

"Sorry?…" You were staggered at the comparison but you tried to play along. "Like a dog," he repeated, "trained to obey orders. You're a yes woman for Gotham's Illuminati." He mocked. His fingers fidgeted, the gloves on his right hand slipping slightly.

"Well, I enjoy my work.." And now you had his full attention, looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to elaborate. "I've met a lot of interesting people."

"Honesty, If you would." He cut you off abruptly. He seemed amused by your answer. You took a deep breath and spoke.

"While it is… stressing," You admitted. You wanted to tell him that you had been through more stress than the average college student, and you had also faced far more threats than Gotham's most notorious mobsters, "it's nice knowing the ins and outs of it all." His lips quirked up slightly at this admission. But his attention turned to the rest of the restaurant. The diners seemed oblivious to your conversation, the noise drowned out by the music. No one seemed interested in what you had to say, save for the occasional patron who had heard the comment.

The Red Hood tilted his head towards the bar where a bartender was mixing cocktails. They looked delicious and colorful even as the light reflected off the glass surface. "Let me see if I can make you feel better." He rose gracefully from his seat and made his way towards the bar, taking care not to step on anyone as he passed. You followed him.

"Oh I can't drink on the job-" You began.

"Then don't. This will only last 5 minutes." He interrupted, waving off your protest. You followed to the bathrooms behind him, Hood entering first. After a few seconds, he came back and gestured you inside. Inside was a small area, dimly lit but clean and modern. With sinks that looked more like counters. On the opposite wall there were mirrors. Hood motioned at the counter. Not getting the message he grabbed you by your waist, pulling you forward and hoisting you onto the cold marble. You squeaked, your thighs sliding against the smooth surface as you landed on your ass. When you caught your balance, Hood was already moving across your thighs, his hands reaching into your pants. Your mouth went dry as you stared. He yanked at your zipper, your body jerking in surprise. You gasped, as you watched the black fabric slide downwards. Hood pulled off the slacks and threw them into one of the sinks.

He pushed his thumb into your underwear, pulling roughly at the cloth. "wait--" you managed to mutter between gasps. "H-Hold on. The.. um- door." You stalled.

"Locked tight. I checked." He assured you. A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. He dropped down to one knee, spreading your thighs farther apart as he pulled the masked down, shielding his lower half from view as his mouth was buried in your cunt. His tongue flicked out, tasting your wetness as he worked you open, gliding deeper each time. You whimpered as he nipped at your clit gently, tugging the sensitive flesh in the process.

"Oh god… this is so- a lot.. so much-"

You squirmed in embarrassment. He smirked at you as you struggled to find some sort of control. He continued to flick his tongue against your clit, making you pulse against the leather of his glove. A warm wet spot formed in his palm. Hood paused, licking his lips as he eyed your pussy hungrily. "I thought I was overworked.." He murmured. His thumb traced a line down your inner thigh until he reached the apex of your thighs. You arched up towards his mouth. You were panting now, "You seem tired."

"Mmm.." you mumbled and you could hear the grin in his voice

"Can't fuck you to sleep, not unless you clock out early." He teased, using his other hand to hold your hips tightly. "Call this a private service."

You nodded. As his tongue lapped at your pussy again you felt a rush of desire shoot up your spine, a shudder coursing through you. He pressed his face against the moist heat, letting out a groan. He slipped two gloved fingers inside you slowly as you moaned. You arched your pelvis into his touch. One of his hands slipped free from your thighs, resting over your knee, pushing them apart. You felt hot and feverish, sweat dotting your forehead, making your hair damp and sticking to your skin.

"should be paying me." He mumbled against your pussy, vibrations thrumming from his lips. He thrust one finger deeply into you. It sank all the way to the hilt before he withdrew it. You cried his name. That was all it took for you to lose the control you had over yourself. All of a sudden you couldn't think straight. All of a sudden you felt your muscles spasm as orgasm slammed through you in waves. You gasped loudly as you rode out your climax, your whole body shaking. Your legs fell open, allowing his nose to poke at your clitt. It felt slick with spit and your juices. He rubbed it against your folds, leaving a trail that tickled your sensitive tissue. You moaned quietly as he lapped up the salty moisture dripping down your folds and thighs. He licked at his finger before wiping it across his lips.

"There we are~." He purred. You shivered as his fingers stroked over your sex.

Reblong + Like if you got this far or Jason dies again

[cece693]

The One Kind Voice

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader tags: winter soldier time, kinda short but I wanted to test the waters, maybe I'll make it into a small series, open ending, perhaps reader is dead or escaped, no specific timeline, winter soldier finds a good thing amongst the bad

The metal restraints were always cold against his skin, but he barely felt them anymore. In the shadowed corridors of the Hydra facility, each clang of steel against steel was a drumbeat of his captivity. He didn't ask questions. He didn't show emotion. Not after they had scorched his mind and scorched it again, drilling into his consciousness until he could no longer remember his name.

But certain things—small shards of time—still lingered, sparkling in the darkness of the broken memories. Moments that Hydra’s reprogramming couldn't fully erase. And in all the jagged recollections the Winter Soldier carried, there was a face. A man with bright, gentle eyes.

He wasn’t like the other handlers. They supervised him with harsh commands and even harsher punishments for the slightest infractions. A slow aim here, a missed step there. The result was always pain. But not with him. The Soldier never learned his name—only recognized the warmth in his voice, the understanding in the slight upturn of his lips, and the soft twinge of regret behind every command he uttered.

Some nights, after a particularly brutal mission or a session in the chair that left his thoughts scrambled, the Soldier would lie on a cot in a dimly lit cell. The man would appear, quietly shutting the door behind him. He would kneel beside the Soldier, carefully checking for wounds. He never scolded. He simply whispered words that the Soldier couldn't always process, but they felt safe, like a lullaby in a storm.

“It's not your fault,” the handler would say, running a gentle hand across the Soldier’s forehead. “You'll be okay.”

At times, the Soldier didn't know if it was kindness or a Hydra tactic to trick him into obeying. But as the days bled into weeks, he found himself clinging to those brief, serene moments. Even Hydra's voice in his head, that droning command that threatened to break him again and again, could not drown out the memory of those gentle hands.

Then one day, the man disappeared.

The Soldier remembered walking into the training bay, battered and dazed from the previous night's reconditioning. He kept his eyes low, waiting for that small moment of kindness. It never came. Instead, stern-faced guards escorted him to the next mission briefing with mechanical indifference. Another day passed. Then another.

He had tried once—just once—to ask about the handler. His voice was clipped, each word tasting of tension. The guard merely grunted and shoved him forward. The question lingered in the Soldier’s own mind, haunting him as the reprogramming machine screeched and sparked. He felt the cold electricity surge, but beneath it, he clung to the thought: Where did he go?

Every mission, every bullet fired, every step he took along Hydra’s grim path was laced with that faint memory: a rare flicker of compassion in a world of torment. The more Hydra tried to strip him of his identity, the more that one face, that one gentle voice, stood out amid the chaos.

Sometimes, he wondered if that man had been a ghost or a figment of his fractured psyche. Perhaps Hydra had found him unnecessary. Or worse, they discovered he was too kind, an unacceptable weakness in a place that thrived on fear and pain. The Soldier replayed each conversation they’d shared, every time he had been consoled instead of condemned. He wondered if that handler had paid a price for showing him mercy.

Yet, in the darkest corners of the Soldier’s mind, that memory persisted, untarnished: someone had cared. Someone believed he was more than just a living weapon. And while the Winter Soldier could not fully comprehend his own pain or place in the world, that single memory was a lifeline.

Because maybe, just maybe, if there had been one soul in Hydra who treated him with humanity… there might be hope left for him yet. And so he held onto the recollection of the disappearing handler—wondering if he was safe, if he’d escaped to a better life. In the dreamlike haze of his brainwashed state, he allowed himself one fleeting comfort: maybe one day he would be free as well, free to find answers about the kind man who vanished, and the shards of memory he left behind.

[lethalchiralium]

Seasons Change ⋆⭒ Part One

Retired!Cowboy!John Price x F!Reader, “arranged” marriage AU - Series Masterlist

summary: You’ve responded to the ad, traveling for days to a secluded farm in Montana to marry a man who would free you from the loneliness that infested your life back home - at the cost of your freedom. Or so you think.

Are you truly sure about this?

Your coach wasn’t extravagant by any means, wood splintered off of its wall and the cushions almost as old as you. You were sure that if you placed your Mama’s suitcase onto the floor, it would fall through. Your nicest shoes were on your feet, tied tightly and uncomfortable as they ghosted the top of the rotting wood floorboards.

Your hands were settled in a pair of your finest gloves, which shielded away the nicks you got from farming at your parent’s small ranch; lima beans, beets, sugar peas, radishes and tomatoes. The ground was tough in Illinois, trying to learn how to farm behind your mother’s back was essential - for you to be able to have freedom when you leave for the West, you had to have a source of income. Unless, God gives you a little ad from Montana on a Sunday afternoon.

Your nails hurt every time you scraped off the top soil from your radishes, the hot sun boiled your back through your stifling dress. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand before you pulled out the last one, a sore hand wiped away dirt to show a deep violet color. There was a smirk on your face, the vegetable settled in your small basket. Your Pa was to be back by noon, taking his horse to town for some supplies and a new sewing kit for Mama. Her time was spent inside, usually under the watchful eye of a needle and feeder as her brand new sewing machine droned on. Pa spent the better part of the money from last year’s harvest for that, she took it with a soft smile.

Mama’s clothes were good, she can sew four shirts by noon and sell them by two o’clock, her blankets still have a waitlist from last winter. You were lucky to have her sew you a new dress with how busy she’s gotten - it’s good for you, it means you can learn how to tend a farm from Pa. Independent living always intrigued you, wanting to live off the land in a quiet house with a shepherd dog. People weren’t interesting enough for you - you got that from Mama - but romance was. Wanting to be loved without the hassle of courting was a dream of yours, but it wasn’t feasible. No good man would want a woman with cuts on her hands, your Mama always said, a lady doing a man’s work insults God. That and you didn’t go to town much, never going without your Pa for fear of being harassed by men like you had been before. You were always escorted through town by your Pa, he always had a smile and a swift draw with his revolver.

You twisted a tomato from the vine, a decent size yet still not big enough - it seemed the soil was beginning to lose its strength of growing your crops bigger than the palm of your hand. Every year they kept growing smaller, every year it seemed that Mama’s sewing hobby was looking more profitable than the cornfields Pa tended to alone. Even your contribution of an array of vegetables wouldn’t bring four dollars to the table; when it used to bring seven.

There were footsteps along the side of the house, heavy and with a gentle huff as he walked on the solid Earth. It wasn’t hard to recognize your Pa by sound, your hands kept twisting off undersized tomatoes as he approached from the side.

“I’ve got something for you, Sugar Pea.”

You shook your head. “If it’s one of those Seed boys’ letters, I don’t want it.”

“It’s somethin’ you oughta consider.”

The trail began to grow bumpy, your hands held onto your small suitcase as you gazed out the window. The fields expanded as far as your eye could see, mountains clustered in the distance made you excited. You had never seen mountains before - Illinois was flatter than most states. It had taken you a day by coach then three days by train from busy Chicago to reach the calm Montana landscape, excitement bubbled in your skin. This is where you would be living the rest of your life, you hoped. You prayed this ad your father had given you wasn’t a trick for the man you had been corresponding with for the past two months.

The coach was stuffy, you already tried to open the windows in the doors but they were sealed shut, your hand waved your fan to try and keep cool in the brand new dress you sewed just for this occasion.

“No daughter of mine is leaving to go to Montana by herself!”

“Ellen, she wants to go! I won’t stop her.”

“And how did she get this ad? She certainly doesn’t have the penny to pay the damn clerk for the newspaper.”

“If she wants to go to Montana to marry a farmhand, let her. None of these boys here are worth the scum on my shoe.”

You laid in your bed, you watched as your curtain billowed from the night time breeze - moonlight dancing along with the thin fabric as the only sound you heard was your parents arguing.

“What if we need her? What if the soil runs dry?”

“I’ll learn to sew.”

“It’s a woman’s job.”

“It’s also her job to be married by now. She’s 20 for God’s sake, Ellen, she needs to have her own freedom.”

“And it’s a world’s away from us?”

Your fingers tapped your nightgown, tears running down the side of your face. You hated that you would be so far from them, but this was your chance. Romance without courting, hopefully. You were naive enough to not understand that romance is nothing without courting.

“She’s not a child anymore. She just wants to be wed.”

“And not have her husband love her?! Courting is how she should be doing it, that Joseph is a fine boy-“

“Not again with that preacher’s son-“

“-that would treat her right!”

“She doesn’t want to be here! She just wants to be wed and to be left alone, this man promised us a cash amount if she replies. All she would need to do is wed him, give him a child-“

“Gerald-“

“-then shoot him if she likes, just like I taught ‘er.”

Pa’s silver revolver was smothered by an old scarf in the deepest part of your suitcase, just in case this man in the ad turned out to have lied about his identity. A 35 year old man in need of a wife to start a family with. Payment to family if wed. You had written to him four times during the winter, spring had come in full bloom to welcome you to your new home. He had promised a warm house and a dog in his lengthy letters, detailing where he lived and where his family came from. Said he was a farmhand, tending to horses and a farm he partially owned. You didn’t have much to say back, only that you lived on flat farm land your whole life, you know how to garden, cook, and sew. And to your surprise, he found that knowing how to garden was great. You always had the idea that men hated women doing any of the dirty work, but that always came from Mama’s mouth. He wrote in detail that he found your hobbies interesting and would be more than happy to let them continue, if you agreed to marry him.

“You’re set on meeting this man. Are ya sure you want to go?”

“I am.”

“Get up. Pack quickly before your Mama hears ya.”

“Pa-“

“Hurry. The train leaves soon and the carriage can only go so fast.”

And here you were, in a coach this mysterious John Price had rented to bring you from the center of Missoula to his farm an hour away. You had enough money to get you to him, but he insisted on paying the train ticket and for you to be promptly delivered to him. Perhaps you should have considered if he was truly lying and was a one-eyed bald man named Bob. That or it was that crazy preacher’s son trying to get you to marry him again. You silently prayed that this seemingly sweet man you had been writing to all winter was actually kind and respectful.

The coach stopped abruptly, it jerked you forwards and forced you to press your shoes into the withered floorboards - yet nothing happened; you were surprised. Your gaze fell to the window, gazing out to see beautiful fields and dozens of trees. Even in the early spring with the remaining spray of snow on the ground, it was gorgeous. You could hear talking, the horse neighed at the front and all you could do was gaze out the window to the massive farm.

There was talking, a deep voice who initiated the conversation with the coach driver - your heart rose into your throat. Was this where you were going to live the rest of your life? Sprawling countryside with whinnying horses, barking dogs, lush trees and dark mountains as far as the eye could see? If it was, you were content - it was better than the flat farmland you lived on your entire life. You spotted a dark brown horse, coming into your view - a nice saddle sat on its back, deep brown hair combed and black spots dotted its belly. You would have spent the next hour admiring the gorgeous horse if it wasn’t for the coach door opening. Your eyes settled on the man who held open the door, covered by a long brown coat and brown shirt. He then held his hand out, you handed him your suitcase.

The man held out his free hand to you with a smile, eyes blue like a stormy sky. It shocked you just how gentle his gaze was, every man who ever looked at you always seemed like they would rip you apart at the seams.

Not this one.

He set your suitcase down, still holding your hand in his calloused one.

Oh. He is pretty.

Dark brown beard with mutton chops somewhat kept neat, teeth a light yellow - better than most men you’ve seen.

“What if he’s mean, Papa?”

“Then you leave.”

“If I can’t?”

“Shoot him in the head. You know how.”

His hold was gentle, better than any man who had grabbed at you when you were a teenager. Disgusting men laying hands on a young girl in the streets, but scrambling back like cats when Pa snapped at them.

“You’re prettier than what I imagined.”

Your jaw almost went slack with shock - he was British? He never disclaimed that to you in his letters, but his subtle drawl of his accent made your stomach quiver. Your lips pulled a smile.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“She speaks.” He chuckled a little. “Thank you, Miss.”

The coachman closed the door behind you, John then began to lead you towards the horse you were admiring earlier - now noticing the cart attached to it. It wasn’t anything fancy, just something to pull heavy items around. Your trunk already sat on it, he led you towards the seats.

You gazed at his face, the jawline that faded into his neat beard - the way his brown hair seemed to glitter in the sunshine. He was perfect - like the daydreams you had for years.

“It’s a small ride to the house,” John turned to you, holding up your hand to help you into the seat. You stepped up onto the cart, settling down and letting go of his gentle hand so he could set your suitcase beside your trunk. You looked down at your powder blue dress, one you spent all winter making by hand - Mama wasn’t fond of you using her machine. You were proud of this dress, even if it was meant to wear for one day, you’d always be so proud of how nicely it came together, how your first meeting with the man you were to spend the rest of your life with was perfect. Being optimistic is a good trait, Papa always said.

You spent your time watching the landscape as if it moved with you, the short journey felt centuries long as your heart beat faster than a race horse. Life here would certainly be harder than home, seeing that neither of your parents allowed you to help them most days - you were left on your own. Always alone, always doing what was needed without overstepping. This was a whole new challenge; learning where to push and where to pull boundaries with one John Price.

“Have you eaten?”

You glanced to John, noting his one hand on the reigns and the other resting on his leg. Your eyes flickered up to his face, his eyes kept on the trail in front of the horse.

“I have not.”

“I will make you dinner when we arrive. Won’t be long.”

You nodded to yourself, your own hands settling in your lap, squeezing tightly together. You gazed down at your hands, the blue of your dress meant to calm you. What you missed was a soft smile from your betrothed, his gaze memorizing your face for a few seconds before looking ahead.

This is a good choice. New scenery. New people. Far, far away from that damned pastor’s son and Mama’s snide remarks.

I have faith in John. But I hold no trust yet.

Use the gun if you’re ever scared.

Dinner was quiet. He was a good cook, much better than what you were used to and you were secretly delighted. Just a simple pork and potato dinner was better than the porridge your mother barely made edible. You stood like an awkward stranger in the small living room of the one bedroom home, unsure of what to do as John had not asked anything of you yet after dinner. In fact, he was silent the moment you stepped foot into his home.

Were you doing this wrong? What had you done to make him suddenly grow quiet?

There was a dusty couch, a dirt covered rug and a barely used fireplace in the room, your hands clasped together as a way to ease your nerves. He hasn’t opened the door to the bedroom yet, that was the most nerve wracking part. You haven’t shared a bed with a man, not since you were a toddler in your Mama’s bed. It was a terrifying prospect - especially to a quiet and reserved lady, having been chased by many men back home.

At least you won’t have to worry about those leeches anymore. You have a… husband now. You will be a wife. He can protect you. Right?

“I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

You jumped a little, turning to look at John as he stood a few feet away - hands settled in his pockets. The awkwardness clung to your clothes, worry brewing deep in your belly. Does he not like you now?

John settled back on his heels, to your eye he seemed calm - what you couldn’t see was the tensing of his muscles, trying to not be as nervous as you were. The way he forced his jaw open to speak wouldn’t be noticed by you either. “I wanted to uh… thank you. For agreeing.”

You curtly nodded, you fought the urge to pick at your nail beds - a nervous habit. Silence befell the room again, your gaze didn’t disconnect from John for more than a few moments, where he held his hand towards the closed door - what you assumed was the bedroom. Your stomach dropped unexpectedly, your blood grew cold and you could only watch him with a nervous glare. He gazed back at you for just a moment before he spoke to himself, seeming to chastise his previous gesture, before he opened the door. He nodded towards it again.

“I’ll bring your chest in if you want to have a look around.”

Your legs felt like they could give way at any moment, but you still walked silently towards the room - John moved out of your way, making sure there was no chance to accidentally touch you. Acting as if you were made of thin porcelain, one wrong move and you would shatter on the floor. He turned away as soon as you passed, you didn’t miss the near-silent wince he made as soon as he started walking. You looked to him, a fleeting moment, just to memorize his figure before ducking into the quaint bedroom.

A large bed was pushed into the corner, only able to crawl onto the bed on one side. A fireplace across from there, connected to the one in the living room. The floor was bare hardwood, your shoes most likely shielded you from miniature splinters. There was a mirror in the corner, reflecting the entire room from where you stood. Only a few pictures adorned cleaned spaces, photographs of places that you’ve never seen before. A bay, with ships sailing in and out. One with snow covered trees. Another with a decrepit looking house.

You were quick to change. Your eyes watched John through the mirror, his back completely to you. You threw off your nice dress as soon as you untied it - not without a little struggle - before you pulled on a long nightgown, sleeves down to your wrists and hem grazing the top of your feet. You pulled the pins from your hair,

You pulled your quilt from your trunk, your hands gripped it tightly as you turned to face your… fiancé. His back was to you, showing many light pink scars. Some were the size of your pinky, others the size of your palm. If you were brave, you would walk up to him and trace the edges of them - but you weren’t. You waited for John to finish the bed, nerves swirled in your belly. You hadn’t shared a bed with someone since your Mama stopped letting you in hers when you were six. You’re a lady, she said, ladies don’t sleep in beds with men if they’re not wed.

“We’re not married yet.” Your voice was soft, John’s hands halted as they set a pillow on the far side of the bed.

“We are not.”

“We can’t sleep in the same bed.”

The man chuckled a little before he took the pillow closest to him, tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. “I forgot you wrote about that.”

Your grip tightened on the quilt. “About what?”

He yanked off the blanket from the bed, leaving the brown sheets before he dropped the blanket onto the floor next to the pillow. He turned around, it was hard not to try and gaze at his bare chest but you still kept his gaze. “Not sleeping beside each other until we were married. I meant to make my sleeping arrangements earlier but a man’s work is never done.” He shrugged, his smile softened as he nodded towards the bed. “Go on.”

You stood there for a moment, contemplating if you should sleep in his bed when he was to work the farm in the morning, but he held out his hand, the smile never fading.

“You’ll sleep alone just for the week, love.” He nodded again towards the bed. “I promise I’ll be fine on the floor.”

You silently made your way to the bed, hoisting yourself onto it before you spread your quilt over your body and the bed. It was cold, comfortable but not inviting. You supposed it wouldn’t be - you had been in this house for less than a day and the only thing comforting you was your belongings from home.

Home, you chuckled in your head. I suppose home is here now.

John fluffed his pillow on the floor, you didn’t hear an ounce of complaint as he pulled the worn blanket over himself. Your fingers traced the stitching of Mama’s sewing machine, your quilt sheltered you from the scratchy sheets on John’s bed. You could hear your mother droning on about marrying a farmhand, that you needed to go for someone with more money like a politician or a Christian - you didn’t like any man she chose, you shook your thoughts of that away. The first man you had chosen for yourself was far better than any lowlife scoundrel your Mama could find, and she would find ones that couldn’t have kindness anywhere near their greedy hides.

You slightly jumped when John spoke your name.

“Yes, John?”

He cleared his throat. “We’ll marry by the end of the week. I’ll sleep on the floor ‘til you decide you want me up there.”

“Okay.”

The stitching reminded you of home, of your cozy room with as many blankets as your Mama could make. It reminded you of quiet nights sitting with Pa on the porch, letting your mother stew inside after she made a comment that made Pa defend you. It reminded you of being little and standing outside Mama’s sewing room, hands holding your stuffed toy while you watched her sew by hand - one footstep into her room was ten minutes worth of scolding.

As you closed your eyes, you pressed your hands into your sternum. John was to be your husband, which meant children sooner or later. You promised yourself you would never scold your children for wanting to love you.

You hoped John would hold the same value.

[mrderofcr0ws]

HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra's most prized possession— but the winter soldier was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

it had been a long time since either of you had seen the sun. you could get out with his help in the brief, painful moments of clarity he had. when he answered to that long forgotten name, you could escape together.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter soldier who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky's time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr. (roughly edited)

<- previous chapter

PART FOUR —

— LIKE MACHINES DO

the winter soldier was awake before the sun began to rise because he hadn’t slept.

he could not lay still. it was a bad habit of his that you learned to coexist with having to share a room with him. he would rattle the whole bunk tossing and turning as he tried his hardest to settle. his footsteps against the cold stone floor of your bedroom cell were an ambiance that you grew to find soothing.

in the hotel room now, it was no different.

as much as he wanted to lay beside you — cupping your waist in his hands, tangling his legs with yours, and keeping his face tucked down into the warmth of your cleavage — he couldn’t.

he tried.

he really did.

he focused on the way your heart sounded below his ear. a steady, even tempo. he was grateful to hear it. it meant you were here— that you were real.

most of the time, he didn’t know what was real.

he rose out of bed as quiet as a mouse. he pulled on his boxers and pushed his long hair out of his face. the room was dark and he intended on keeping it that way as to not disturb you.

he wouldn’t let anything ruin the time you had to rest.

so he watched you from where he sat by the window in complete and total silence.

when you finally stirred in the sheets, the sun was cresting on the horizon. when you rolled over onto your side and stretched out your limbs, you saw him. he was a shadow in the corner of the room dressed in his gear.

the leather was snug. the padding he wore accentuated the muscles in his arm— the curves of his waist. the straps of his harness hugged his figure and held every piece of weaponry that he would need out on the field. extra clips. extra magazines. bombs. too many knives to count. guns by his thighs. a gun behind the back of his neck. a gun on the back of his belt. his gleaming vibranium arm with the red star had never looked more intimidating.

and that mask.

all you could see of his face were his icy blue eyes and those dark, brooding eyebrows.

you had seen him in his gear too many times to count but it never seemed to lose its glamor.

he scared you down to the marrow of your bones and yet you wanted to tug him over by his belt and lay yourself bare for him despite it.

the tension in his shoulders seemed to loosen as you got out of bed. neither of you said a word. he didn’t bother looking away as you got dressed into your own gear. despite being assigned to the ground, you’d be suited up, too. it mattered little who saw you once you were there. the worst thing that could happen on a mission was that either of you died.

murder was never discreet.

it was always messy.

you wouldn’t be deployed on the street until after agent fury was already done enjoying his pizza, anyways. by the time he saw you on his walk back—he wouldn’t.

winter did not miss.

you slipped on your gloves and tightened them around your wrists. you smirked as you felt your guns click into their holsters. you looked up as he slid the last one into place behind your back.

he brushed the side of his face against yours and murmured, “remember what i told you.”

“it wont come to that.” you leaned back into him and kissed the mouth of his mask. “but i remember.”

you’d done this countless times.

this would be no different than the rest.

you’d be on a plane home before sunset.

and the two of you would be cold on ice before tomorrow ended.

— ☆ —

the ironwork offices consisted of an entire floor of cluttered, abandoned workrooms on the top level of a building soon to be torn down. the offices had been moved closer to the factory district where the company had their main warehouses located. the building was a street over from the cafe on the opposite side; but the top floors towered over the building in front of it and overlooked the cafe perfectly. it was a far enough distance to keep the high-rise team out of sight.

when you and the winter soldier arrived, the officers and the strike team were already there.

but there were more.

many, many more.

the room was full of hydra guards in bulletproof armor and masks that covered every inches of their faces. karov was handing all of them ear pieces and synching them onto the same channel.

you looked up at him. “always more…”

“always more,” he agreed.

the members of the strike team stood lining the back wall after they were given their ear pieces. the sunlight spilling in through the windows stopped right before the tips of their boots. nikta was hunched over a laptop in one of the cubicles, flipping through the real-time surveillance footage of the streets in the area.

his watched beeped.

“ten minutes.” nikta announced.

you placed down the duffle bag you carried around your shoulder and he kneeled beside you. unzipping the bag, winter pulled out his sniper. he handed it over to you. you popped in the magazine as he tossed it to you and switched the safety off. you planted your feet and raised the scope to your eye. you tweaked knobs to align the elevation.

you handed him the sniper and he took it as he stood. he raised it, looking through the scope.

he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

you could feel his smile through his mask.

“soldier.”

he strapped the gun over his back and turned on queue towards karov. “ready to comply.”

“fangs,” nikta said.

your jaw tightened.

you didn’t like that nickname.

you never had.

but there were worse things to be called.

“officer,” you said as you approached.

“this is where we will be positioned.” nikta said, handing you the laptop. he pointed to the screen. the cafe had a line out the door. it must’ve been well known. that many people meant for more cover. “when nick passes the light post, the winter soldier will take his shot.”

you glanced at the officer as you handed him back his laptop.

“come get your ear piece, pet.” karov said, waving you over before nikta could say anything further.

you grimaced under your mask.

that was the worst name.

“go,” nikta said, turning back towards the desk.

you stood still as karov placed the metal piece into your ear. you asked softly, “why so many?”

karov knew what you were asking. “this is no stroll in the park, pet. hydra would never step against any shield agents without heads to replace the fallen in our ranks in the case of a misstep.”

“but the soldier won’t miss.” you said, looking down at the short, doggish officer.

he said nothing. he didn’t bother to meet your gaze. he tapped the metal in your ear twice and you heard soft static crackle. you clicked the button on the inside of your collar twice.

“soldier,” karov said with a nod his way.

winter raised his hand to his throat and pressed the button inside his collar. his voice buzzed in your ear, “test. test. test.”

“copy,” you said.

winter nodded to karov. your ear pieces were synched. you’d be able to hear each other within a range of ten miles. any more than that and you’d lose connection.

it was how he always know where to find you when you came to after one of your bloodlust spells.

nikita’s watch beeped.

“it’s time.”

— ☆ —

the streets were crowded with people moving in every direction. trying to track one person was like looking for a needle in a haystack to most.

nicholas fury could have been beacon of shining light to the two of you.

you stood by the corner window together and watched as he passed by the cafe. dressed in a navy suit with sunglasses on, he was keen on enjoying his lunch break at his favorite pizza place. most days he had the pizza. today was different. he planned to order one of their italian subs.

it was the last time he would visit russo’s pizza.

he would not make it passed the cafe once the clock struck 2:22pm.

“alright,” nikta said. “ground team, let’s move.”

you and winter met each others eyes and shared a fleeting look that gnawed at what lay cold and beating behind your ribs.

he pulled a knife from his baldric and twirled it between his fingers. he slid it into place into the strap across your chest. you grazed the handle with your fingers without looking away from his eyes.

“don’t miss,” you said. he could hear the smile in your voice. “you owe me a hundred bucks if you do.”

“i don’t have a hundred bucks.” he said with a smug roll of his shoulders, “and i won’t.”

you grabbed his arm before he could kneel at his perch and ready his gun. he dipped his head instinctively as you pulled him in.

“we are compromised.” you whispered into his ear. you spoke in romanian and you spoke fast. “i can’t tell you which of them is the rat but i know its one of them. thats why there are extra guards. one of them doesn’t trust the other.”

“shoot who needs to go down, winter, even if that person in your sights is not agent fury.”

his brows pinched together as he looked down at you. he tipped his head, eyes flicking passed you at the two officers before landing back on you.

you nodded once, searching for any hint that he understood.

he loaded his gun. “good luck, doll.”

you turned away without another word and slipped on the long, black trench coat that would hide your gear as karov held it for you.

your mask hid your smile.

you made sure your ear piece was on one last time before you followed officer nikta and the — now four instead of two — strike team soldiers out of the room.

“eyes up,” nikta said as you descended the steps behind the strike team. “and stay on guard.”

it was incredibly bright outside. with the sun just passed it highest point, the glare took your unaccustomed eyes time to adjust to. the six of you crossed the street at different times. nikta first. the strike guards in pairs after him. you last.

you could feel him watching you through the scope of his gun as you took your spot by the lightpost.

nikta was to your left, rummaging through the newspaper box. he opened it up and began to read. the strike team guards sat spread out at the outdoor tables lining the sidewalk.

the minutes ticked by.

“look alive, little monster.”

you lifted your gaze just enough to catch sight of the window he was perched in, but he was impossible to see. he was shrunken by distance and cloaked by shadow within the building.

“one hundred bucks if you blow it, winter.”

you heard him scoff out a laugh through comms and it made you grin under your mask. you glanced down at your wrist and pulled the edge of your glove down.

{ 2:20 }

“two minutes.”

“copy.”

you pulled your sleeve down and turned. you scanned face after face as they passed by. with each second that ticked by, you felt your heart start to race. your hands were sweaty in your gloves and you could feel your blood rushing through your veins.

you could feel his gaze shift from behind the scope.

“target sighted.”

your eyes jumped from face to face.

and then you saw him.

with a half-finished bottle of coca-cola in his hand and a toothpick in his mouth, he was entirely and completely unaware of the danger that he was ten steps away from.

as nicholas fury approached the point of no return, he reached up and pulled his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose.

ice shot through you as he looked into your eyes with his one good one— the other scarred and white.

time came to a crawl.

bang!

you flinched as the gun went off right by your head.

the smoke from the barrel wafted off the gun in nikta’s hand. you could taste it in your mask. it burned your eyes.

you turned, following the straight shot of his arm.

nikta aimed for the window.

pop! pop! pop! pop!

nick fury pulled his gun from the back of his belt and and shot the strike soldiers in the chaos unfolding on the street.

it all came rushing back to speed as nikta turned his gun towards you. you pulled the knife from the strap on your chest and threw it. he fell like a bag of sand as it struck him in the chest.

you reached back to unclasp your mask from your face, teeth bared for the kill as you turned towards the one-eyed agent who had you in his sights.

the clasp refused to come undone.

panic shot through you like a bullet.

nikta tampered with your gear.

“go, go, go!” shouted voices from above as shield agents descended from the rooftops.

a hale storm of bullets thundered with fury and whizzed through the air. screams of terror pierced your ears like knives as the shield agents on descending lines went limp. blood sprayed like rain across the street.

“hostile up top! twelve o’clock!” fury yelled, diving down out of sight.

you looked up.

and you saw him.

with two guns in his hands, the winter soldier was raining hell from the rooftop of the ironworks office with the guards of the strike team.

karov was nowhere to be seen.

“i told you to run.”

at the sound of his voice in your ear, your muscles sprang into action and you took off.

bullets shot passed your head as you ran straight into the street. cars honked and breaks screeched. in the chaos of the city under fire, you ran into the commotion of the traffic filled street interrupted by the running crowd.

“nikta! it was nikta!” you shouted over the noise. you pulled your guns from your thigh holsters and glanced behind you. “he screwed up my mask! i can’t get it off!”

“i know.”

“he shot at you!”

“he missed.”

you pulled the trigger and a bullet flew into the shoulder of one of the shield agents hot on your trail. he dropped to the ground but you didn’t see. you shoved passed people as you turned the corner.

round the street and get to him.

that’s all you had to do.

once you were with him, the rest would make sense.

tires screeched and you turned to see a massive armored truck block the end of the road. agents came spilling out of it like a broken damn.

there were too many agents on the ground and it was only you facing them head on.

but you had eyes above.

“left!”

you extended your left hand and pulled the trigger.

another agent down.

“two behind you!”

you spun around and popped two shots. they were dead before they hit the ground.

“get down now!”

you hit the deck and rolled underneath an abandoned car. you looked your your right and watched the shield truck blow. fire and rubbled shot out everywhere as it exploded.

you crawled out from underneath the car and you shot off into a sprint.

and so did the bullet from nick fury’s gun.

you stumbled into the street as the bullet struck you through the lower back.

you touched your stomach and felt the hot, wet mess begin to spread through your gear.

car breaks whined and hissed at you like a feral cat. the smell of burned rubber suffocated you in your mask. the car tapped your hips and you stared at the driver through your wet lashes. you slammed your bloody hand onto the car as your core weakened, grasping for any leverage you had to stay standing.

“i’m hit…” you whispered.

you grunted as you looked down again. blood was pouring out of you like a bubbling faucet. it ruined the front of this poor lady’s yellow punch buggy. you glanced around you as shield agents swarmed the street and circled you with their guns drawn.

“james,” you breathed his name. “i’m hit.”

“i know, baby. im coming.”

the explosions sent you toppling over and you hit the ground hard. one after the other they went off like crackling fireworks. agents and civilians alike were blown back— blown to pieces alongside cement and stone as he shot grenades into the crowds. the strike team above picked off agent after agent despite the bullets flying back at them.

the plan to kill nick fury had failed.

the mission now was to retrieve you and go.

it was like watching lucifer fall from heaven.

the winter soldier jumped off the rooftop and he landed atop one of the burning cars. he walked through the flames and off the windshield with his eyes set on nothing but you.

you reached for him as he kneeled down— but you saw the shadow behind him.

“watch out!” you screamed.

he whipped around and grabbed the nozzle of the gun with his metal hand. the shot fired— but the bullet flatted against his vibranium palm.

winter’s eye twitched and nick fury’s chest fell.

“well, shit…”

you pushed yourself away, clutching your wound as winter grabbed the shield agent by the collar of his shirt and rammed him down into the street. you lost sight of him behind the car. you could hear his feral, tight grunts and the whirr of his metal arm.

pop! pop! pop!

the windows shattered and you raised your arm to shield your face. the car rattled as one of them slammed into it.

you needed to move.

right now.

you cried out as you were pulled to your feet. panic shot through you and you reached for your knives, but the sight of his face drew your brows together in a hard line.

“hurry now, pet, now is not the time to freeze.” karov said as he slid your arm over his shoulder. he brought his hand to his throat and pressed the button on his collar. “weapon-v secure. evacuating to your position now. she’s hit. ready aide.”

you cried out as he pulled you along step after step. you tried to look up— look anywhere that wasn’t your feet — but the world was spinning. tears and sweat wet your face. with each step, you groaned.

“bucky…” you looked over your shoulder to try and see him.

blood splattered across the side of your face as a bullet struck karov through the throat.

you tried to catch him.

you tried to hold him upright.

you fell to the ground with him and landed on your back. you screamed in terror and he choked above you. he clawed at his throat, gasping and suffocating on blood. you titled your head back squeezed your eyes shut as blood sprayed across your face and burned your eyes.

“fuck!” you yelled, trying to shove him off you. “oh, fuck! fuck!”

you felt the weight of him get shoved away. your hands flew to your face— but you were grabbed by the arms. a guttural cry of anguish tore through your teeth as you were dragged blind through the street.

“target acquired!” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

you blinked as hard as you could to clear your eyes. you struggled as hard as you could. you thrashed— but you only hurt yourself more. you forced your eyes open and all you saw was red.

and then nothing at all.

— ☆ —

death was a warm, welcoming hug.

but all you knew was the cold, cruel kiss of life.

white.

you could’ve been dead. all around you was white. white lights. white walls. white sheets. a white ceiling and a white floor. you cringed at all the light— at all the white. you squeezed your eyes closed.

a soft grunt escaped you as you breathed too deep. you could feel the tender, angry wound wrapped under layers and layers of bandages.

“winter,” you murmured through chapped lips and a dry mouth. you turned your head towards his rickety old chair. “winter, i’m thirsty…”

“i don’t speak russian, i’m afraid.”

your head snapped up and your eyes shot open. you bared your teeth at the agent who stood at the end of your bed.

“easy now,” said nicholas fury. he raised his hands and spared you a sympathetic smile. “you don’t want to tear a stitch.”

you grimaced at the reminder of the pain— at the way english sounded. it was a mess of words you had a hard time putting together. it was slow coming.

“you should learn.” you muttered as you glanced around the room. the scowl on your face must’ve amused him because he laughed. unless he found what you said funny.

the plain, empty room was as much as cell as any other. you were in handcuffs, your hands tied to the bed. you were prisoner. cared for, sure, but still a prisoner.

“where am i?” you asked softly.

“you know where you are.” nick said.

you grimaced. although you weren’t fond of his answer, he was right. it didn’t matter where you were exactly because you were in shield’s custody.

“do you remember what happened?” nick asked.

you nodded once but said nothing.

“your wound will heal if you let it.” he flicked his head towards your stomach. “i’m a good shot. i made sure not to paralyze you.”

“i won’t thank you.” you muttered.

“no, i figured you wouldn’t.” he chuckled.

you did not laugh. you did not bother to look at him.

only one thing mattered to you now.

“where…” you stopped yourself.

you had to maintain the secret.

“where is your friend?” nick asked for you. he walked over to the white metal chair beside your bed and turned it around, sitting backwards on it. “we don’t know where your friend with the metal arm is. he fled the scene.”

your brows pinched together and your chest caved.

relief or pain, you did not know.

“he…he’s not here?” you asked in a voice far too soft. you looked at the agent sitting beside you, searching for any hint of a lie.

“no,” nick said with a shake of his head. “sergeant james buchanan barnes is not here.”

your face paled. “how do you…” you almost didn’t have the words. your mind went numb you weren’t sure if you could’ve spoken russian if you tried. “that name…how…”

“shield knows more about you two than you could imagine, miss constantinescu, and we’ve been searching hard to find you both since we got wind of your…creation.” nick said lightly.

you squeezed your eyes shut. “don’t call me that.”

“that’s your name isn’t it?” nick asked.

“i don’t have a name.” you whispered through your teeth.

“now that just ain’t true.” nick sighed as he got up. he walked behind you somewhere and you tried to turn your head and see him. “you have many names.”

it was hard to focus your eyes as he held the folder in front of your face. the brown folder had your name across it in bold red letters.

ISLA E. CONSTANTINESCU

“THE VAMPIRE”

“WEAPON-V”

“shall i open it?” nick asked.

you said nothing.

you couldn’t find your voice.

you didn’t exist.

before hydra, you hadn’t existed. that woman did not exist. isla constantinescu was story. a dream. that person was not real.

you were real. a weapon. a machine. a monster. a pet.

that girl did not exist.

that girl was not you.

but if she had not been real then how was he holding a folder full of her?

a folder full of you.

nick placed the brown folder into your hands and stepped away. you looked over at him with tears brimming on your lashes. this was poison. it burned your hands to hold and yet you clutched it between your palms tighter and tighter.

“if i’m going to talk to you,” nick said with a small tip of his head, “then it looks like you are going to have to meet yourself, miss constantinescu.”

hope you enjoyed this installment of headlock. action scenes are always hard to write and i hope i did alright at keeping the intensity of the moment rampant. part five coming soon. as always, let me know if you want to join the taglist.

tags: @homiesexual-or-homosexual @carbonnite-copy @aegonshusband

next part ->

[whereserpentswalk]

There was a species of sapient corvids. Their range was small, the coldest parts of Scandinavia and Russia. But they were certainly sapient, as smart as humans its seems.

We've known about them for a long time, but science has only found out about them recently. There have always been local legends about intelligent corvids in the far north. Some of them were said to by aids to preists of Odin in ancient times. In medieval Russia one was a folk Saint. They once harassed an army out of their territory during the winter war. Most people who saw them thought they were just a strange type of crow with a few distinct grey markings on their wings. They were capable of learning human speech, but no human voice could ever mimic their language.

They built cities in the trees, massive wooden complexes that only a creature capable of flight could achieve. Nobody really knew about them because the cold forests they lived in were so different from the places humans tend to settle. But their architecture was beautiful aa hidden as it was. And they built tools and weapons about of wood and scavenged iron that their beaks could hold. They even at times wore leather and fur. And they wrote, scratched their stories into stone and wood.

They were like humans in many ways. They had leaders, cultures, wars, gods, language. They cared for their young. They buried their dead and mourned their deaths. They even kept small sparrows as pets. Everything about them was just as human as most human cultures. They had philosophers that spoke of peace and war and the nature of reality. They had mothers who cared for their children and mourned broken eggs. They had lovers who left their times behind to be together. They had artists who sung songs on cold days to cheer up those trying to survive the winter cold.

They're gone now. We killed them all. We didn't even try to. They were just crushed in the machine of capitalism without ever really meeting our modern society. We cut down their forests for lumber and to clear them. Their biome melted away with global warming. Mass fishing made their biggest food source go away, and other sources dried up for other reasons. Their final words were not about an enemy going to war with them, but an apocalypse from the heavens, the earth itself rejecting them for reasons they would never understand. By the 1950s their cities were villages, by the 21st century the last of them were dead just as we were finding out about the other thinking species our planet has.

The last one known to live stayed with a human family. She told them stories but they never really thought of her as their equal, just a well trained bird. She died in 1988. We don't know her last words, nobody bothered to here them.

This world was meant to have two species loving side by side. Meant to have us working together. They could have gone to the stars with us. Could have become equal citizens in our future civilizations. I'm sorry we never got to live with them that way.

[loverstrings]

Their Spindle - Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

A haunting look into Y/N’s past as Hydra’s Spindle—crafted from silence, shadows, and stolen time.

a.n - i saw this tiktok this morning and it lit a fire inside me to write our girl's time as spindle. this imo is haunting and angst filled, i hope you guys enjoy this! i do wanna say there are no spoliers for the main series. it's just what HYDRA did to her when she was their spindle, its stuff she already knows once we hit the series :3

the tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8MCXNDq/

| can be read as a standalone or apart of project spindle |

——

They woke her like they always did—with a needle to the spine and light too bright for eyes that hadn’t seen the sun in months.

She sat up slowly. Her body obeyed on instinct, every movement seamless despite the time loss. A woman shaped by silence, by rewrites, by whatever version of time Hydra fed her between assignments.

Subject 8-A. ‘Spindle’ They called her

She never disobeyed, just listened and followed the codes and orders. She knew what it was like to disobey, and she promised she'd never do it again. 

The barred door creaked open. Walking into the bright room she blinked against the sterile white hall. Her handler nodded. The Asset was waiting down the corridor, already dressed in black.

He didn’t speak. He rarely did. But sometimes he looked at her too long. But she knew what it meant when he was there. 

Whatever they did will be untraceable. She was the mind. He was the muscle. 

The target was a political dissenter—a man too loud, too connected. They sent her first. Dressed in green. Smiling. The kind of smile that big men trusted.

He let her in. Of course he did.

She poured him wine, ran fingers down his collar, whispered in his ear. And when his mind was open—unguarded by greed and power—she went in.

There was no scream, just terror in his eyes. He dropped before the glass left his hands. She left him breathing, but barely.

The report said cardiac failure. Stress-induced.

The report didn’t say she carved out his memories one by one until only fear remained.

The Asset picked her up on the roof. They left the city like ghosts. 

——

The worst missions weren’t the loud ones. They were the silences in between.

She learned to wipe herself. Hydra taught her that.

After each kill, each rewrite, she’d sit in a chair beneath flickering fluorescent lights. Breathing hard, magic still buzzing in her veins.

First came the report. Always the report.

Her voice, cold and factual, describing the target, the execution, the outcome. No emotion. No variation. When it was done, she’d close her eyes. Summon the glow into her fingers. And reach inside her own mind.

No machines. No handlers. No electrodes.

Just her.

She learned which threads to pull. Which memories to bury. Which moments to excise like rot. The power curled against her temples, soft at first, then sharp—searing through the synapses until nothing was left but silence.

She did it because she had to. Because forgetting made her easier to control.

And Hydra liked control.

Sometimes she went too deep—forgot what her own voice sounded like. Forgot the feeling of rain. Forgot why her hands trembled after every wipe. She’d stare at the wall, heart still racing, and not remember what she'd done to make it beat like that.

The pain lingered, even when the memory didn’t.

Though, she would dream about a mission where the Asset slipped. Just once.

He’d taken a bullet to the shoulder. She'd stitched it up, her fingers steady. When she handed him the bandage, his voice cracked the quiet.

“Thanks, doll.”

They didn’t speak of it after. But, she didn’t wipe it from him. Didn’t wipe it from herself either.

It was a mistake, but it was human.

She barely remembered the gaps. Time that doesn’t make sense. Trainings, she doesn't recall starting or ending. Her world built of flickering lights, blood on her gloves, and voices over intercoms.

There were no clocks. No dates. Only the routine: wake up, complete the mission, report. Then sleep again. Deep, heavy sleep.

Until they called her in once more.

But this time, HYDRA gained two new “volunteers.” Twins. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Sokovian. Angry. Desperate.

She was the first to meet them. Awoken to surroundings that were different—no sterile white walls or blinding lights. It was darker. Gloomier.

They didn’t shackle her this time. They gave her a task.

Train the twins. Make them perfect. Precise. Deadly. Make them like her.

She worked with Pietro first. His speed was chaos incarnate—erratic, overwhelming. She taught him how to move with intention, how to let instinct guide without letting it consume him. How to listen to the silence between heartbeats and strike in that exact breath. Not just fast. Precise.

But HYDRA had her work closely with Wanda—teaching her how to slip into minds, how to hunt for fears, how to strike with just a wisp of magic and disappear before anyone noticed. They practiced in silence, laughed once in secret. Wanda asked if magic could glow just because it was pretty. So she made it glow—soft and harmless. For a moment, they felt human.

HYDRA didn’t tolerate that so they reset her. Like the Asset, she had command words—long forgotten, buried somewhere deep. But that day, they used them as a reminder.

Dragged their Spindle back to the chair in the flickering room. Gave the order:

Wipe yourself and wipe the girl.

She doesn’t remember the word they used. Only the silence that followed. Only the echo of her own voice saying Wanda’s name, and the way Wanda’s eyes went blank.

She felt the same. They made her reset both of them. She gave her report.

Then she wiped Wanda. Then she wiped herself.

——

She didn’t wait for the walls to crumble. Didn’t wait to see the end.

The second Baron Strucker fell, and the sirens began to scream through the Sokovian dusk, she ran.

No orders. No handlers.

Just the raw instinct of a thing unchained.

The twins had stood in the hallway behind her, wide eyed. Shellshocked. Waiting to be useful. Waiting to make the wreckage mean something.

But she was older than them. Not just in years—but in scars. In silence. She turned her back and vanished before Wanda could say her name.

They found her anyway. A week later. Wandering Sokovia, in an abandoned villa that still smelled of lavender and smoke. The kind of place meant to be forgotten. Wanda approached first. The same crimson shimmer in her hands. The same look in her eyes: like she was trying to understand, to connect.

“You were part of us,” Pietro said, arms folded like armor. “We could use you. Ultron is building something—”

But she was already moving.

Her fingers brushed Wanda’s temple gently. Carefully.

Wanda stiffened.

A red flicker met soft pink glow—and then her memories rewrote themselves, neat and quiet.

“You never found me,” Y/N whispered.

And just like that—

They didn’t.

For weeks she stayed on the move. No powers. No contact. Just miles under her feet and a hunger she couldn’t name.

She slept in empty barns. On rooftops and crumbled buildings. Under stars. She dyed her hair. Cut it once in the reflection of a muddy stream.

She didn’t want to be a weapon. Or a ghost.

But she didn’t know how to be a person either.

Not anymore.

It was Natasha who found her first.

A crumbled building in Prague. Rain falling sideways. Her hands trembling again.

“You can’t outrun it forever,” Nat had said, umbrella clenched in one hand, a coat she’d never wear in the other.

Y/N didn’t answer. 

But two days later, Steve Rogers knocked on the wall of the crumbled building she’d just barely started calling “hers.”

He didn’t wear the suit. Just stood in what looks like the door with coffee and tired eyes.

“I’m not going back,” she told him, hand holding a can of beans. 

He nodded like he already knew.

“I just—” she hesitated, staring at her feet. “The only way I knew how to stop hurting people and myself was to disappear.”

He didn’t buy it. Not even a little.

He came back again. And again. Sometimes just with files. Sometimes just to sit. Sometimes just to remind her she wasn’t what they made her into.

Nat gave her a key to an apartment nearby and said there was food waiting for her, that beans can’t have good nutrients in them. She also started bringing her documents, leaving them by her mailbox or tucked between the door and frame.

Old photos. Fractured reports. Logs Hydra tried to delete.

One day, a file with a name printed across the top in faded ink:

Y/N.

Not Spindle. Not “Subject 8.” Just her.

Y/N stared at it for a long time. She traced the curve of that name with her fingertip. It didn’t feel like hers yet—but it might.

Yet there were more. Months after Steve convinced her to be closer, to live in the States with them, close to Wanda, a walk from the Tower they resigned in. She agreed, with the condition that she wouldn’t join them. She was only there for Wanda.

But after that move, a few blocks from the Tower, came more files. One was heavier than it looked. Cream-colored folder. Unmarked, except for a single black stamp on the corner:

"SUBJECT 8-A ‘SPINDLE’: PRIMARY SUBJECT RECORDS"

Natasha slid it across the small table, her fingers lingering.

“This one’s worse,” she warned. “We weren’t sure if you’d want to read it alone.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. Just stared at it. She could feel something—like a cold hand around her throat—just from being near it.

“Steve said he’d come by later,” Nat added. “If you want.”

Y/N nodded, once.

When Steve came by they read it together. In silence, mostly. Steve sat on the couch beside her, shoulders tense. Like he was bracing for each new page.

Y/N didn’t flinch. Not when she saw her name. Not even when she saw her birth year.

1946.

Not 1982. Not even close.

She was older than she thought. Older than she’d ever felt.

They had kept her in stasis between missions—used cryo to pause her aging the same way they had with him. She had decades missing, blackouts that were never explained. Every time she’d woken up thinking only a few weeks had passed… they had lied.

Hydra had fed her just enough false memories to keep her compliant. “Accidents” in childhood. “Military training.”

All fabricated. She hadn’t volunteered. She hadn’t signed up. She was stolen, taken to be tested and built.

Page after page detailed the serum trials, the energy compatibility tests, the neurological rewrites, and the psychic conditioning. There were notes on sedation thresholds. Notes on pain tolerance. Notes on obedience resets.

Steve turned one of the pages and stopped. Y/N recognized the photo before he said it.

Her and the Winter Soldier—The Asset (Bucky as Steve called him)—standing outside a bunker in Siberia.

Mission Date: 1974

She looked the same as now. He looked the same too. Unchanged. Unaged. Both of their eyes blank.

There was a short report stapled underneath.

"Spindle and Asset completed Objective 03 in under six minutes. Minimal casualties. Subject 8-A Spindle engaged in neural override of Target A, while Asset neutralized remaining opposition. Spindle initiated memory wipe sequence of Asset upon extraction. Notably: Spindle did not execute her own scheduled reset. Monitor for irregular sentiment development."

Steve glanced at her, quiet. “You knew him.”

She nodded, once. “I barely remember him.”

He waited. She swallowed hard. The words tasted like iron.

“We didn’t talk much. They didn’t want us to. He was colder. But… he was never cruel.”

She closed her eyes, remembering dim corridors and silent footsteps.

“The first time we worked together, I was told to stay behind him. Let him lead the assault. I was the insurance plan. If he got caught—my job was to erase the witnesses. Or him.”

Steve’s jaw tightened.

“But he never got caught,” she added. “Not when I was with him.”

She turned the page again.

There was a note scribbled in pen.

"Asset referred to Spindle as doll on extraction. Unprompted."

No punishment. No reprimand. Just observation.

She stared at it like it was a wound.

“I never wiped that from him,” she whispered. “They think I did. That was the first lie I told them.”

Steve’s voice came gently. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, barely breathing. “I think… I needed something human. And maybe… maybe he did too.”

——

a.n. - give my girl a BREAKKKKKKK (i say as i continue writing these damned oneshots) i do have some on the way, some fluffy ones hehehe

[userlofyy]

[AKNK] Honeymoon Knight - Berrien

⚠️ Please note that I am by no means a professional and there may be mistakes/mistranslations along the way.

🚫 DO NOT use my translations for Machine Learning/AI training or repost them anywhere

捧げた心

Dedicated Heart

Episode 1

 - Caliste Inn -

The plans of the couple who are heir candidates for the Grosvenor family have changed… The butlers and I decided to stay in the town of Caliste for a while One day… Berrien came to visit me.

*knock, knock*

Aruji: Come in

*door opens*

Berrien: Good morning, arujisama

Aruji: [Good morning, Berrien]

[Do you need me?]

Berrien: Today… I came to invite arujisama out.

Aruji: Speaking of going out…

I remembered what the butlers said the other day. Me and the butlers will go out together as newlywed partners… At the goddess’s temple, they will give me a bouquet of flowers So the butlers have said so

Aruji: [Are we going out today as newlyweds?]

[Are we going out as partners?]

Berrien: Y-yes.. It was with that in mind that I spoke to you today…. As expected… Is it bothersome to be partnered with me?

Aruji: [That's not true]

[I’m happy that you invited me]

Berrien: hehe… Thank you very much Spending time with arujisama as newlywed partners… I’m a little nervous though… As your spouse, I will do my best to help you… So we can create happy memories. Arujisama, I will be in your care.

Aruji: If we’re newlyweds, shouldn’t you call me by my first name?

Berrien: T-that’s true… Then… [Name]-san, let’s enjoy this day together.

And so, me and Berrien…. We decided to go out together as newlywed partners…

 - City of Blessings Caliste -

 - A few minutes later -

We arrived at the center of Caliste

Berrien: Well then, arujisama… No, today I will be calling you [Name]-san. [Name]-san, is there anywhere you would like to go? If there isn’t any in particular… Before going to the temple, there is somewhere I would like you to accompany me 

Aruji: What kind of place is that?

Berrien: Caliste bell tower is over there.

When I turned to the direction indicated by Berrien… I saw a tall bell tower

Aruji: [It’s quite tall]

[It’s a beautiful building]

Berrien: That is the tallest building in Caliste… At the top of the stairs, there is a place similar to an observation deck You can see a very beautiful view from there… Apparently, couples often visit on their honeymoon.

Aruji: That’s perfect for us now.

Berrien: Yes, exactly ♪ [Name]-san, would you like to go up with me?

Aruji: Yeah, let's go .

Berrien: hehe… I understand. Then, let me guide you.

Guided by Berrien, we head towards the bell tower.

- Caliste Observation Deck -

 - After a while -

Berrien: [Name]-san, thank you for your hard work. We arrived.

Berrien and I climbed the stairs of the bell tower…. We came to the observation deck. A beautiful white and blue cityscape with a cloudless blue sky… The soft breeze felt good.

Aruji: This is a nice view.

Berrien: Yes… Both the city and the sky are very beautiful hehe…

Aruji: What is it, Berrien?

Berrien: Oops… Please excuse me. Being here together with [Name]-san…  I couldn’t help but smile. The fact that Caliste has this observatory… I’ve known about it for a long time… If I have the chance to visit the city with arujisama… I wanted to go up to this observatory.

Aruji: Oh I see 

Berrien: This beautiful scenery… I wanted to watch it together with [Name]-san

Aruji: Thank you, Berrien

Berrien smiles as he says this, his hair swaying in the soft wind.

Berrien: [Name]-san, I… There are many places I would like to go with you. If the angels get destroyed, and the world becomes peaceful… I want to go on a trip with [Name]-san In a city far away… seeing and experiencing many things… Spending a fun time together… Summer in Velis, Maruta in winter… It would be nice to have a relaxing time If we go to the southern land… Samrus’s meteor shower, the festival in Daraja is a must see In the western land… I’m interested in the Night Cherry Blossom Festival in Slisia Village. The world that we saved… How happy I would be if I could look around together with [Name]-san That is what I think.

Aruji: Then, let’s make it come true.

Berrien: Eh…?

Aruji: [Let’s defeat the angels and travel around the world]

[Let’s travel together in a peaceful world]

Berrien: Arujisama… No… [Name]-san, thank you very much. Someday, definitely… Let’s definitely travel the world together. Velis and Daraja… Doll Town and Maruta… Rose Town, Tisailles, Rondine… Slisia Village, Samrus, and Caliste… The world we saved with our hands… Let’s go around together.

Aruji: That’s a promise, Berrien.

Berrien: Yes… Me and [Name]-san, a promise between the two of us. hehe… I wanted to make [Name]-san happy.. I even invited you out… On the contrary, I ended up being happy…

 - Exit of Caliste Bell Tower -

 - After a while -

We were discussing our travel plans at the observatory, but… It got crowded, so we decided to return to the ground. I took Berrien’s hand, and was escorted descending the stairs of the bell tower

Berrien: sigh… We finally made it [Name]-san, thank you for your hard work. Thank you for agreeing to my request.

Aruji: Thank you for your help.

Berrien: No, there is no need for thanks. As a butler, I just did what was expected of me. And, as of right now… I am your partner. As your partner, I’m sure…. I think we should hold hands, at times like this…

Saying that, Berrien… was looking down at our hands that were still connected.

Aruji: Berrien…

Berrien: What is it… Am I getting a little too carried away? 

Aruji: [That’s not it]

[I’m happy with Berrien’s kindness]

Berrien: hehe… If you say it like that, I’m glad. However, if this keeps up… [Name]-san is so kind that I feel like I’m going to get spoiled

Aruji: It’s okay to be spoiled

Berrien: Eh…?

Aruji: [Because we are newlyweds]

[Berrien is my partner]

Berrien: [Name]-san…

Aruji: [Berrien can spoil me too]

[Let me be kind to Berrien too]

Berrien: hehe… You truly are a kind person… I understand. Then… I have a request for you, [Name]-san. Please, for now… Can we please walk hand in hand? From here to the temple, we will pass along a deserted road… There won’t be anyone around to see. Me and [Name]-san… I want to spend more time like a newlywed. While we are outside, please… Let me be your partner.

Saying that, Berrien… He placed his other hand on our connected hands.

Aruji: [Of course, Berrien]

[I’ll be relying you as my partner]

Berrien: hehe… Thank you very much, [Name]-san Spending time with you together like this… I feel happy and my heart is full. Well then, let’s get going. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.

Berrien strengthened his grip on our joined hands a little… I too grabbed hold of his hand Without letting go of each other’s hand… We headed to the temple.

･──✽──୨୧──✽──･

Episode 2

 - Goddess’s Temple  Caliste-

 - A while later -

Berrien and I came to the temple. One of Caliste’s legends…. “Those who are given a bouquet of flowers at the temple of the goddess will be blessed with good luck.” Near the stage of the goddess’s temple… Berrien was standing there holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Berrien: [Name]-san. Thank you for your cooperation so far. Spending a peaceful day with you like this… Making a promise for the future… …It was like a dream for me. I want to move forward towards the future with an important person to me… I feel happy, being able to think like that… I was able to remember that.

Aruji: Berrien…

Berrien: [Name]-san. Please accept this bouquet.

Berrien said that… He handed me a bouquet of roses. The color of the roses are the same as the color of Berrien’s eyes…. It’s bright pink.

Berrien: The flower language of deep pink roses is “gratitude”. [Name]-san… Thank you so much for being our lord. Coming to this world and taking our hand… I cannot thank you enough. But someday… When the world becomes peaceful… At that time, please… Please take my hand. There are 12 roses in this bouquet… The 12 roses are called the Dozen Roses… It has 12 meanings. Gratitude, sincerity, happiness, trust, hope, love… Passion, truth, respect, glory, effort… And the last one…  “I promise forever.” [Name]-san, I… I am forever your butler. As a demon butler… I fight angels and mourn for my friends… Such is our fate… With you, I’m sure we can make a difference. Because you are certainly… You are my destiny. [Name]-san… Please, would you accept this bouquet? I will forever be… [Name]-san’s ally. No matter what, my heart… Will be by [Name]-san’s side forever.

Berrien said that… He looked at me with eyes of the same color as the roses. I quietly received Berrien’s bouquet.

Aruji: [... Thank you, Berrien]

[I can feel Berrien’s feelings.]

Berrien: Arujisama... hehe… I ended up calling you arujisama again… [Name]-san… Thank you for accepting my feelings. I, right now… feel very… very happy. To you, who is more important than anyone else… I dedicate my heart to you.

Berrien said that… narrowed his eyes and smiled.

Those eyes look so happy… There were a few tears in his eyes

 - Caliste Inn -

 - That night -

*knock, knock*

Berrien: Arujisama. I brought you some tea before bedtime.

Aruji: [Go ahead]

[Come in, Berrien]

*door opens*

Berrien: Good evening, arujisama.

Aruji: Thank you for the tea.

Berrien: Not at all. As a butler, it’s only natural.

Aruji: Speaking of which…

Berrien: Yes, is something the matter?

Aruji: [That way of calling is back]

[You called me arujisama]

Berrien: Yes, that right… Now that we are back at the inn… I cannot call the lord by their name However…

Aruji: …Berrien?

Berrien: Arujisama. Although we are not newlyweds… Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow… You are my destiny. Until the day when a peaceful future arrives… Please remember this. Even as the master of the demon butler… Even as only [Name]-sama… Even when the battle with the angels is over and peace has come to the world… I will forever be… An ally of the lord.

Aruji: [Thank you, Berrien…]

[I’ll be in your care, from now on]

Berrien: hehe, yes… Now, arujisama. Enjoy your tea before it cools down Drink some hot tea… Please have a good rest. And… Thank you for your continued support tomorrow. Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow… I will make you happy, arujisama.

[perlen-gold]

A MelkorxMairon story

An Angbang fic!

inspired by saintstars

(link to AO3)

“Come.”

They call me Great Death, the Constrainer. Black Foe of the World, Master of Lies. They say I am merciless and proud, atrocious, barbarous, brutal and ruthless, abominable and terrible to behold, wicked and vicious. They are not wrong.

 “Come,” I whispered, my voice a phantom of its earth-cracking thunder tracing across his heated stone-skin.

I imagined him adorned lightly. Onyx-black, ink-soft lace balming his skin. A hue of jewelry, the rings he so liked, fragrant with flawless gold.

Lose, the scarlet-crimsoned whisper of his hair, embroidering the tickling shadows about him, breathing with a faint, warm glow, lose, unbound, free.

Instead, iron and steel. Rather, I felt it was the blunt taste of metal humming beneath my fingertips., winter-gray and silver-cool.

Never had I hissed at the melody of cutting cold as he, freezing snow and whirling ice. Now, as I envisioned him in soft-light fiber and warmth-glowing fabric, I nearly did.

Instead, I touched upon the spiral shell of Mairon’s armor, inch by inch.

Enough work.

I almost say it.

I feel Mairon tense the moment the words soar upon my tongue. I think his bruises, sprains and scars, so carefully withheld beneath his armor, coil.

My own injuries are throbbing as the mountain’s heart pulsates.

On the tip of my tongue I finger two different syllables, then. I taste them, long and probing. They are not familiar between my lips.

Instead, I murmur, “Come.”

Then try, taste, whisper.

“Please.”

As I stroke the sounds, I feel the remnant scars of my wounds squirm and stretch.

Enough work. I had said those words before quite differently.

He had been absorbed in a long list of parchment, winding and dry, just like now, after an endless day of meetings and councils.

War is an ever-hungry machine that constantly must be fed and patted and attended to. Not I but Mairon is its master who keeps it ever roiling and toiling. Its needs are both endless and unending.

There are weaponries to be forged, armor to be hammered. Hosts of Orcs to be commanded, captains to be instructed, recruits to be trained.

Expedient though they are, Orcs make poor comrades in arms. Constantly squabbling, perpetually fighting each other for position or food or simply the lack of distraction or wit, they are ill-made for cooperation and it takes more than a whip to tame them. Fear might control them but it takes more to make them efficient, Mairon often says.

And efficient he makes them. Orcs and goblins have a natural aptitude for battle, their fighting is simple and crude nonetheless, Mairon often also sighed, and the imbeciles end up killing each other before they even learn how to swing an axe in an accurate arch.

Then there is food and rations to be retrieved and organized, routs to scout and news from spies and traitors to be collected and molded into benefits and advantages.

I knew all of this because Mairon had told me, complained to me of these things more often than I wished and, what was worse by far, even made me listen till I was fed up and bored beyond even my unyielding power. Oh, there was relentlessness in him that heeded neither my ostentatious disregard nor my sour mood whenever he pestered me with these trifles. I might have escaped, oh yes, but he would serve me thrice the tales of battlements in need of improvement, insufficient food resources and incompetent Orc armorers designing poorer battering rams when I hungered for the naked sheen of his skin.

I have always thought Mairon mercilessly vindictive beyond even my desire for revenge.

“Your army, my lord, needs attention”, he would say lilting as skittering pearls and with a tone so quizzacious I might seize his throat eventually which would make him laugh and brush the sweetest gasp against my ear.

Once, I sank my teeth into the tender rose-petal softness of his beautiful neck and he moaned softly into me while he enumerated all the little repairs needed for some dispensable outpost in such a shuddering, smile-curving little voice that I, smeared with his gold-liquor blood, considered biting off his tongue. It made his heedless smile curve even wickeder.

There had been always only one way to silence the brazen little creature.

And for a while he writhed and arched beneath me, trembling, mouth and body sealed, only to continue his speech in the fire-gilded afterglow of our bodies, his throbbing flame-heat and shivering legs still around me.

Oh, even my fell cruelty, which I thrust into him, could not match his own.

This time, however, it was different.

I say war is a machine but, in truth, Mairon is the machine that is war.

Like the rings he so loves for their boundless, immaculate symmetry, none of his designs or schemes knew either end or beginning and it was these endless, tedious things in his fingers around which they always snaked like wild adders eternally, perpetually.

And Mairon is just as endless and snaking.

There is no detail to escape his lidless mind’s gaze. No mosaic stone unset, no jigsaw piece uncontemplated. Every piece my and his spies gathered glides between his sizzling fingertips.

Not a single piece of floating ash is unknown to him. No trifling squabble crumbled under his high boots unseen, no minor sentiment of unrest skittered across his path without his notice. He weaves a single-minded Orc’s gripe into his hair when he rises in the crisp morning, he holds an outpost’s trivial failings in his grasp when setting the chisel in his forge and he slides a letter intercepted over his skin when he undresses in the evening.

I call him my little flame, and it delights his curving dagger smile, for he is neither little nor single-tipped flame.

My troops, on the other hand, my Balrocs and generals and captains and Orcs call him the lidless, sleepless, all-seeing eye. I might be the god they serve but one single gush of wind loosening a lone scarlet-gilded, fire-whipping strand of Mairon’s hair sends them scudding and scurrying as ants.

I did not, or barely, notice at first.

So consumed was I that it was only an irksomeness in the beginning before it grated at my attention, more and more.

Always there had been a piece of something on Mairon’s mind, a roll of parchment in his long-fingered hands, a whispered request in his well-shaped ear, another meticulously drawn map, another scouting route worked out, another keen-eyes report at his sharp-angled elbow.

It was as though catching an industrious spider weaving double the nets or spotting the arctic fox growing twice the pristine fur.

And yet.

I say I heeded not the change, at first. Yet, in truth there was something vexing me outside the range of my vision, like a buzzing fly my dragons cannot see yet not quite bait either.

When then, at long last, it woke me out of my razor-riven raptness, it was like a silent shiver running through the earth meeting a mountain, a cresting wave crashing against a sheer cliff of rock after building for weeks.

Ah, I had not known it had been there.

Suddenly, however, my ire raged clear and raw.

“Enough!”

Ah.

My skin prickling as the stagnant air before a storm.

My voice, having sundered heavens and cleaved continents, a lightning bolt lit.

Plans and maps, plans and schemes, schemes, schemes and plans! I had been surge-swelling with them like a river breaking its bed.

My captains and leaders, Orcs and goblins, their heads snapped around to my seat as if I had broken their necks. However, I was no longer seated. Why had I come to this counsel at all, dark creatures in my service startling and groveling? Mairon had stopped dragging me there long ago and I rarely obliged him when he did.

I did not take notice whether it was letter parchment or outline scroll I tore from Mairon’s hands. A shattering on the onyx black floor, I felt myself towering, looming with my mounting rage.

In the breathing space between us, him and me, my body was sparking at the edges.

Never had I, quite unlike Mairon, endeavored to control my wrath, unlike him who could mask the brightest blaze of anger like ash covers the still-glowing embers within.

Instead, I felt my shape rise and my all-seeing vision expand, fraying at the edges, burn with it.

Whatever it was that I tore from him crumbled into smoke and electric sparks under my hands.

And still he would not look at me.

Ah, there it was, the hilt and pike of my sudden temper which I was fingering like my warhammer, Mairon’s steady gaze still, still, still fastened on what he had been reading an instant before, parchment and scrolls and lesser creatures and, oh, everything without even once in weeks upon weeks and months uncounted looking up at me who was his master.

The fortress around us, the raven-black stone floor beneath our feet shivered with a ringing tremor.

I thought ages to pass but, in sooth, Mairon stared at the quivering remnants of what I had just ripped from his hands much longer while my rage sloshed and billowed into vastness.

Then, his gaze flared into mine.

It was as though a ray of morning light hit me, clear and spear-piercing.

His gold-crystal eyes were aflame as a crisp winter’s dawn. This was the only warning I was given.

I saw his transformation only in shreds ere Mairon lashed himself upon me, flame-gleaming fur and blaze-white teeth.

My wrath was sharp enough to wrap us both and Mairon’s teeth even sharper.

Fire cannot consume the mountain but it can sweep across, melt, mold and scar it beyond recognition.

Ah, and scar each other we did in our conflagration.

If any dark creature, Balrog or maggot Orc had been present, they must have fled for no insect lingers to watch whether slashing rains or whipping winds may triumph over the storm.

Had we been lesser beings, we might have easily slain each other.

Instead, the stone-blind walls around us gasped as we fought and parts of Utumno well-nigh collapsed under our rage.

When at last we both sank against opposite walls, the torches shook under our breaths as grass before the scythe.

My anger, however, fled as swiftly as it had come and his surely must have to.

The air tasted of stale smoke and departing thunder.

As we huffed, I expected him to limp toward me. Even lean against me, his inferno fury and my cosmic wilderness abated and washed away by the great tide of our fighting, leaving as brine-raw and satisfied enough to huff and touch each other’s wounds with well-practiced fingers softly and tender lips. I would have licked his wounds, and more, and his lips could have kissed mine till we shook from a different kind of fury and another quake came upon Utumno ere an unsimilar fatigue settled between us, and then we would have finally tended to each other’s injuries in a more lasting way.

What rags of his fine-woven garment had withstood his skin-changing were torn to shreds by me and fell from his bare skin.

Yes. I expected his sly smile dripping mockingly from his slyer lips.

Though rare, it had no been our first fight, after all.

As our breaths pooled in the empty counsel room, I saw Mairon rise to his staggering legs.

Instead, however, he left as abruptly as he had flared, limping.

He strode from my hall, naked, gold licking beneath the glowing soles of his feet, the hue of fire-lit blood in his whipping hair and gleaming skin the only cover to veil his lithe shape.

A single Orc stumbled from behind an onyx-carved column.

It stared.

And stared.

And stared.

And stared.

“Please”

The sounds touch queerly between my lips.

I feel my eyes, one of crystal-frozen ice and one of molten-moving magma, close against the silence of his shadow-hewn chambers.

There has been neither council nor meeting.

We have not talked since.

Mairon moves not.

My vision is obscured by the dusk of my own eyes.

The dancing darkness within me notwithstanding, I know his eyes, perusing the endless lines on the rustling scroll in his slender hands tenaciously, to have stopped, poised, on one spot alone.

Slowly.

Slowly my scarred hands begin to move.

Gradually, I touch upon what has been shaped unerringly by him. Layer by layer. Piece by piece.

I remember not undoing his or any other armor ever before. Haltingly, my fingers find few gold clasps sleeping beneath.

Iron plate and greave slither ceaselessly against each other, harness and chestplate.

I have never tasted, brushed my tongue against this creation among so many of his, immaculate in its deadly beauty as everything he invents.

But what my scorched hands find is not beauty alone.

Inch for inch, I let my scabbed finger pads slide over smooth plates of metal, one after another. Perfectly round circles of twisting iron, dark as night, black as a midnight’s dream. Slender-long gauntlets gliding sleekly against each other without the slightest hitch.

Polished, my charred fingertips find the glossy plates against his stomach.  

Not a nook or cranny on the metal stretching across the small of his back; neither scratch nor scrape beneath my quiet palms straying along his waist, down his iron-veiled flanks.

No plate hugging his legs, no piece of armor whispering, pressing against his thighs ever requires a drop of slick oil. I can feel it underneath my tingling hands. Not one part of metal will ever rub against its brothers nor bear mark or squeak. Like snake scales rising against each other’s fall.

As I wander him, a thought strikes me like a smiling fish in the presence of the diving king-fisher. That even Aulë himself would envy this. It is coiling perfection lured to making. It is usage spelled into fascination.

Another thought strikes my pricking skin, then. It is not what he has worn before.

My realization is another spell woven by the king fisher. When has Mairon created this new armor? It must have taken him an age of life to master it into being.

When did he do it? Where had I been?

But, of course, no beauty for Mairon without purpose.

I think, even Aulë will envy this.

It may be a day, it may be an age eternal till I draw his body against mine. Bare skin to skin.

Under my hands his armor is coming undone like a mountain peak, year by year, age by age.

I allow my gaze to fall on the graceful line of his neck then, note the lustrous strand of fire-lit hair that coiles around it. The smooth heel of his hand, aligned to the scroll, the tips hidden behind the faded yellow. The sharp angle of his left elbow, the serpentine line of his muscled back. The svelte shape of his ear, the cutting line of his jaw. All this, I merely graze with my gaze, light as raven feathers before I let the knuckles on the back of my fingers follow my eyes’ hushed trail.

Beneath, slashes and lacerations like gouges half-knitted, purple bruises and blood-cusped strains, half-healed.

Wroth and savage had been my violence, vicious and cruel his own.

I expect his skin, his body to be fire scolding, a blaze like a hurricane. My touch, however, evanesces upon contact with it as though one wraith reaches for another.

Somethings tugs at me then, strange-shaped and eternally coined.

He does not stir, does not move.

Still, his fire has not blazed my scarred skin. And still, Mairon’s voice of melting steel has not spoken to me.

I might pry into his mind, of course. What futility. Mairon has never given anything he did not offer first.

Last is his hair, bound tightly, wrought infinitely to the lovely shape of his neck. It is not in my nature to hesitate, not once, and like softest silk each flaming strand loosens between my stroking, combing fingers.

At last, my time is come to speak.

My eyes still veiled by the endless darkness of my own lashes, against the warm fall of his hair I lay my lips.

“Precious.” Murmurs. “It is enough.” Whispers, straight and firm. “Even you have an end to your flames. Even you must rest.” Murmers and whispers from my lips.

My darkness, a fortress. ”Even you must not be consumed by one thing alone in this world.”

Mairon stirs not. And yet, I feel it in the jolt of rigid muscles against my naked skin like a bow-string springing back.

I catch the thought he aims albeit he aims it not at me. It is the first time I hear his golden voice ever since I returned.

It is like laughter, only viler.

You are one to talk.

Around his naked waist and chest my hold tightens. In anticipation, perhaps, of another attack, wondering idly what other beastly form he might use, I look forward to whatever claws and teeth he will sink into me this time with a kind of grim satisfaction.

I palpate that almost-thought  of his idly, turn it around in my silent-grown mind seeking out its facets and angles.

His skin is cool silver light upon the parched flesh of my fingers despite the honed flames it shields within.

No beauty for Mairon without a purpose.

There.

Ah.

Here, at last. A morsel of truth.

Slowly. Gradually, I begin to comprehend. And yet, still, I understand not.

Long is the silence stretching between us, infinite as the darkened night sky, dull as the lessened moon shredded in wispy mists.

Slowly. Slowly, my arms’ force increases. Slowly, the hold of my embrace tightens.

Slowly, I force Mairon’s body around. Force him to turn. This is what I do and this is what I try.

Ah. Many are the minds and brains fooled by his appearance. He might shroud his viper shape in a robe of splendid cloth but I have seen the bare stretch of his arms and shoulders bent over the forge, his back straight and straining. The ones he seduces think him fair and beautiful alone, yet I have heard Orc sword masters threaten their fosterlings with Lord Mairon’s lust for challenge. His legs apart, sinews and muscles aglow in the sheen of the furnace. He would not even have to lift the hilt of his sword. Among the recruits, his physical strength is a legend told at night fire watches.

And with all his strength he is fighting me now, ah, what resistance against the strain of my arms around his back and sides, against my will to bind him to me, force his body around to face mine.

Vaguely, I am wondering once more if he will transform again, now, in this instant, to raise the amount of bristle and teeth and claws he can punish me with or if he will simply sink and dig his gilded nails and incandescent teeth into my flesh as he is.

Neither of us is speaking.

But this. This is more a fight of wills rather than a battle of physical force, and this once, this once in our eons of time, my will prevails over his.

I can feel him straining as his ember-honed cheek comes to rest upon my beating pulse. It is like holding a candle to my chest.

I feel the touch of his breath as warm as sun-lit honey on my chest, flecks of gold in it.

All at once, I am unable to remember. This. The wisp of his fiery hair. The width of his smooth brow. The length of his body, flush against mine. Unable. Unable to remember the last time I felt his gold-leaping warmth seep into my storm-cloud skin.

My injuries matter not. Their circling pain is forgotten like morning mists fracturing at the break of dawn. We move not and do not speak. However, this once, I will not let him escape.

Puzzled yet I am. Pondering. Wondering. I, Melkor, confess I fail to grasp his ire fully.

Would he envy another craftsman thus? Ah, I think not. Too proud Mairon is of his own prowess, too confident, too brilliant in his own skill.

Would he resent thus what he deems utter folly? He has stood and endured far greater whims of mine.

I know the fight to have seeped out of him, now. There is only the pooling of warmth, small huffs against my skin.

I am closing my eyes to darkness and stillness again.

Long is the silence stretching between us.

“Do with them as you please.”

At first, Mairon does not move.

Then, against the total blackness of my eyelids, I can see him stir. Rise. His head tilting back. His fire-honed gaze, at last, upon my face.

My hand opens for him.

They cannot burn me any more than their luminous light already has.

As I open my eyes, despite myself, my gaze falls upon them as splashing water from the sky.

Even before my eyelids lift, I know their lovely glow shedding light over my maimed, scorch-darkened hands. I know not whether Mairon’s eyes follow the lust of my eyes, become drawn and ensnared as mine. If not, I can neither examine it nor him.

Even now I cannot part my gaze with them.

If the moon had been carved into thirds in the bejeweled night, none of it, though born from that same radiance, would have glistered like any of them!

One sun-lit and citrine-hued, bright as sun-filled water. Vivid as the very heart of the earth the other, a thousand rubies aflame. The last, a brilliant, ever-shining, ever-pure, dazzling white.

Even now I am mesmerized at the luminosity of the first light, percolated through the incinerated cage of my fingeres.

Even Mairon’s light of fire-drunk gold almost dulled beside them. Almost.

This, maybe, is what makes me realize the flash of Mairon’s hand toward the blinding light.

All of a sudden, through the luminous splendor and breath-taking, sky-rendering incandescence, fear jolts through me like a thunder-spear.

No, I am no stranger to pain, not even to dread, the loathsome spider be cursed and all her descendants, but never has terror such as this seized at my hammering pulse.

The yell, the roar aimed at Mairon ignites in my throat as volcanoes erupt with spilling fire.

Almost as soon as it builds, I huff out a breath of absurd emptiness. Mairon’s supple fingers have gripped the resplendent silmarils long before my anger rushes in. Beneath his skin, like strands of his own hair, silk shimmers between him and the precious jewels.

Of course.

My chest almost tears with swallowed, frayed laughter.

Whatever rules Mairon’s black-sooted heart, greed is not a part of it.

His fiery gaze is thrumming into mine, the long-lashed gold of his eyes never once wavering to the wonders aglow between our hands. I imagine his wrist flick and a burst of radiant light clattering across the onyx floor.

Mairon’s voice is quenched iron, spitting with cooling water, “I shall cast them into the darkest sea, the deepest pit and highest sky.”

The fury of this world grows between us, gathers in the thunder lightning and earth-shading clouds, a fell music of drums and clangs.

It is arduous at first, cruelly laborious, to wretch my craving stare from them.

I can see Mairon’s eyes follow the length of my glance, the direction of my lusting breath.

They are magnificent in their effulgence, entrancing in their beauty, enrapturing in their unfathomable luster.

Long has the silence stretched between us.

Silently, I speak.

So you shall.

Mairon does blink. Now. Once. An eternity. Twice.

Finally, ultimately, I can see his gold-glittering eyes flicker toward the luminescent jewels in his hand, his gaze falling, cast down.

“I shall forge a crown fit for them and you, my lord,” he murmurs, lowly.

No love for the sea, the earth, the skies?, I think

“They are to be set in a crown by my hands already.” I speak aloud.

There it is, the sneer.

“It is like calling the elven child hoarding heaps of sand an architect.” Mairon returns, slyly as a minx.

Insolent creature, I think, letting the words flutter soft as lashes against his smile-honing lips.

“Not tonight,” I hum, drawing him closer still, pressing against his curving lips, “Tonight you are mine.”

I think, tonight I am yours alone.

Mairon’s limber shoulders rise as he lifts his hands to lay them along my face, his willowy fingers astir, roaming through my hair where there are caught the colors of the night and the light of fading stars. The light in his eyes is enough to blind and scar the whole world and everything that comes after.

They say I am merciless and proud, cruel and pitiless, tyrannical and spiteful, enviously, greedily, recklessly selfish beyond imagination. They call me Master of Lies, Great Death, Black Foe of the World. I feel giddy with delight when I think of it. It is all true.

Let them not see what else I am.

He, whom they call Sauron, whispers into my ear, his arched fingers woven into my shadow hair, his graceful limbs, the length of his pressing body pouring sun-lit heat into mine of melting ice and frozen stone, the smiling cheek of his lips thawing against my ear.

“You have yet to say ‘please’, my lord.”

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

10 days ago, I decided I would get started on that linen summer dress with the swooshy skirt I've had all the materials for since last summer. So, naturally, 9 days ago, I did unspeakable things in a text editor software to reformat this free Apex Legends Nessie pattern by Jackalodreams on Deviantadt so most pieces fit on less pages. Then I printed it at 200%, taped the pieces together and... Things got a bit out of hand.

Long story short, I've got a new purse, and it made at least three separate adults who saw it smile squeal in public.

Construction notes after the break!

I think it only took me an evening or two to make, the main thing was getting all the materials. Zipper is from a duvet, all other hardware, eyes included, are 3D printed with PLA. (Pro tip: don't size up safety eye STL files unless you have a way to size up your fabric thickness accordingly.) Patches are mostly from stash, as is the lining (just some random jersey) and belly fabric (basic double gauze). Body is a fuzzy blanket I found on clearance. Tag is a piece of cotton calico with some quick and dirty hand embroidery on it.

Getting the tag, zipper and D-ring caught in the butt seam made me fear for my little Brother sewing machine, so maybe don't do what I did there. I didn't have the patience to figure out something else, and I didn't not want to put in a tag. Still, all the fabric edges are finished, every seam is locked, the patches are sewn on instead of ironed on, so this thing, when empty, should be machine washable at 30°C.

This deceptive little beastie took an entire 400g bag of polyfill to get structurally sound, even with the pouch pre-filled with way more things than I expected would fit. It's a pretty practical size inside for everyday errands. It came out extremely squishy, to the point that I could probably use it as a pillow on a long drive or train ride. The different textures of eyes, patches, tag, body and belly go together nicely.

The shoulder strap was borrowed for about an hour from my wife's purse (thank you, sweetie!) when Hermes smiled down upon us and had us catch one market stall selling fashion straps that was several hours late in packing up and closing. (Lesson learned: drinking a can of Monster before running small errands is a good thing.) Don't have pictures of the new one yet.

It's the size of a medium-large plush, so not ideal for tiny stores while wearing a thick winter coat, but otherwise it did quite well on its first outing.

Just gotta attach the zipper pull with a jump ring, as the sewed on McGyvering I've got right now isn't the most practical.

[grey-and-lavender]

I'm a fat runner, here's what I would do if I wanted to start running.

I have been thinking about writing this out but held myself back. Then I saw some terrible takes on pinterest about "cardio gets enjoyable when you're thin" and I know there are people who think they can't run because they're fat, or they have to run for the purpose of losing weight.

This simply isn't true. Cardio gets enjoyable when you're in better shape. You can be in shape and be fat. I've run a 10 k and my 5k is faster than average for women and I still can't fit into some stores.

If I wanted to start running, regardless of size but especially for fat people thinking about it, here is how I would do it, given what I know now. Thoughts below:

Starting point:

Intervals are your friend! You can move for longer with breaks, and it will help you improve your cardio.

Get yourself to where you're comfortable walking for 60-90 minutes. Outside is ideal, but treadmills absolutely work (just give yourself an incline of 1 or 1.5 so when you do go outside you are used to terrain that isn't just flat).

You might already be comfortable with that, or you might be working on this for a while, and that's ok! Listen to your body. Depending on how heavy you are, especially pay attention to your joints like your knees and your hips. Running is hard on them.

Learn how to warm up before you move and then stretch after. Use this time to build up the habit.

Then we can start to learn how to run!

I would start with couch to five k (c25k). It's an interval program that says it will take 8 weeks, expect it to take 12. Don't worry if it takes longer, but aim for three runs a week.

It might take longer because you're busy, but also you should repeat runs and entire weeks if you can't do them or the runs are too uncomfortable. Repeating a training session so you improve your fitness comfortably is training smart and reduces your chance of injury.

Also do note expect yourself to be able to run 5 k at the end, but you will be able to run for 30 minutes. That's already a hell of an accomplishment.

Good playlists and entertaining podcasts are your friend.

Focus on keeping your form relaxed and in check. If you can't do it while in good form, you can't do it. That's ok! Start it again next time, or take a breather and start the interval again.

This is where you develop the habit of running and start to get into shape. Once you develop the habit, congratulations! You're now a runner.

After you complete c25k I would get nike run club.

I love a guided run, not everyone does. Even if you don't love a guided run, I recommend going through the "first run" series. These will introduce you to the types of runs that you should be doing.

Again, aim for two or three runs a week. (Three will keep you progressing, but one or two can keep you in shape in my experience).

Figure out what types of runs you enjoy. I love an interval run, but maybe you love a long run, or a tempo run, or a recovery run. You get to find out your favourite types of running! I love learning this about myself.

I've done that, now what?

Now you make your own goals!

The general rule is you can improve pace/time or distance/duration, but not both. Focus on whichever you want. I spent last summer focusing on distance so I could run a 10k in the fall, and this winter I've focused on pace to get my 5k time down.

Other thoughts

Improving your cardio is good for you! It means your heart will be stronger and this will help you long term. You do not have to improve your cardio through through running.

I run because I love running and I hate seeing people think they can't run because they are fat. You probably can.

That said; swimming is easier on your joints, so is an elliptical machine, cycling is great if you want to go far and see places, and walking is good for you.

High impact sports bras suck but have improved so much in the past 10 years alone. Sports bras are shockingly new pieces of clothing (barely 50 years old!) and are always getting better.

Bad runs, slow runs, and short runs are all perfectly valid ways to run.

[foxhopfics]

How the Squads, teams and ranks actually work in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare

The dissonance in tumblr users versus the actual branches of the military and how they've been written in fics.

Now, I'm very aware that's because no one here is an actual member of the SAS, and TF141 isn't real. So it's... not exactly like we've had the first hand knowledge about it.

However, I have noticed a lack of research having gone into understanding how the military actually works. The worst culprits are the people who've never actually played CoD, but to a degree, I've seen this in like 99% of CoD writing.

So, here's your OFFICIAL easy to understand guide to how the layout of the SAS and the British Military/Her Majesty's Armed Forces will Affect Your CoD:MW Fanfiction.

SAS:

All non-officer soldiers are returned to the rank of Trooper(Private) when joining the SAS, they then have to work themselves up again.

The 22nd Regiment SAS normally has a strength of between 400 and 600 men and is commanded by a Director-Special Forces of Major-General rank. While you may get ~125 candidates for tryouts, you're only going to end up with 10 new recruits who pass. Tryouts are held twice a year, once in summer and once in winter. A soldier must be a junior NCO to attempt, and only gets 2 total tries.

The regiment has four operational squadrons each consisting of 65 men commanded by a Major. Each squadron is divided into four 16 men troops commanded by a Captain and each troop is split into four patrols with each patrol consisting of four men, referred to as Alpha Company, Squad or Team, Beta Squad, Charlie Squad, and Delta Squad. Our boys from the 141 are part of the Beta company, which is why their callsigns are Bravo 6-0 (Price), B7-0 (Ghost), B7-1 (Soap), and B6-2 (Gaz, or B5-0 in '09) respectively. They are part of the normal British army, not the air force, despite their name being special air service. Where they normally are referred to in fanfiction as "tf141" which includes price, ghost, soap, and gaz. This is incorrect. What you're writing here is SAS Bravo Company, not Task Force 141

NCO, CO, DS, Sergeant, and Warrant Officers:

NCO- Non-comissioned Officer, or Enlisted: Ranked up from Private/Seaman/Airman. The "everyman", or basic infantry. Typically learns a skill and sticks with it (i.e radio techs, mechanical techs, vehicle mechanics, foot soldiers, etc). While any officer is a higher rank than a private, an NCO is never in a higher standing than a CO. After several years, they are eligible to become a senior non-commissioned officer (SNCO). This (NCOs) is who you're likely going to have working in the armoury.

CO- Commissioned Officer: "leaders" or "managers" from the beginning. Oftentimes completed a military degree (Royal Military Academy Sandhurst), or if not, was part of UOTC in college/university. Some others finish a degree and then attend officer training. They start as Lieutenants or Ensigns (navy) and often quickly rank up to Captain.

DS- Drill Sergeant: DSs teach Greenies/new recruits the Initial Entry Training (IET). They have their own Sergeant rank system that is separate from Sergeants. They must complete Drill Officer training to become a DS. Staff Sergeant, or a "regular" Sergeant, ranks up as an or NCO, and is in charge of infantry personnel, and doesn't really have contact with recruits (different from privates, you must complete IET to move from Recruit to Private).

WO- Warrant Officer: Higher than Enlisted, but lower than CO. Oftentimes keep their specialty skill, but without as much of the supervisor role. They come in as the "specialists" for things that the NCO's can't do (i.e complicated vehicle maintenance, machine overwatch, etc)

Ranks in the British Military:

NCO ranks:

- Private

- Lance Corporal

- Corporal

- Sergeant (Soap and Gaz)

- Staff or Colour Sergeant

- Warrant Officer class 1

- Warrant Officer class 2

CO ranks:

- Officer Cadet (officer school rank)

- Second Lieutenant

- Lieutenant (Ghost)

- Captain (Price)

- Major

- Lieutenant Colonel

- Colonel

- Brigadier

- Major-General (eligible to run the SAS)

- Lieutenant General

- General

- Field Marshall

So what does this mean for Task Force 141 and JTF Ghost Team?:

Task Force 141 was created by Captain John Price after Roman Barkov's death in MW1, but before MW2 as an international collaborative task force intended to tie up loose ends via Roman Barkov's associates.

It was approved by Laswell in the CIA and General Shepherd of the US Armed Forces.

Oftentimes TF141 is solely referred to with the British team which is where the confusion between Bravo Company happens.

TF141, while also consisting of Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, is still an international task force consisting of Laswell, Shephered, and Alex (American), Nikolai (Russian), Farah (Urizk), and Alejandro and Rodolfo (Mexican) and ultimately existed for only one purpose.

JTF Ghost Team: Formed by Ghost and Alejandro after they were betrayed by Graves and Shadow Company, believing not many could be trusted at that time.

It was made to flush out the corruption of Graves and Shepherd.

Member consist of: Price, Ghost, Alejandro, Gaz, Soap, Rodolfo, "Ghost 2-4 Pilot" who I suspect is Nikolai, Laswell, and a few freed Los Vaqueros.

[wuyi1551]

some thinking of Delicious in Dungeon paro

The following are all machine translations

Cinder fall

Race: Half-Elf

Age: 60

A half-breed of elf and tall man who was abandoned at a young age, she stayed for a long time in her childhood and was forced to be enslaved for a long time and did hard labour. Later, after killing the person who enslaved her, she started to run away, and during the escape, she got into trouble with a group of adventurers, but was forgiven by the leader of the group, the captain of the group who can do magic, and she adopted him. After being taught by the captain, she began to learn magic and grew to a young age. After being expelled for secretly researching black magic, she came to the labyrinth with greed and resentment, and tried to make a fortune by exploring the labyrinth.

Raven branwen

Race: Tall man

Age: 49

A woman who came to the labyrinth from the east, she is the youngest in the group, but also the one with the most experience. When he was young, he and his younger brother came from the East to this area for training and investigation. Later, he fell in love with a local teammate in the labyrinth, got married and had a child, and immediately regretted it. So abandoned her husband, daughter, teammates, and brother and went back East. Returned to the Labyrinth out of concern for her daughter, after having cleared her home of all threats to the family and taken over the area. Started a gang with her men around the labyrinth, met Cinder in the middle of it and was invited to join Winter's team.

Penny Polendina

Race: Goblin

Age: 53

She grew up with her adoptive father and researched mazes. She met Winter during her travels, and the two of them shared the same goal of researching maze magic, and kept in touch with each other through letters after they parted ways. Afterwards, he started writing letters to Cinder under a pseudonym during a pen pal exchange, and after seeing Cinder's life as an adventurer, he went to the labyrinth where Cinder was living to meet his pen pal, and later introduced Cinder to Winter and joined his squad.

Winter Schnee

Race: Elf

Age: 70

The eldest daughter of the family, originally worked in the Canary, but later realised that she had a deeper desire to explore the labyrinth, so she left the Canary and started travelling around to explore the labyrinth, and met Penny on the journey. During his journey, he reads a letter from his sister, which says that she wants to become a strong adventurer as well. He came to his sister's labyrinth out of fear for her feelings and found that Penny was there and decided to organise a team of adventurers.

[mimez-meme]

Todoroki headcanons❄️🔥

For one Halloween he dressed up as kettle, for another he dressed up as his dad but he regretted doing his dad because he got told ‘wow you look exactly like your dad!” Even tho he knew he was wearing a costume, it still hurt.

has asthma and he gets hyperthermia from his quirk 😼

Since i believe it’s canon that he’s fluent in English SOMETIMES he gets a free period when it comes to English, he mostly just chills outside. but his English grammar isn’t good and he can’t read or write in English so he does go to learn that (he can read some things)

Half blind in the eye were he’s got the scar

Use to wear eye contacts, mostly just on his blue eye because he doesn’t want to look like his dad whatsoever but now he doesn’t

His pain tolerance is quite good due to the training he went through when younger and the overall pain he’s been through his life. He’s described to ‘feel no pain’

Whenever he goes to an arcade now he always tries to win something for Fuyumi, it’s his way of saying thank you. And he’s surprisingly good at claw machines.

He defo laughs/lets out a little chuckle at Facebook mom jokes like “exercise I thought you said extra fries” or just dumb ass memes. Sometimes he sends them to natsuo and Fuyumi, if it’s a meme about hating your dad he’ll send it to endeavour.

Speaks his mind. Says everything out loud without meaning to. If you stink, he will say, if you did something wrong, he will say. (Unless it’s a secret idk) ect ect

Linked to last headcanon if you tell todoroki a secret, izuku and bakugo WILL know.

Once attempted to paint his dorm room but failed miserably, he was painted, not the walls.

Writes down everything on notes app, he even writes down convos sometimes.

Owns dumbass slippers, they look weird and don’t even fit him.

He hates sharing his food. He only offers to share when someone is upset because he doesn’t know how to comfort but if they actually take the food he will be more upset then the person (but not show it) also hates when people chew loud. It annoys the actual shit out of him, once froze a guy because of it.

When he learnt about Mario and Mario games he said “me and peach are alike. Always trapped, and forced to stay with someone you don’t like.” Or something like that idk. Or when he watched frozen for the first time and related to Elsa. Hates zoos for the same reason. he says/thinks the animals are like him. Trapped in a place we’re they can’t get out, forced to eat certain things or the same thing everyday. Trained to do things.. ect. He wants to set free to all the animals.

Always seeks approval from someone before he does something and that’s mostly on trauma.

When it’s summer he sweats easily and ALOT even if he uses his ice side to cool him down. when it’s winter he gets cold easily but he can warm up.

When he got a phone it become a.. kind of escape for him. He can’t use it very well, but he uses it to distract himself from the world when needed.

Has one plushie from childhood. He hates it but loves it. He keeps it hidden in his dorm, and hugs it at night sometimes.. likes to think it’s his mother or something.😗 it was the only gift rei got him but it was after she burnt him so it was a way of saying sorry.. todoroki didn’t really like that

He does not know what love feels like. He didn’t even know he could have platonic love before having friends. He doesn’t know what romantic love feels like so he will never know when he’s inlove with someone but he’s kinda glad it’s that way because he doesn’t necessarily want to be in a romantic relationship because he doesn’t want to be like his father. He finds love confusing.

Because he didn’t use his left side (fire side) for ages due to not wanting to use his ‘fathers’ quirk. Once he started using it again, he got burns and he wasn’t the Absolute best at controlling it. But because he did go through alot of training as a kid he did know what he was doing, just forgot how to apply some of it (if that makes sense.)

Linked to last headcanon. Since he lost some control over it, he was scared on what his father would think if he saw that so he began to overtraining himself again. He wants to not care what his father thinks, he wants to just not care in general. But he can’t help this fear that’s inside him. Izuku noticed this and began to help him and he talked to him.

Only likes cold drinks.

Not use to physical praise, or just praise in general. When present mic patted his head for the first time for doing well in a test he was confused and didn’t get why he was hitting his head but he also kinda liked it, so whenever he does something right in English class or does well he expects a hadpat from present mic or even asks for one. Same thing happened with aizawa but with a hand on shoulder or something like that.

Autistic but isn’t diagnosed yet. But aizawa and present mic has tried to talk to endeavour about it.

Thinks bakugo is his best friend for no reason. Calls him ‘bestie’ and ‘best friend’

Trauma dumps randomly, he doesn’t really mean to but he does. He does it in a funny way tho. For example he was at midoriya’s and inko was making them tea or something and todoroki said to izuku. “Don’t worry izuku. I’ll be here if your mum tries to burn you. Wouldn’t want you to experience that.”

Never celebrated any holidays until he came to UA he was so confused when everyone started celebrating random days, but he started liking them.

Doesn’t understand emojis. If you sent a “😭” to show that you are laughing or something he would be like “why are you crying?”

Use to walk people’s dogs for money and use to send that money to Fuyumi/his siblings

Has sensory issues, hates tight clothing, stuff around his neck (he doesn’t mind necklaces) ect

He doesn’t take fantastic care of his hair but it’s always majestic looking, whenever someone asks what he uses he just says “water.” (He doesn’t just use water but yk)

Views iida as a brother. Sometimes his brain makes him out to be natsuo, sometimes Touya.

Always goes shopping with the girls.. but he just carries their stuff.

He has an animal that reminds me of each of his friends. He sometimes call them by that animal. For example izuku is bunny, bakugo is Chihuahua, momo is horse ect ect. When he calls his friends by the animal it comes off as rude since he can be like ‘horse come here!” Referring to momo😭 but he’s told all his friends so they know. He doesn’t do it that often tho.

Acesexaul and aromantic, unsure if gay or not.

[gsirvitor]

The Battle of Kapyong

The Battle of Kapyong is one of Canada’s greatest, yet least-known, military achievements.

For two days in April 1951, a battalion of roughly 700 Canadian troops (the 2nd Battalion of the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry Regiment) helped defend a crucial hill in the front lines of the Korean War against a force of about 5000 Chinese soldiers.

Besieged by waves of attackers, the Canadians held their position amid the horror of close combat until the assaulting force had been halted and the Canadians could be relieved.

Their determined stand contributed significantly to the defeat of the Communist offensive in South Korea that year.

The 2nd Battalion of the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry Regiment (2PPCLI) arrived in Korea in December 1950, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Jim Stone, a Second World War veteran.

The battalion had initially been deployed when the war was quieting down, with North Korean forces being pushed across their border back into the North.

The Canadians were prepared for little more than carrying out garrison duty.

The war was subject, however, to wild swings in momentum.

Stone quickly had his men trained up to fight with other forces against what would become a renewed enemy offensive in the spring of 1951, after China entered the war on the Communist side.

The battalion was attached to the 27th British Commonwealth Infantry Brigade.

It was soon thrown into a series of skirmishes and battles in the winter of 1951, learning how to fight on the harsh, hilly terrain of Korea, as UN forces tried once again to remove the Chinese and North Koreans from the South.

In mid-April, the Chinese withdrew just past the 38th parallel.

This was part of a plan to lure UN forces into a position where they would be vulnerable to a major counterattack, which was unleashed on the South Korean army on 22 April 1951.

The South Koreans were dislodged by the Chinese offensive, and the following day the British brigade was ordered to protect the South Korean withdrawal through the Kapyong River valley, about 20 kilometers south of the 38th parallel in central Korea.

2PPCLI and the 3rd Battalion of the Royal Australian Regiment were assigned forward hilltop positions, the Canadians on the west side of the valley and the Australians on the east.

The Australians bore the brunt of the initial attack and after heavy combat were forced to withdraw, with 155 casualties, late on 24 April.

While the Australians fought, Stone ordered his Canadians, about 700 troops, to dig in on Hill 677 and prepare to repel a large brigade of massing Chinese forces, estimated at nearly 5000 strong.

After attacking the Australians, the Chinese turned their attention to the PPCLI, which managed, through heavy all-night fighting on 24 and 25 April, to stop the Chinese advance.

At one point in the battle, 400 Chinese soldiers descended on a single Canadian company of roughly 100 men, but the attack was repelled.

Private Wayne Mitchell, despite being wounded, charged the enemy three times with his Bren gun.

He earned the Distinguished Conduct Medal for his efforts.

The Chinese launched most of their attacks at night, in successive waves, using an intensive and aggressive approach of mortars, grenades and machine gun fire close to the Canadian front.

On the night of 24 April, the Canadian battalion headquarters was attacked, and the assault was repelled with heavy fire.

The relentless waves of Chinese soldiers almost overran the position of D Company.

With his men securely entrenched below ground, company commander Captain J. G. W. Mills, desperate and overrun, called for an artillery strike on the position of his own 10 Platoon.

He relayed the request from Lieutenant Mike Levy, who was hunkered down with his men in shallow foxholes on the hill.

A battery of New Zealander guns obliged, firing 2300 rounds of shells in less than an hour, destroying the Chinese forces on that position.

Though the barrage landed just metres from Levy’s position, he and his men were unscathed.

Levy wasn’t recognized for his bravery until 2003, when Governor General Adrienne Clarkson granted him a coat of arms.

The following night, Private Kenneth Barwise recovered the lost Vickers machine gun position in D Company, grabbed the gun, and ran back to his platoon.

He had also single-handedly killed six Chinese soldiers during the attack on D Company, earning the Military Medal.

Amid the fighting, Stone refused to allow his men to withdraw, as he believed the hill was a critical strategic point on the front.

This stemmed the tide of the Chinese offensive.

While they defended the hill, the Canadians were cut off and had to be supplied via air drop.

As Canadian soldier Gerald Gowing remembered:

"We were surrounded on the hills of Kapyong and there was a lot of fire. We were pretty well out of ammunition and out of food too. We did get some air supplies dropped in, but we were actually surrounded… that was a scary moment, let me tell you."

The 2PPCLI were eventually relieved on the front line by a battalion of the 1st US Cavalry Division

The holding action of the Australians and Canadians at Kapyong allowed the UN forces to consolidate their troops for the next stage of operations.

They had fought tenaciously against a Chinese army with a force several times their size.

Stone, and other veterans of the Second World War, utilized their experiences fighting on the rugged terrain of Sicily and Italy, and applied it to the hills of Korea to good effect, but at a price.

Ten Canadian soldiers were killed and 23 wounded during the battle.

Australian losses were higher, 32 killed, 59 wounded, while the Chinese force suffered an estimated 2000 casualties.

[oneturiankindofwoman]

Shepard Questionnaire

I didn't get tagged by anyone, but I saw a few different people do this questionnaire for their Sheps, and I decided I wanted to give it a go for Audra. I'm not sure where this originates from, but if you search "Shepard Questionnaire" you'll see other posts :)

Audra Shepard

Alias/Nicknames: N/A

Gender: Woman

Age: 32 (ME3)

Zodiac: Aries

Abilities/Talents: Homesteading (gardening, cooking, canning, sewing, general handiness, animal husbandry, etc.); survival skills; tech (hacking, encrypting, coding, some engineering); biotics; diplomacy; marksmanship/sharpshooting (pistols and sniper rifles, specifically); trained combat medic (knows trauma care and first aid for all Council species); scouting; combat tactics and strategy; has a natural talent for language-learning

Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

Religion: Agnostic, and struggles with the conflicting thoughts/feelings she has on the subject—on one hand, she hopes there’s an afterlife, that there’s some sort of meaning to life; on the other, if there is a higher power, then it is (in her mind) responsible for all of the pain she’s been through, and she’s not sure if it’s worse to have a cruel and/or indifferent god or no god at all

Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

Languages: English, French, Galactic Standard 

Family: Christopher Shepard, father ✝; Anna Shepard (née Arnaud), mother ✝; Audra Arnaud, maternal grandmother ✝; Paulette Gauthier, godmother (I go back and forth about whether Paulette survived the raid on Mindoir or not)

Friends: Garrus 💙, Liara, Miranda, Tali, Kaidan, Wrex, Thane, Samara, James, Joker, EDI

Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated

Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red (coppery ginger) / black / other

Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other (hazel)

Skin: pale / fair/ olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

Height: 5'10" / 178cm

Scars: Before ME2, she had a scar cutting through the arch of her left eyebrow as well as a small scar on the right side of her top lip, both from injuries sustained during the raid on Mindoir

dogs or cats / birds or bugs / snakes or spiders / coffee or tea / ice cream or cake / fruits or vegetables / sandwich or soup / magic or melee / sword or bow / summer or winter / spring or autumn / past or future

Five Seven songs that remind me of them (because I couldn’t narrow it down to 5):

“Simulation Swarm” - Big Thief

“Girls Against God” - Florence + The Machine

“Careful” - Paramore

“Andromeda” - Weyes Blood

“Which Witch” - Florence + The Machine

“Space Song” - Beach House

“Last Words of a Shooting Star” - Mitski

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading :) Tag me if you do this for your Shepard!!!