#but is all the same an honourable man and a good soldier and a good leader

[altschmerzes]

That Aragorn and Faramir fic idea you mentioned sounds really interesting! There's so many layers involved in those two and those around them, and it sounds like a concept you would really have fun with!

THANK YOU it’s so clear in my mind honestly. this moment in that in-between space where aragorn either comes to find him or runs into him and has the chance to talk with him for the first time - say, you know, it’s an honour to meet you. your brother spoke of you with great pride.

like. the kind of person aragorn is would be really fascinating to watch faramir figure out how to handle tbh. this is Thee Literal King, and he’s also the type of person who looks at the people around him with warmth and appreciation at all turns, who puts himself on the line beside them, who is compassionate and interested in people and like. offers people his respect. pretty much regardless of who they are, until they prove they do not deserve it.

and for faramir, who has been. well. look at all he’s been doing in pursuit of his father’s respect, his father’s love, all entirely in vain. and what came of it. he’s just narrowly survived an attempted murder/suicide, after the first time he was sent to his death for the crime of being the wrong son didn’t quite get him all the way dead. just mostly there. so he’s been suffering and bleeding and dying for the good opinion of the central authority figure in his life to absolutely no avail. and here’s the king. the literal whole king. who’s never met him before, and is now seeing him in this sorry state. who offers his good opinion freely and without hesitation.

i SIMPLY think there’s so much potential in that dynamic and i want to poke at it SO bad tbh

[impactedfates]

Hi hi I'm feeling so cruel right now >:]

So uuuh HCs for DH[IL], Jingyuan, Blade and Welt reacts how does their child [reader] dies... Like imagine how reader dies is like how the Genshin Playable characters die [they dusted away]

Please feed me a n gst

—🫶🏻 Anon

★ A/N: The way the reader dies reminds me of how one of my ocs species dies lmao. Hopefully this is up your ally :))

☆ Genre/Trope: Platonic + Familial + Angst

★ Format: Bullet Pointed HeadCannons (It kinda turned into a mini story I think-)

☆ Warnings: Mentions of Death (Readers)

★ Extra: Adopted reader in all // Reader is under 12 for Dan Fengs, and in their teens for the rest // Giving Jing Yuan more of a sad life/hj // Wrote this in WellBeing class lmao // Characters may be OOC

Dan Feng as a High Elder doesn’t always have the time to really see you. Sure when he first adopted you he did spend a good chunk of his time with you but eventually his duties caught up.

He appointed someone to look after you. Someone that you knew and that he knew. Someone trustworthy.

So when he came back to his home early one day, the house dead silent. He grew worried. He called out to the person, to you. But there was no response.

He walked to your room, perhaps the both of you fell asleep. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But all he could witness was dust covering your room. And the man no where to be seen.

He knew instantly where that dust came from, he was quick to search for him. Found him hiding thinking he could get away, unaware that Dan Feng would be home early, unaware Dan Feng would catch him.

The man he had trusted to protect you, was the same man who ended the life you should’ve continued to have.

Dan Feng was quick to throw the man in the Shackling Prison, praying to whatever Aeon that can hear him that he gets what he deserves.

He collected as much of the dust that was still in his house, the last thing that he had of you. And carefully placed them in a jar.

Many question the High Elder why he holds a jar of dust so dearly to him, and all those times he refuses to answer. Not wanting to break down in front of the other Vidyadharas.

It was only a mission, a mission he sent you and Yanqing on. He had thought there were only a few Mara struck soldiers that had to be defeated.

He had wondered why Yanqing slowly entered the Seat of Divine Foresight without you. He had wondered why Yanqing was breathing rapidly and on the verge of tears.

Jing Yuan comforted Yanqing before asking about your whereabouts. Perhaps you were getting snacks after a successful mission? Yanqing could only try to explain in a shaky voice, clearly startled and upset.

But why would he be upset? You were his adopted sibling and was usually so kind to him. You wouldn’t have done anything to hurt him?

Yanqing tried his best to explain, stuttering over his words and needing to take a few deep breaths, the General listened carefully.

…Ambush? Well…Jing Yuan supposed he made an error in that. He only thought there were a few. Wow, if you and Yanqing didn’t know about that then you could’ve been caught off guard and…

Oh!

Oh…

Jing Yuan quickly connected the dots, he slowly held Yanqing closer, witnessing his own sibling fall to the hands of the Mara struck then be faced with dealing with the remaining enemies…he couldn’t imagine the stress.

A ceremony was held in your honour. Your dust already gone away like the wind so your memories will follow as he sends multiple starsciff at with gifts.

But he’ll always remember, he’ll remember the regret he felt that he couldn’t do anything nor could he have seen that an ambush would occur.

He wished he could’ve done something.

Are you dumb or something??

Blade could’ve taken that hit. Why’d you have to take it!?

He would’ve been fine. He wouldn’t been okay, a relief would’ve washed over him even though he knew he’d survive.

So then why did you have to take the hit that was meant for him, and leave him in a state of rage?

He quickly disposed of the pests that caused your demise, before trying to check on you. But all he could do was watch as your body dusts away.

He tried his best to grab any dust he could but most went with the wind. All he could do was stand there questioning why you would do that.

He said he’d protect you. Everyone else in the Stellaron Hunters were busy so he had to take you with him when he did his part. Yet it ended with you gone.

There was a small ceremony for your disappearance from the earth. Elio as much as he may not want too, he continued sending people on missions however allowed Blade to opt out of them he could properly mourn.

Blade still wonders why you decided to save him when he would’ve been fine, he wonders if he’d be able to save you if he noticed the enemy creepy behind him.

It was just a small argument. Welt felt bad but allowed you to storm off. You’d return eventually anyways. You’d return once dinner was ready back at the express, you knew what time that was.

But you never did return did you? Welt had thought long and hard and was ready to apologise for his words yet you weren’t back yet? Did you get dinner then go to your room?

He went to check, your room was the exact same you left it.

Did…anyone see you come back? He questioned the members of the express. None have seen you.

Finally he grabbed his coat and cane and went to look for you. Went in the direction you went and searched. As he walked his foot stepped in something. Looking down confused, his eyes widened.

Golden Dust. Dust that he knew belonged to you. Dust that told him you were gone.

And he wasn’t able to tell you he was sorry.

Welt is silent as he walks back, he let the wind take your dust elsewhere. A place he hopes you’d be happy in.

He was quiet but able to tell the express what happened. Each of them holding a small funeral for you. They kept your room intact, filled with things you loved before locking it. That room will no longer be filled with warmth but will soon grow cold.

Welt drew a picture of you, keeping it safe with him. And despite how it may seem that eventually he was over your death. He could never be.

Not until he was able to apologise for the argument.

But that won’t happen anytime soon now will it?

This was actually rlly fun to write!! Especially in well-being haha. This was meant to be posted yesterday but something came up so here it is now haha.

Might've missed some warnings, so as always. Please inform me if I did.

[blingblong55]

Money, Money, Money- 141 X Reader X F1

Based on a request:

Idk if i can put in two requests but please. PLEASE I fucking love f1 Give more cod x f1 I dont care who and what and where, i just need more fics like that Thx for everything bestie(Feel free to ignore) --- GN!Reader, 141 x reader x f1

So I must leave, I'll have to go To Las Vegas or Monaco And win a fortune in a game, my life will never be the same

The fame, the women/men that wanted you to date them, and the adrenaline, are all worth it and all possible if you drive in Formula 1. Twenty of the best drivers in the world, all in ten separate teams, every other weekend for 23 times a year you race around the globe to become the desired World Champion of that season. There was something that was missing, your friends, the military men you met years ago when one got lost and they ended up finding you.

"R/N!" Soap called, running to you for yet another exciting weekend. They were home from a mission and all seemed to be in a good mood. Ghost and Gaz even made sure to bring their caps to support your team. Soap played the role of the boyfriend so other women/men would not bother you. Price made it look like he was your father figure and Gaz and Ghost were always suspected to be your siblings or best friends. Of course, Ghose became loved by your fans, a man who wore a cap and a black surgical mask had become attractive to them. He never cared for it, would sometimes give the camera the bird and soon they learned to never show him again.

The four men had become your luck charm, the drawings of a bar of soap, cap, skull and a bonnie all on your helmet for every race. In a way, they became the second family whilst on the road. It was nice, you got to keep real friends close and have fun and good memories with them.

Soap for some reason played the role of your partner far too well. Suspicions amongst drivers and the media grew as the time went by. Truthfully, if he was your partner, he'd be as supportive as he is now. Maybe even more. Some of the other drivers need police escort whilst all you need is your best mates. Race after race, they would either hear your answerphone or you'd be on screen pointing at your helmet, your four drawn luck charms on it.

This race was one you were looking forward to, the Brazilian GP. All honouring the late Ayrton Senna, the favourite driver in Brazil, Hamilton and rooting for your two current rivals, Verstappen and Sainz. By Tuesday, you met up with Price, he was alone, which was weird. Soap was usually the first hug of the day. "So, where are the rest?" you kindly ask.

"Getting some rest, they had a rough flight." a lie he told that you believed. In truth, they had used this visit for a mission, most people would be focused on the race and that meant they had time to execute some mission. You believed him because the only lie he had told years ago was that they were just pub mates on a weekend out, never that they were trained soldiers who happened to be in the elite military force that is known as SAS. Brutal, strong and agile, that is who they are, not pub mates.

As the day went on, Price disappeared from sight. Instead of the usual welcome lunch they'd have with you, you walked around the paddock, wandering like a child.

Hours went on, but no text or call. Just a greeting from the answerphone, "It's me, just leave a message." But that's the problem, you never left a message, They knew how nervous this race was for you, Soap would always answer but why not now? You needed his usual comments, the banter Ghost gave and the shoulder pats Gaz gave you.

Somewhere in the country, the men executed their mission with absolute perfection. Few bruises and scratches, nothing new except this time they lied to you, if it wasn't for their mission to be in Brazil and your race to be happening at the same time, they would have not shown up. They'd be elsewhere, fighting for a good reason but not visiting you at the track. Gaz felt awful, having to lie to his best friend about what he was doing, even after them confining in you about what they do for a living, they still wouldn't and don't expect you to actually understand their reasoning for not telling you about this mission.

There you were, on the big screen as you answered questions over the best qualifying session you've had all season. They sneak in, trying to pretend like they didn't just kill the enemy and its soldiers.

"A perfect qualifying, what do you say to that R/N?" the interviewer said. You sigh in contentment, "Yeah, well it is amazing to have had such amazing times at each lap, I'm sure the team and I will want to keep these numbers and maybe go faster for tomorrow's race." You say and most of the crowd cheers in agreement. Soap should know but this time around he is lost, how great was your time? Did you go for pole position or are you just in the top three? Gaz definitely feels like a bad friend, not there to actually watch you like he always did.

After each qualifying, you'd greet them, run up to them and hug them but because you thought they weren't there, you just went towards the team and hugged them. From a distance, the men saw you celebrate as if they never existed in your life. It was them who you were supposed to hug, them who you should run up to. Soap was supposed to pat your helmet and you'd complain about it later.

Usually after the hug, you'd greet fans then the usual interviews or meetings with the team would take place. It wasn't until after 8 at night that they saw you again. They learned that you broke a new record for the team. Your speed was impeccable, and they weren't even there to witness such a memorable moment for you.

A/N: I think I went off my original idea to this...sorry

Tags: @agasawit

[finelinevogue]

distant promises

summary - Bucky has been on a mission for a long time and you miss him

warnings: insomnia, long-distance relationship, swearing, Christmas sadness (only slightly)

pairing: boyfriend!bucky x reader

word count: 2k

Bucky had been gone for 6 months now.

He was currently on a mission in the French Alps, taking down some military base that had connections to HYDRA. The mission meant a lot to him, not thanks to having been tested on and tortured with over a multitude of years. It had taken him a while to be comfortable with who he was and rid himself of the Winter Soldier. You could see him coming accepting himself for who he truly was more each day. He wasn't afraid of who he was anymore and it was an honour to have helped him through that. 

It was currently 1 in the morning and you still had yet to fall asleep. You had been finding it harder and harder to fall asleep as the months went by without Bucky. It certainly didn't help that you were taking extra shifts at Starbucks, in order to pay off some debts you owed to banks and Bucky. 

Bucky kept telling you to cut back on the shifts and let him pay off some of your debts you owed him too much already that you couldn’t justify anymore. 

So insomnia it was.

You honestly couldn't think of what you'd done to deserve him.

You honestly couldn't think of what you'd done to deserve him.

Turning in bed to check your phone, you started scrolling through your Instagram to like photos on your dashboard. There were some pictures of friends who were out clubbing, singing Christmas songs at the top of their lung. There were also some celebrities posting magazine shoots and as always there were the cat accounts that you religiously followed.

You were scrolling and liking for about ten minutes before you had an incoming call from Bucky.

"Hey Buck." You sounded surprised that he'd called you. Normally it was too risky to call since he didn’t want anyone to track his phone and give away his location, but here he was.

"Hi babe." You could hear the smile in his voice.

"What's up?" You asked as you snuggled further under the warmth of your fresh, clean, duvet.

"I saw you were active on Instagram, but I know it’s really early morning where you are so I just wanted to make sure everything is okay?" 

Knowing that Bucky kept tabs on what time it was where you were was just one of the small things he did which meant a whole lot more than anything his money could buy you. 

"Yeah everything's good.” Buck stayed silent as you answered, knowing there was more to it. “It’s, um, just that I wish you were here with me." 

"Oh darling, I miss you so much. I promise you it won't be long before I see you next." Now it was your turn to remain silent. "Y/N? Please don't cry darling." 

“Sorry.” You sniffled, getting yourself worked up over something so trivial.

"Hey, no. Don’t apologise. I have to go really soon love, but I'm not going to hang up until I know you're alright."

"No need to worry about me Buck. I'll be alright." You tried to say as happily as possible, but you knew Bucky would catch on that what you were saying was far from the truth. 

"Babe, you know I worry about you constantly." He laughed.

“Like literally ALL the time.” You heard Sam shout in the background, making you laugh.

"Is Sam there?" You asked Bucky.

“Yeah. Y’wanna say hi?”

"Mhm." 

"Y/N I can’t deal with this emotional softie anymore." Sam said without a hello.

“Emotional softie? Are we sure we’re talking about the same man?” You teased Bucky, knowing that he most likely had you on speaker phone.

“The bionic-dude right?” Sam made himself laugh and you heard a grunt from what sounded like Bucky punching Sam. You rolled your eyes over their stupid playfulness, before Bucky came back to the phone.

"Yeah, that's enough of that.”

“Surprised you two have kept each other alive.” You laughed to Bucky, eyes feeling heavier now that you’d safely heard from him.

“Barely.” You shuffled again in bed. “Okay darling, I have to go now. As much as I don't want to I'm gonna have to love you and leave you. Just promise me you'll try and get some sleep?"

“As long as you promise to come home for Christmas.”

"I promise." 

“Then I promise too.”

"I love you." Bucky just kissed the microphone to make it sound like he was really kissing you. You kissed yours back and you both stayed on the phone for another minute as you wrapped up your goodbye, before you attempted some better sleep.

•••••

Needless to say, when you woke up the next morning you felt awful.

There was still no surprise Bucky waking up next to you. There was a lack of smell on his side of the bed where he should be sleeping. There was no mess on his side of the room or whistling from a silly tune he’d make up. 

It was going to be another day without him and with only a few days until Christmas, you were starting to lose hope on spending it with him. 

Your scheduled alarm went off at 7am for your morning shift. You aspired to open up your own cafe one day and so you wanted to get the knowledge of how business operates and be able to tackle customer experience first hand. That’s why you worked in Starbucks. You were also taking an online degree in finance and business, to help you for when you open your cafe.

You got ready by putting on your black jeans and the Starbucks t-shirt. You threw on your basic vans and grabbed your bag before going out the front door to work. Starbucks was about a 30 minute walk from your shared house. Normally Bucky would drive you, because that's the gentleman he is, but because he hasn't been here you've been walking to work. It’s mostly a pleasant walk, but you hate having so much time to yourself and your thoughts.

Your manager told you that you'd be managing the shop floor today, meaning you had to give all the employees individual jobs, whilst help make the drinks and also be in charge of the tills’ money. It was going to be a stressful, but worth the experience. 

Plus, anything to keep your mind off Bucky and how he was doing

It had been about 2 hours into your shift and you'd managed to get through with no complaints, so you’d given yourself a break. You weren’t feeling hungry just yet though, so you just got a cappuccino and went into the back office for your 20 minute break.

Not even 3 minutes into your break one of the employees came in.

"Hi Y/N. Sorry to disturb you but there's a customer out front who wants a manager to complain to." 

This was a reason why you didn’t want to be a manager all the time, because you were really bad for getting upset when someone shouted at you. 

"Ok. Thanks Nina. I'll be there in 2 seconds." You wiped your hand around your mouth to make sure there's no froth left behind and then went back out front. "Nina, where are they?" You asked her, as you couldn't see anyone obvious who looked like they wanted to complain.

"Umm..." She scanned the room. "Oh, that gentleman sat by the window over there." She pointed to a man who had his hoodie slightly pulled up and was looking out the window. 

Walking over, you wiped your clammy hands on your red apron because as much as you put on a brave face sometimes social interactions gave you anxiety. You took a deep breathe before being prepared to get screamed at. Why anyone would want to scream and shout this close to Christmas you didn’t understand. Where was the Christmas joy? 

"Hi. I'm Y/N. My colleague said you had a complaint?" You asked politely. 

"Yeah I just wanted to complain that this cup of coffee is not nearly as good as the one that my girlfriend makes at home. So, why is that?" He turned around to you and took down the hood from his head and sunglasses off to look directly at you.

You took a step back, reaching for the counter to support yourself from fainting in disbelief.

Bucky was in your Starbucks making a "complaint".

You covered your face with your hands as you sunk down to the floor crying. You were so shocked that he was actually here that you didn't even know how to act. He laughed at as he stood up from his chair and slowly walked over to where you were crouched down on the floor.

You stood up and looked around to see customers and colleagues smiling and Nina was filming the whole thing. "You knew! Oh for fuck sake!" You cry-laughed, as you pointed at Nina.

"Surprise?" 

You just shook your head. You could hear Bucky laughing at the whole situation - a laugh that you'd missed more than you'd allowed yourself to believe.

"Do I not get an ecstatic run, jump and a hug from my girlfriend?" Bucky joked, holding his arms wide open for you to be engulfed in.

"You're a knob!" You joked at him, shaking your head because you couldn't get over he was actually in front of you.

"Sam said you'd say that!" 

You slapped your hand on your forehead when you actually realised what was going on. "What the actual fuck? You're really here?"

"I'm worried it's taken you this long to realise it, darling!" His arms were still wide open. 

You laughed as you ran and jumped into his warm and loving embrace. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, whilst he wrapped his arms firmly around your waist to support you from falling. You started to cry again whilst inhaling his sweet cinnamon scent. He just smelt like home. "I'm going to have go on missions more often if it means I can surprise you like this!" He said, but you were too busy crying over the fact your best friend was back in your arms.

"You're actually here." You whispered into his neck.

"I am, love. I am right here." He whispered back to you, pressing a multitude of kisses to the side of your face. "I'm always going to be here." You didn't care that he was being the stereotypical smushy boyfriend, right now you were just glad you were back with each other.

You let each other go. Bucky wiped your tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie and kissed your forehead.

"I've still got like 2 hours of my shift left." You said, wondering what he's going to do now.

"Yeah, fuck no. I spoke to your manager and she was more than happy for you to go home early. With me, obviously." 

"Really?" Your eyes lit up over the thought of spending the rest of the day glued next to him.

"Let's go home and get some well deserved sleep for a change." He took your hand and squeezed it, just once more for reassurance that he was home with you.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Contains canon-typical violence

[When another Peacekeeper takes you for a lady of easy virtue, Coriolanus goes to defend your honour. Exemplary gentleman! Or something to that effect...]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Saturday night, mid-July. Despite the late hour, the air is warm but refreshing compared to the scalding daytime. A soft breeze carries an aroma of weeds and freshly mined coal. The streets of the town are filled with people - lovers and workers alike. Their whispered conversations and light-hearted laughter is drowned out by the booming music coming from the local bar. Truthfully, who in this weather could take a rain check on a cold beer?

The bar is bustling with life. The floor is shaking, boards creaking, as a mob of tipsy people is dancing their troubles away. Tomorrow and its anxieties a mere ripple on the water - unimportant, insignificant. The Covey is playing an encore, one of many that evening but the repetition doesn’t seem to bother the bar’s patrons. Their merriment continues undisturbed.

The same can be said about you and Coriolanus, at least for the most part:

You’re sitting with your backs turned towards the stage. A silent reassurance from Coriolanus that he is, in fact, over the songbird. Although you’ve never doubted his honesty or loyalty, he felt it only proper to let everyone know there’s a certain pair of eyes focused on only you at all times. Whatever that may entail.

Perhaps if you weren’t so emotionally invested in the obnoxious market quarrel you’re re-telling Coriolanus, you’d notice that he doesn’t look at you in the way one would expect a man in love to gaze at the lady of his heart. No, there’s something much more intense and downright sinister in the blue of his irises. The cognac in his glass is left untouched. Snow appears strangely animalistic as though he is nothing more than a predator waiting for a perfect opportunity to pounce on his prey. Perhaps if you weren’t blinded by love, you’d realize you’re an exotic, colourful butterfly hovering above a famished sundew. A matter of time, one could say.

In any event, all of your attention is on Coriolanus and the same could be said about him in some way - the part of his brain that is not lost to his primal fantasies with you as the main character is consumed by your entire persona. That is, until something, someone, gets between the butterfly and the sundew.

"Then a silence,” you continue your story. Considering the tension in your voice and the spark in your eyes, you’re about to retell the highlight of the drama. „She’s red in the face, absolutely seething. Her entire dress in drenched, she’s reeking of smoked fish. The guy, God bless his soul because he’s definitely going to need a miracle after this, he reaches for a-"

One of the Peacekeepers interrupts the climax of the story as he almost falls over. Stumbling and swaying, his much-unneeded drink spilling out of the glass, he grabs Snow’s shoulder to find balance. Despite leaning against Coriolanus, the soldier is still moving from side to side. If the air inside the bar wasn’t stale already, you’d probably be able to smell all of the liquor he has consumed.

"Private Snow,” the stranger drones his words, clearly struggling to form a coherent sentence, "has found us a barracks bunny! Good on you, Capitol boy.”

Time seems to slow down as you watch in horror what happens next. Coriolanus jumps to his feet. Not a word or even a growl of warning leaves his mouth. Taking a generous swing, Snow hits the man straight in his jaw. Something cracks horribly. The power of the blow makes Coriolanus lose his footing for a short moment. When he’s standing on his own, he’s quick to reach down for the soldier.

Snow lifts the other Peacekeeper by the man's collar. Coriolanus is angry enough for his body to shake.

"Don't you fucking dare talk to her like that," he growls. Before the drunk soldier has a chance to beg, plead or apologize, his face is hit again. And again. And once more - for good measure.

Finally, you grab Snow's shoulder and pull him off the battered man. Reluctantly, he stands up. Fury is burning inside his eyes. He’s about to say something when the bartender yells at the two of you and throws a dishrag:

"Hey! Out of my fucking bar!”

You tug at his hand and he doesn’t put up a fight. Snow’s eyes linger on the beaten-down soldier for a while longer. Pondering. Some less civilized part of him is considering breaking free from your hold to finish the offender once and for all. That aspect of his nature, however, loses to reason and Coriolanus gives up his taste for revenge. For now, at least.

The night air is refreshing. It feels as though the smell of wildflowers and coal is shaking you awake, instantly sobering you up. Despite the town being far from silent, it feels unbearably quiet without the dancing people and the singing troupe. You let out a deep sigh.

"I’m sorry.” Coriolanus is the first to speak up.

You turn around to look at him. His eyebrows are slightly raised and you almost believe his faux remorse. The look of satisfaction in his eyes gives him away completely. "You’re not.”

Suddenly, his doctored display of regret disappears. Even better - a grin curves his lips. "Yeah, I’m not.”

Coriolanus lifts his hand to reach for your jaw. Then, you notice something strange about his knuckles. Blood. The flesh between his fingers is torn. Red, irritated skin begins to swell and grow hot to the touch.

A high-pitched gasp escapes your lips. "Coryo, your hand! Let me-"

"It's nothing,” he answers in a stern voice. Coriolanus pulls his arm away when you try to grab it.

"Nothing?!" you repeat in disbelief. "You're bleeding!"

"Hey, look at me,” he says as he holds your face between the palms of his hands. Snow’s blue eyes pierce yours, making you feel like he’s suddenly privy to the deepest secrets of your soul. Considering how much time he’s spent studying you as a whole, he probably does. "It's nothing. Really. Just a scratch, nothing more. I'm going to be okay.” His expression changes from serious to more mischievous. Coriolanus lets out an airy chuckle. You feel his thumb gently brush against your lower lip. "You should have seen the other guy."

You can’t help but laugh too. As cliche and ridiculous as it sounds, someone did just got into a bar brawl to defend your honor. "I don't want to look at that man ever again in my life."

"Good,” Coriolanus whispers. His hot breath brushes against your flushed cheeks. "Then keep your eyes on me."

"With pleasure.” You giggle against his lips. He seems to have little regard for the fact that the two of you are still in public. Coriolanus kisses you deeply, almost desperately if he was humble enough to describe himself with such a word. "My knight in shining armour,” you say in an overly dramatic tone.

Coriolanus tilts his head. He stares at you with a mix of superiority and amusement. Silly, little butterfly that thinks the sundew is just another pretty flower. "A knight in shining armour is useless."

You furrow your eyebrows. "What?” you ask in confusion. "Why?”

"His armour is shiny only because it has no scratches,” he answers. There’s a sense of thrill in his voice. The sundew impresses the butterfly. "He’s never seen battle. He’s a coward,” he spits the word out with disgust.

Snow’s words make you nod in agreement. He has a point. A knight in a shining armour is a greenhorn at best and a wimp at worst. But if the knight’s armour is scratched and indented, he knows what he’s doing. The hero has seen war and came out alive. Not many can boast with that achievement.

"Then I sincerely apologize for your armour is, indeed, scratched, sir Coriolanus.” Gently, you hold his hand and kiss it right below the bloodied knuckles in case they’re too tender to touch without causing pain.

And what a beautiful sight it is - the butterfly joyously sits on the sundew.

___

Hey guys! I want to take a moment to sincerely thank everyone who has reached out to me in the past week. Although you’re Internet strangers, it really means a lot to know that people care. I’m doing alright but it will probably take a while to adjust to the new reality. Now whenever the cat is meowing at seemingly nothing, my mom says „She’s walking around”. As nice as it sounds, I truly hope She’s not looking over my shoulder, watching me write a romance fantasy about a walking red flag of a man.

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART V

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,238

Warnings: dark themes, violence, death and mention of cannibalism

Summary: Your pride and loneliness gets the better, as you choose to pry in what you should avoid.

Desecrated.

It's tender to the touch. Bruised. The simple trace of your finger is enough to draw a frown. The mottled skin of your throat is obvious. A terrible site to bare witness, but there's more; a scattered mess mares your body.

The powders have no affect in hiding their existence, and so you resorted to covering them with fabric. It's better the people don't see. It's better your father and kin don't realise the damage of only one night. If they did, they might not leave you here, and the point of all this would be for nothing.

A waste.

You've come this far and you've survived. It's not for anyone else but for you to decide when it ends. It could be weeks, years or even decades, but you know this marriage is worth more than your life. It means a future for thousands of others, if not millions.

Turning from the mirror, you nod for the servants to continue dressing you. The early morning marks the hour of your fathers return to Caladan. He and the others are set to leave this planet, and you want them to leave with hope and pride.

Honour.

You aren't going to dress like your new people, nor will you ever behave like them. The void of their culture won't ever touch your soul. Instead, the servants prepare you in one of the gowns bought from home. A statement both daring and bold.

"Is it time?" you question, to which the servant nods. She's the very same to whom had once adorned the bruises you do now. For reasons unknown, you had taken a liking to the woman. "Good."

Taking a deep breath as you left your chamber, you couldn't help but yearn for what freedom you might find outside these walls; if for only a short time. If only to see your father depart this abysmal world. Gathering yourself, it was only your lone servant who guided you through the palace and up to the hithe.

The dark star that cloaks this planet bore light, and you wince as it floods your gentle eyes; having been weeks since you'd taken in anything other than the artificial. Even the air is harder to breath despite being outside; far too poisoned with fumes.

In the distance you see the great ship to which you'd arrived in, still gleaming unlike anything you'd ever seen. A beacon. There's very few in the galaxy who have or ever will travel the vastness of space. In fact, the first time you'd ever done so was to bring yourself here.

"I didn't think you would come," spoke your father. Standing in uniform, he greets you well kept but with a face of despair. The loom that surrounds him is heartbreaking. "I didn't think you would want to see me."

"Then you think too much," you replied with a faint smile. "You're my father - my duke. You're an honorable man who deserves to be farewelled."

"An honorable man wouldn't trade his daughter to the enemy."

His words hit you like a bullet. Painful. The surrounding noise grows overwhelming to the senses. Hypersensitive. You can hear the ships, the soldiers and even the planet itself resonating from all-round. Even the wind across your face feels strange.

But as you look at your fathers rugged face, see his familiar eyes and features, you feel the noise fade away. You can see the burden he's carrying. You know this was as difficult for him as it is for you. It isn't fair or right for him to keep carrying it.

"There is no call we do not answer," you repeat in mantra. "We do what we must for the good of the people." Resting a hand on his shoulder, you give a light squeeze. "We do what we must to survive."

"You're strong, just like your mother," he nods with a chuff. "You always have been."

Stepping forward, he places a soft kiss on your forehead and your eyes close amidst the threat of tears. You want to remember him as he is and as the kind-heartedness that he represents. Steadily breathing, you absorb his gentle touch and scent; to which you won't soon forget.

"We'll see each other again," he promises with a touch of your cheek. "I'll make sure of it."

Nodding your head with a mustered smile, the duke straightens himself before taking a step back. There are no other exchanges as he moves to make way for the ship. It's a quick farewell, anything more would be too difficult; too emotional.

"My lady," utters Gurney. Stepping forward, he takes your hand to lay a quick peck. "As a man of your fathers council, loyal friend and protector, it pains me that my only power now is to wish you well."

"Fate is a complexity, is it not?" you jest upon looking at your retreating fathers form. In all seriousness you added, "You'll protect him, won't you - and Paul?"

He pauses, "With my life."

"Then there's nothing to fear," you mutter beneath your breath. A rush of relief washes your bones, perhaps a premonition. "Thank you, Gurney."

Giving a curt nod, he bid himself goodbye before following suit to board the ship; along with the rest. Watching alongside what few soldiers and groundmen there are, you waited by until the doors ceiled. The tender strings in your heart tug at the site.

Loneliness is cruel.

Yet, a shadow looms on the metal floor of the platform. Piter. The mentat appeared from seemingly nowhere, and to your irritably, is the only one of any importance to see your father and people off on their long voyage.

"Where are they?" you question bluntly, not bothering so much as to look at him. Your eyes are still sharply focused on the starship. "Why didn't they come?"

In truth, it doesn't matter that your new family by law had not shown for the occasion. They hadn't done you the courtesy of it upon arrival, and so what little there is to have changed in their humiliation. You only ask in leu of the open wound it now salts.

"Pressing matters," spoke Piter. "The Baron's time is precious. It's best not to waste what isn't so clearly desired."

"And what of Feyd-Rautha?" you queried whilst turning to face the mentat; heated eyes meeting cold ones. "Is his time as coveted?"

"The answer isn't pleasant."

"I didn't ask if it were pleasant."

"Take the day," retorts Piter as he looks out towards the horizon. "This is your home now - you should see it."

The anger within your veins begins to boil. It vexes you that this twisted man won't simply answer what should be the simplest question. It causes your mind to tick, wondering what it could possibly be to make him so reluctant; secretive.

"Do I have to pry it out of you?"

The threat did nothing to change his monotone demeanor, but you can tell he'd heard you well and clear. A break of silence fills the void between you, until finally there is no more effort for him to conceal the truth. He confesses with a neutral tone.

"Prying only leads you to places you shouldn't be," he states before glancing at your servant. "But this one can show you the way."

Glancing over your shoulder, you eye the woman; head bowed low. Piter stays while you take your leave of the hithe. You'd expected him to be stronger, but his words of warning begin ring. Perhaps he's right to stave you from the trail you now follow.

"This way," utters your servant.

Following her lead, she moves at a slow pace; an evident lack of urgency. The reason is an evident one. Venturing into the palace walls and traversing the halls, the farther you travel, the more you studied the lithe and pale woman.

The muscles in her neck twitch and strain ever so subtly. A sign of distress. The way she grips her hands together, so tightly, as if she were trying to cling on, only makes you all the more intrigued yet disturbed.

"Where are we going?"

Keeping her head bowed she responds, "We're almost there."

The answer is hardly clear enough to process. Empty. The abundance of riddling and vague responses you've received only adds to your tart aggravation. It's baneful, with how the Harkonnen's have polluted this place with such fear and secrets.

A terrible infestation.

Eventually, the servant stops outside that of a chamber door; similar to your own but far removed. This place is located deeper within the palace, if at all possible. You can see her milky skin prickle and shiver beneath her thin dress.

You order, "Stay close."

Swiping a hand over the console, the door opens wide; revealing a bright illumination as it beams down from the ceiling. As you step forward, your shoes click against the glossy ground whilst the door close from behind; entrapping the two of you.

The channel of light strikes down upon the epicenter of the room, clearly irradiating the psychotic man you'd been seeking; although he's far from alone. As criminal and dangerous as he may be, his blood still belongs to great wealth.

Feyd stands within the down cast of light, muscular arms outreached while servants attend to his requisite. In a warped sense, his marbled pose and aura makes you think of an something akin to ancient; like a god from the old world.

A god of death.

The other servants are quick to stop and turn heads at your unexpected arrival, but Feyd remains unbothered. Evidently, there's not a soul on this planet for him to fear. However, his attendants have paused far too long for his liking.

Feyd turns slowly, clearly agitated at whomever had decided to enter his domain. His sharpened features don't soften upon realising your presence. Instead, he looks you up and down rather analytically.

He rumbles, "What do you want?"

"Respect," you answer simple and low. "Honour."

Feyd's lip twitches in a slight grimace and snarl. It's enough to show blackened teeth, to which you still find utterly unsettling. Feyd waves off a servant, before turning his undivided attention towards you; malicious.

"Honour," he repeats as he stalks towards you; one step at a time. "For who? For you?"

"For us both," you respond as he circles behind you. "The empire watches - waiting to see what will happen next. Now all they see is you - absent from the honour my house was due this morning."

"You Atreides," he drawls with a grumble. A flutter of feminine giggles echo from the far corner of the room. "You're all the same."

Feyd moves from behind you, instead leading himself to a table. It gave you a chance to take in the room. The servants stand predictably petrified, while three others sat lounged on a booth; the strange women are intermingled with one another.

"Would you like some fresh meat my darlings?" he boasted, whilst lifting a knife from the counter. It took you all of a moment to realise he's no longer speaking to you, but to the women on the lounge. "What would you like? A lung? A liver?"

Their own blackened mouths show in a mixture of smiles and grins. Deranged. Their giggles and moans visibly shift the tension. The other servants seem to faulter on the spot; their heads tucking lower and bodies tremoring.

"You," he leers at your own servant. "Come."

"No," you quip without hesitation. The last thing that'll happen in this room will be his hands touching the woman who stands so vulnerably behind your body of protection. "She isn't yours to torment."

"Everything's mine," he replies while approaching his nearest attendant.

You watch the girls lips quiver and eyes widen as his blade thrusts into her abdomen; once, then twice and again. She groans and splutters whilst falling to the ground in a matter of seconds. Butcher.

A pool of blood seeps as he turns to add, "Even you, Atreides."

The violent execution shocks you deep within, and control is hard to fight for as your emotions take hold like a vice. You're trying not to scream. You're trying not to react as to give him satisfaction. Instead, you watch as the girl continues to die, his victim twitching and suffering on the floor; dying then dead.

"There," he gestures matter-of-factly. "My honour."

His reasoning makes no sense. It's all madness to you. Murder. Lifting the dagger, he observes the blood which coats the blade. Transfixed. The gleam in his wicked eyes is unmistakable, but the gravity of it even more so, when his tongue licks a line of blood.

"Because of me," he elaborates. "My darlings are satisfied. Because of me, they're to live another day. There is honour in being master."

Your gaze flickers from him to the three women who sit intertwined on the lounge. It sounds as exactly as he'd announced, but you simply don't want to fathom the truth. These are fowl notions, even for the likes of his kind.

It sickens you more than the memory of his touch.

Listening to the women revel amongst themselves, they seem clearly pleased with their masters slaughter and offering. Feyd gestures and the others are swift to drag the fresh corpse from site; leaving a trail of smeared blood.

Concubines and cannibals.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Saheb, Bibi aur Ghulaam

#2 Monta Re

For the lovelies who are celebrating IPK to its finest @arshifiesta

Character. Gentility. Obedience.

These were the jewels of being an honourable woman and Khushi Dasgupta had none of those.

Her character, a question ever since she was born out of a wedlock between a British soldier who never returned and a Bengali singer who never sang again. The only thing she had left was her extended family who reluctantly gave their name to her and her father’s hazel eyes.

Her gentility was nowhere to be found for she was to be often found at pro independence speeches or singing revolutionary songs. Her mother’s talent was the last thing she inherited. It is said she had driven off at least seven suitors with impeccable terrible grace, off key singing and barely controlled tongue.

Obedience was what her family tried beating into her. But perhaps it was her aunt’s gentility and selfless, guiding hand that Khushi obeyed her family as a debt owed to to the kind woman.

She took the effort to recount the love story the city never saw.

Shashikala never approved her sister’s decision of singing. Yet when Ganga Devi Burman took the stage by storm, she had no option but to smile. Especially when she fell right off the stage and landed into the arms of a British soldier - Lt. Kennedy Watson.

If it hadn’t been for the summer tan, Ganga would have never found him appealing. Definitely not for his hazel eyes nor for his flawless understanding of Bangla and its literature.

After all, he was born in the same city as her.

At first Kennedy fought with the feelings he felt for Ganga for she pushed him to unlearn the imperial love for his country if he wished to love her. Then he fought for the land he was raised in as opposed to land he was taught to worship.

The first day Kennedy returned bloody, with a rebellion in his eyes that Ganga saw in her revolutionary brothers eyes - she gave her heart, soul and a kiss-

This is the part of the story of the story where Khushi always giggled, making Shashikala shush her before continuing, continuing to stroke Khushi’s head on her lap.

And then, Kennedy did propose to Ganga. They had planned a long wedding. One Christian to honour his God. One Hindu to honour hers.

This is where Shashikala would end the story for the wedding never happened.

It was tale as old as time. Just when everything good was about to happen, the opposite occurred. The imperialists were not happy to find one of their own defect. He disappeared without a trace, leaving Ganga, their child and love without a name.

Khushi hugged her Mashi (aunt) even closer. Despite the tragic tale being her favorite lullaby, even as an adult, she could only hope for a love as strong as her parents.

And hoped to be a human as kind as her Mashi.

— — —

Things changed dramatically as Shashikala Mashi passed away due to an early sudden heart attack.

The house grew colder, the perceptions of her more apparent, and her burden on the financially strife family heavier.

Khushi had to be sent off. There were three other sons to marry and two daughters to be married off.

The man who arrived with gifts at her doorstep to relieve the Dasguptas of their burden neither promised a love story like her parents, nor kindness like her aunt.

Sharp eyed, broad framed, wealthy and the heir of the Mullick family - Shyam Mullick was here to find a second wife in Khushi.

Dread settled in her stomach as her relatives seemed pleased with the money in front, even though the man seemed at least twenty years older than Khushi.

Or that he was already married to the Anjali Rani Tagore. The finest lineage, and a pool of infinite wealth, wisdom and beauty.

Khushi ran up the stairs. She had to run. Run as far as her two legs could take her. Where did she make a mistake? When did that man see her and fancy her? Was her relatives so eager to dust her off their hands?

“Oh Maa, bachao amake,” Khushi prayed to her Goddess and ran through multiple roofs.

Except one gave away and she fell straight into someone’s arms.

She opened her eyes and stared into the strangers face. Brown eyes, clenched jaws, perfectly shaped lips and a gaze that set her heart fluttering.

Was he a prince?

But since when did princes dress up like an English babu?

The sound of hurried footsteps broke them apart. Khushi turned red, her skin flaming up at where his fingers touched her skin.

Gently, as if she weighed a feather, he set her down. Worry returned to his face and he seemed to have aged in an instant.

“Arnob-da…” a man panted.

“Ei boka, kotobar bolbo Arnav-da doesn’t like to be called Arnob” another said.

Arnav glared at the two men - probably his househelp?

“I know where he went.”

Rage filled Arnav’s eyes. And without another word he stormed out.

— — —

The monsoon storm died out overnight, leaving Khushi to enjoy one of the last things she could - a small ride on a ferry across Hooghly.

Her protests against the marriage fell on deaf ears. If anything, her ears still rang from the slap Pishimoni gave her.

Shyam Babu offered to assist in Payal’s marriage. Why was he so intent on marrying Khushi? What did Khushi even do? How did he even get to meet her?

“O Maa,” this time Khushi touched the holy Hooghly river, “please help me,”

The ferry bumped into the shore and Khushi collected herself to step out when,

“Tumi?”

“Aapni?”

Khushi blinked at Arnav. Standing tall, this time in not his entirety of a tailored piece suit, just in his full length shirt, suspenders and pant - he took a keen look at her.

Khushi touched her cheek. Did the slap leave a mark? She fixed the edge of her saree. After a moment alone, she spoke.

“Sorry, you must want this boat alone,”

“Are you going to the other side?” Arnav asked. Khushi couldn’t help but feel that she was being studied. She nodded.

“OI, TARATARI-” the ferryman swallowed his hollering as Arnav shot a glare at him.

Khushi didn’t know what happened when he boarded the ferry. Except that the ferryman must have taken his anger out on by moving it away before Arnav could fully stand.

Leading him to fall right on Khushi.

Khushi prayed her eyes didn’t reveal her secrets and desires. And prayed that he would be unable to read anything at all.

She scrambled to sit up and sat horrified at the red on Arnav’s chest.

Did she kill him?

“Oh this bloody pen!” Khushi sighed in relief at his curse and his discomfort over a broken red pen. The ferry rocked out of nowhere, splashing him with water.

Khushi could spy a devious smile on the ferryman’s paan stained lips.

Arnav let out a colourful string of words as he attempted to wipe himself, leading to the ink to spread more viciously on him.

Khushi burst into laughter as he got completely worked up.

Oh it had been years since she laughed this hard.

— — —

“Laughing suits you,”

Khushi laid awake all night. The depression of her impending wedding not settling in for the three words he said.

And the thousand he didn’t.

He saw the slap. And she saw the tick in his jaw. The questions he refrained himself from asking. The stories she refrained herself from telling.

Khushi tried sleeping, these days of Durga Pujo were peace. She could try running away for real.

But with whom?

Khushi’s heart twisted into knots as a face became clear.

Without a full name and more than twenty words exchanged, Khushi saw more hope in a stranger than a suitor.

Oh dear, none had a more foolish mind than of Khushi Dasgupta.

— — —

A/N: omg thank you for all the love before! Let me know how you liked this chapter 💕 (also sorry not proofread!)

Tagging some lovelies here @chutkiandchotte @barshifan @laadgovernorandsankadevi @laad-governess @shiyaravi @msbhagirathi @phuljari @hand-picked-star @aye-masakalii @featheredclover

[5-7-9]

(Disclaimer: i am ignoring every part i found stupid or unnecessary. Also i have a picture limit 😔)

Duke obviously met Batman/Wayne first but I’m skipping that. So he met Alfred secondly, in an uncharacteristic particular way. (As much as I’m confused as to why Alfred, someone who’s against Bruce being Batman would employ child soldiers himself, and I believe in the self motivated movement of children, this is technically canon).

Alfred made a deal with Duke to do vigilantism and he’d help him do it (he also promised to help find his parents but Duke managed it himself). Alfred saved WAR from an Owl assassin with a tank. WAR was very distrusting of being lead by a mysterious man, so they eventually stopped listening after they stopped a school shooting Alfred ordered not to. Eventually Duke reveals he figured out Alfred’s identity, linking back to Duke’s puzzle solving trait. Now the Robins: Dick’s first interaction with Duke is him chastises children wearing his symbol. Dikc, speaking like the truly privileged man he is, acts like WAR is childish for trying to help out. Now, is WAR irresponsible? Yes. Solid advice although ominous. It’s just extremely impersonal to their feelings and lives and motivations.

Since the first interaction Duke ever has with the other Robins, it was Damian that had a very particular dynamic. Damian hated the We Are Robins movement.

If you don’t already know, Damian’s primary characterization is his insistence that he must inherit his honour. One of primary reasons why he takes up the Robin mantle is because he believes it is his right to do so.

Another interesting dynamic was Jason’s and Tim’s reaction to WAR

Notably, Jason Todd was fully on board for WAR on the basis of it’s outside influence from Batman. Understandable considering Jason’s tense relationship from Batman, and his anti-hero status. Tim Dranke on the otherhand, doesn’t have any say to WAR’s existance, as his opinion is interrupted by mentioning Dick’s plot. Or more likely, he doesn’t have an opinion to comment on, which is why he only mentions facts of like the location of where the Robins are.

Again, Jason Todd is extremely supportive of WAR and Damian is not (inbred is a bit much 💀). But Tim Drake still insists on trying to better understand the WAR children, taking a neutral and outsider understanding of the situation. Tim does not support WAR immediately. In fact, despite Tim’s insistence to understand WAR, he never gets the chance to.

This the last and only time Tim ever even tries talking with WAR, during a sneak in. Apparently he couldn’t have done this during his time training the Robins, but doing it while working is fine. His terrible conversation starter gets interrupted, and that is the last and only time Drake ever tries connecting with WAR. Apparently monitoring their private lives was not enough information, all he knows is somebody can play the piano. So much for trying. (Tom King wrote this part tho, so I feel he was supposed to be the one to make it happen, which didn’t happen, so Tom did a horrible job). (I’m ignoring the scene where Tim downplays Izzy because Izzy was OOC).

Dami beat up the WAR members and agitated them into battle. Another show of Dami’s honor culture, but what was so fascinating was how Duke and the WARs fought back to prove themselves although not wishing to fight.

Skipping to when Dami and Duke get captured, they funnily enough get put into the same cage as Duke insults Dami in his mind while having a reasonable outer dialogue which i found fun.

Despite the weird court of owl part, Duke’s dialogue was a great way to finish off the tension between the official Robins and the WARs. Duke realizes how personal Robin is to Dami, how the symbol is not just about justice, but the ties to Batman it comes with. Y’know what Duke does? He cuts it off. He refuses to sacrifice himself to become a symbol.

They end off on good terms after that. With Dami reclaiming the title of Robin (and WAR’s disbandment), the conflict is gone. But I think it’s worth noting just how much Dami’s influence on Duke’s view of Robin might’ve been. Being Robin kinda sucks. So out of pity, Duke realizes Dami needs some loving support.

(Not a batfam kid but she was in here and I’m working by chronological order). Kate and Duke have a small interaction but they definitely met. Plus I think Duke was retconned to have known Luke through his dad and I think that’s a great addition.

Skips ahead where Jayson seems to train with Duke, their sass competitions tho 💀 Also, Jayson considers Duke as one of his brothers 😆

Classic Alfred advice talks

(You’ll notice that the writers decided to skip showing Duke’s development, this is why we need fanfiction thanks). Basically, Duke started hanging out with Cass for seemingly no reason, but they are a really fun dynamic. Plus Duke got to know Babs first through Cass. (I'm ignoring when Riko met Babs as batgirl and when Babs as batgirl defended WAR cheerfully).

Cass and Duke also train together (i really like the illustrator here aaaaaaaaa Duke and Cass are so cute here 🥺).

This storyline was bad but it really pushed Cass and Duke together as Cass was there when Duke got his new shadow powers and Duke was there when Shiva was being a jerk to Cass for some reason?? They coordinated attacks as a duo so that was nice. Plus, Duke thinks of Cass as his sis. (Is this specifically catered to me? Yeah, yeah…. I’m tots falling for the putting the minorities together thingy like a sucker, but themmmmmmmm!!! 🥹)

Duke and Kate actually teamed up in action once (offhandedly 😔) so that’s neat.

(Hold on I reached my picture limit but there’s a part 2)

[mlmxreader]

Battle Scars | Aragorn x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Aragorn

1 "Don't let a good meal go to waste" ❞

: ̗̀➛ Aragorn takes a liking to a soldier.

: ̗̀➛ war, death, violence, swearing

↳ @arthurmorgansballsack

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

A soldier's life was not one anyone would have ever wanted or liked to have had; tales of glory and honour were often caused by embellishment and the lies of those who ruled the land and the history books with an iron fist. The stories of what had happened on the front lines were often spun with lies and gold. They made shit seem like it glittered.

When you first joined the army, you were two years underage; you were told that you were fighting for a land fit for the victorious. You were told that religion was on your hand as you held your sword. You chased your days down to zero, you knew that you would never live a full life.

As much as you fought, bled, and nearly died you would never live a full life. You were fodder.

You knew that even a year would be longer than what most were given; when you first volunteered, you wrote down your name, and you added exactly two years to your age so that they would accept.

At the time, you had been eager for life; you were eager to see all of Middle Earth and to meet all of its peoples, you were eager to see great cities and brilliant forests and gorgeous mountains and bountiless seas.

You were eager for it all, and the promise of glory and honour and freedom was a brilliant promise that would never be kept; one year into the life, and you had seen too much already. You had been ahead at the time, so eager and so willing, that you never stopped to listen to those who had seen it all before.

You had been ahead, ready for your story of glory to be told; but there was none to be had. As much as you fought and you brawled, there was never any glory in it. You were just food and fodder.

But oh, that first year was nothing compared to the next; your friend, a young man from Gondor. He was the same age as you, a glorious head of black hair mixed with thick eyebrows and a wonderful smile; he seemed to be blessed by the sun, his almost black eyes seemingly glittering in the afternoons.

You heard him cry, and he sank to his knees; coughing blood as he screamed for his mother. You fell by his side, letting him die in your arms as you clung to each other like children; for hours, you laid in the mud, covered in guts and blood, weeping as his body grew colder. You called for his mother, but she never came - it wasn't your fault. You could never carry the burden of guilt for it.

The day had not even been half over when he became one of ten thousand who fell that day; nobody would remember his name. Nobody would remember his soldiering. Nobody would ever know him. You alone carried him.

You were never the same after that; as the years wore on, your guilt only grew. Having seen hundreds of friends die, you no longer wanted to be a soldier; you never wanted to be the only one who remembered their names, who remembered them.

But you stayed, slowly becoming like the very soldiers you didn't listen to - warning new recruits about it. About how war killed everything.

You met Aragorn after your tenth year in the wars.

He had been passing through as a ranger, and had stopped when he noticed the soldiers; he realised many of them came from Gondor and Rohan, but most of them were from just about everywhere he could think of.

The young ones seemed thirsty for battle, ready and waiting for it; but then he laid his eyes on you and the other grizzled and melancholic men in the corner.

Huddled over a fire with gazes that seemed to drift into the flames for thousands of miles, saying nothing and refusing to move; he tilted his head to the side, watching for a moment. None of you moved, but the soft puffs of light grey air that spouted from your noses was enough to see that you were all breathing.

You all looked miserable, and even worse, he could see that none of you had been eating; the younger ones had, but it was obvious even to Aragorn that those who had seen wars before were starving themselves to ensure the younger ones would survive the tough winters.

He swallowed thickly, watching for a moment for asking for you to speak with him; you met him in your tent, and although you weren't so keen on making friends anymore, you talked with him until the sun had risen. He promised that he would find you again, and he did.

At least once a week, a ranger would wander into the soldier's camp, and you would always spend hours speaking to him within your tent. Always until the sun had risen. It wasn't long before the others started to talk; you refused to call Aragorn a friend, knowing what happened to those who you allowed to get close.

You did not want to scream for another man's mother knowing she would not come; you did want to cling to another man as you held him like a child, weeping as the warmth left him. You could not do it again. You would not.

But Aragorn was determined, and would not relent; it didn't help that he insisted on bringing you whatever food he could find and spare. He always made sure that he left in the mornings and your stomach was full; food was a luxury, and he was all too aware that it was mostly you giving up your rations for the younger ones.

He knew that the rulers of kingdoms were often unfair and cruel; the lies of the devil and the devil's point of view. They made the world full of hate and anger, causing as much fear and pain as they could; but he could see it in you. You did not value pride, did not value glory. You could survive the storm, you could withstand the devil's lies.

You had taken enough pain that he was certain of it; sad were the memories of when you were not fighting in a war. A youth that had been doomed and squashed, an innocence that had been ripped and torn apart.

Aragorn heard the whispers of the dead just as you did; he heard them beg and implore you to forgive yourself, but you didn't. You had a price to pay, and not every ounce of gold had been repaid. For years, he visited, and tonight was no different.

He pushed the plate closer to you, pleading with his grey eyes as he frowned. "Please, don't let a good meal go to waste."

"I don't want it..." you muttered, shaking your head.

"But you look worse," he sighed. "You cannot starve, I will not allow it."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head again. "Aragorn, leave me. My clock has struck its final hour."

"No," he told you. "Death is not your fate. This pain that follows you... allow me to shoulder some of it so that you may experience enough peace to eat."

"Aragorn-"

"The days are darker," he started, "and you are getting worse. You are going to make yourself sick if you keep starving. Please."

"Why do you care so much?" You asked.

"You're not just a soldier to me," Aragorn whispered. "You know that. Don't you?"

"Please stop," you whispered. "Please. I am a shadow of a man."

"You have seen too much war," he pointed out. "You haven't seen enough peace... come with me for a while. See the world."

You froze, eyes widening as you shook your head with vigour. "No. No, you cannot make me go."

"Easy," Aragorn said softly. "I don't mean like that. I only mean... why don't you accompany me? You may see peace, that way, and it may quieten your head for a moment."

As much as you didn't want to admit it, you did trust Aragorn; he might not have fought beside you, but he had been loyal, and he had proved himself a decent companion more than once.

You trusted him, and although you knew such a thing was likely as it was, you would happily trade your life for his. You would pay the price of two miles for him, if it ever came down to it. Swords and maces and axes and bows, you would face it all for him. Although you were hesitant when it came to fighting; you could not bear the thought of seeing another man die in front of you.

Screaming and howling for his mother like a dying dog, all civility and humanity ripped from his body as he cried and moaned. You could not bear the thought of hearing them die on the battlefield at night; they would take days to die amongst the mud, often eaten by rats bit by bit.

You would end your life before seeing that again.

But perhaps Aragorn had a point; maybe if you went with him, and you saw his life for just a day, it would make you feel a little better. It wouldn't cure the melancholy, and nor would it take away the memories - but it might have made you feel a bit better.

Maybe all you needed was to see sprawling trees and bountiless grasses, to hear the scream of foxes and the grunting of deer; maybe all you needed was to just be away from war, if only for a day or two. Youm nodded slowly, sighing heavily as you fought back the urge to cry loudly.

"Alright," you said, your voice shaking. "I will go with you in the morning... but you best rest, Aragorn. Take my bed."

"No," he said quietly. "No, I can sleep on the floor. You need a bed, I do not."

"Please," you said softly. "As a thank you."

"You can thank me better by joining me," he told you with a smile. "It is rather cold... maybe we can share the warmth?"

You nodded slowly, daring to smile a little. "Alright."

[ohsayit]

Steal His Shirt

Link to AO3 is here

Relationships: F!Tav/Zevlor Additional Tags: Penis In Vagina Sex, Friends With Benefits Summary: Post game. Zevlor settled down outside of Baldur's Gate. He got in to a weird relationship with Tav. One particular morning, Tav decided to mess with him by stealing his shirt. He was not impressed by her little game. Yet, she was sill quite entertaining. Word count: 3k

Zevlor was a simple man. He didn't need much possession to live his life. He preferred practicality over vanity. What good could a fanciful sword do if it broke at his first swing in combat?

After coming back from Avernus, he trimmed down his possessions even further. He only had so much time to pack up before he got exiled from the place he once guarded with his own life. Ceremonial armour was left behind as they were no longer needed. Ring with the commander's seal was taken from him as well as his home.

He got to keep his sword and gauntlet because he paid for those himself. He needed them for the road. He was filled with bitterness when his sword was returned to him. He looked at Helm’s symbol at the hilt next to the filing marks, where his rank once was, and decided to file the deity away himself. That was the most petty and revengeful thing he would do. For all the rubbish fate had thrown at him.

He eventually reached Baulder’s Gate with whoever survived that one Hell of a journey.

He was secretly glad that people died when the cult of Absolute bursted in the city. The thought was as low as it was practical. The tieflings that came with him had a better chance to settle in if the city was less crowded.

Once all the civilians settled down, there was only his fellow former Riders left. Some of the young ones joined the Fist. Some others grouped up to start their own adventure. A few of the older ones and his close associates decided to leave with him. Maybe he got his position stripped off him, but not these comrades who went through literal Hell with him.

They settled far out of reach of the Fist and their own kin. Their kin made it quite clear on their way from Moonrise Tower to Baldur’s Gate that they didn’t want any more to do with him unless it was life and death. Well, maybe they wanted him even less when it was life and death. Alas, his duty was fulfilled when they reached the city. He held up his end of things.

Zevlor really thought his soldiering days were beyond him. He thought he could try living a civilian life. However, power came back to him. He didn’t realise that his civilian life ended when power was granted to him a second time.

He lived to serve a purpose. Glory and honour were merely rewards that came along. Despite not knowing which god he should pray to, the power he wielded was true. He needed to do something with it. He couldn’t bear the thought that he held power only for it to go to waste.

Zevlor and his men settled in a medium-sized town. It sat along the way leading to Baldur’s Gate. Travellers and merchants that went through this place kept it busy. It was peaceful enough. They joined the local force run by the town.

They felt something was wrong shortly after. It was Serrell that pointed it out for them. Protecting a small place like this was too idle for them. Their training and discipline from the old days pushed them towards something bigger than the town they resided in.

To Zevlor’s surprise, everyone left the local force. He would have thought some would want to settle down. They seemed to be at the right age for that.

They formed a group and started to sign up for various missions. Their skills and might were proved to be very much needed. They gained reputation quickly. The youngest once said she lived more comfortably now than in Elturel. She made more or less the same money but a lot more freedom. Everyone seemed to be truly happy since Avernus.

One thing to Zevlor’s particular delight was seeing their new friend again.

He wrote to Tav before they left Baldur’s Gate and after they set up base here. He mentioned in the letters that she was welcome to visit any day. He didn’t expect her to come. She was the beloved hero, after all. Everyone wanted some of her.

From the interaction they had before, Zevlor knew their beloved hero was not the sweet girl with a pretty face she presented to the world. He liked her. She was a good ally and could be a good friend, most of the time.

Tav was very happy to see them. She sat next to Zevlor and drank the night away with them. She drank quite a bit and was leaning on him by the end of the night. His heart stirred but he knew better than overthinking. He just sat there and let her rest against his arm while participating in the chat and drank himself.

He didn’t drink much. As an unspoken rule, two others didn’t drink much either. The pair of them took all the drunk ones to Serrell’s for the night. He lived the closest to the tavern. Zelvor’s only mission was to escort Tav up to her room.

He was proved wrong. He didn’t overthink.

Once they were up the stairs, Tav didn’t look as drunk as she was when people were around. The way she dragged him into the bed with her, swiftly rode on his hips, and eagerly shoved her tongue into his mouth were forceful and passionate. Her eyes burned with lust when his name spilled from her lips. She knew what she was doing. She didn’t sit next to him by chance.

Maybe he was old. He was not dead.

He liked her.

He woke up at his usual time in the morning. Event from the previous night came to him. He got too comfortable in the bed with another body’s warmth. He missed the chance to get up and didn’t get a second one until noon that day.

She stayed for three nights. She was on her way elsewhere, just like all other travellers who set foot in this town. They were never to stay.

What more could he ask for?

He had no idea why she chose to spend her nights with him. He didn’t dwell on that one. He had a life now. He had a little home to himself in this town. He had his loyal companions. He had a purpose and the power to serve it. To ask for anything else would be greed.

However, he could hardly be blamed for being greedy.

Tav dropped by every month or two. She seemed to be always on her way somewhere. They had fallen into the habit of spending nights together whenever she stopped by.

Zevlor knew damn well if he wanted to have a life with someone, he should stop joining Tav at night. He told himself, there was no such person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, just yet. While he was searching for that special someone, maybe he could indulge a little. He was not immune to mortal desires and temptations.

Hells, when he realised that was a terrible idea, it was too late.

He didn’t like her for her pretty face. She was smart, cunning, steel minded, and practical. He had not seen another one of her type. He knew that if he wanted to settle for a life, her type would be a challenging choice, to say the least. The worst part was that he was very fond of everything that made her “Tav”.

They never knew each other’s schedule. Her visit was always a nice surprise. Tav arrived yesterday while Zevlor was meant to depart with his men today before noon.

It was easy for Zevlor to arrange himself. The team was to meet up at the tavern before departing. All he needed to do was to take his pack with him.

Winter was approaching. Temperature had dropped considerably over the past week or so. Sex was slow and lazy last night. She seemed to enjoy the heat from his infernal heritage more than anything. She could be such a tender and loving lover when she wanted to.

She grumbled when he left the bed. He saw her rolled over to his spot to consume the rest of his warmth. That gave him a little smile.

He gave himself a quick wash. When he came out, his shirt was not where he left it. She seemed to be still sleeping, so he quietly searched in the room.

He didn’t own a lot of things and he knew where they were. The only place left was her.

Now he remembered why he didn’t like young girls when he was a young lad. They were playful and usually were so at the wrong times.

He walked to her sleeping form and patted her shoulder firmly. She merely scooted away from him. He took a long breath and calmed himself: “I know you are awake. Give it back right now. I need it.”

Tav lazily opened her eyes and yawned. She stretched and got her arm out from under the cover. There his missing shirt was.

Zevlor took another deep breath and let it out: “Give it back now. I won’t repeat myself again.”

She slowly sat up in bed and let the cover fall. His shirt was a little too big for her. The sleeves covered half of her thumbs. She did most of the buttons up, except the top two and bottom one. The curtains were closed to keep the heat in. The room was lit with candles. The small patch of skin on her chest peeking through looked as sweet as honey in the warm light.

He shook his head, voice low like a growl: “Now.”

She was not threatened by him at all. She rolled onto her fours and crawled towards the edge of the bed. She purposefully made a show of her supple rear and plumped chest. Her hands crept up the side of his waist to his neck. She was kneeling on the bed and pressing her breast against his. She cooed: “What a cruel way to wake a poor girl up in the cold, soldier.” She had her arms around his neck and one hand playing with the tip of his ear.

Zevlor felt the softness and warmth from her body, but cool on his ear. Her hands were already cool. She only got out from under the cover for a brief moment. He told himself to not warm her hands with his. He kept a stern look.

She hugged him closer in his silence. She peppered kisses along his chin and jaw. Those lips were so close to his, but all he got was some fleeting touch at the corner of his mouth. He reminded himself not to move and suck on her lips.

She was amused by his resistance. She rubbed the tip of his ear between his fingers and sent tingles down his spine. She purred: “It was an awful lot of work to put it on. All these buttons…”

He cleared his throat: “You only have yourself to blame.” That sounded nothing like the scold he was delivering. Gods above.

He patted the side of her hip and sighed: “Enough games. Give it back, now.”

All the warning she gave was a few giggles. She held onto his neck, with her knees open, and manoeuvred her own weight to pull him down to the bed. His body reacted quicker than his mind. He put one hand behind her head and the other held his weight up above her. One of his knees was placed between her open knees.

His body got too familiar with her and displayed no resistance. The only response was not to crush all his weight on her. His body had its own mind.

She was giddy, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, looking up at him. She was quite happy with her childish play. Zevlor couldn’t hold back his smile and chuckled. One of her hands let go of his neck to reach for his behind her head. She gently led his hand down the side of her neck and onto her soft mound of flesh. The effort she put into playing innocent was minimal: “If you want it back, you will have to take it off.”

Desire burned inside him. This was a lost battle and he knew it. His thumb rubbed her nipple in a way that hardened it almost immediately. He played it between his fingers the way that made her breath quickened. His stare was intense. There was no more use in pulling a face: “I need to go soon.”

She let out a little moan when he pinched her: “You got up early. There is plenty of time for you to take me for a ride, my dear ride.” She reached with her foot to tickle the base of his tail. The tail coiled around her calf needed no further encouragement.

He said nothing but stared at her with flames in his eyes.

She pulled him down for a kiss grabbing his horn: “Don't be so cold. Give me a kiss and take me for a ride.”

Zevlor, she called.

Zevlor, she called again.

He answered.

His fingers made quick work of the buttons. Her smooth skin was there for him. He bowed and brushed the fabric aside with his nose. He needed to taste her skin and hear her moan. He sucked and bit her hardened nipple until she let out the first cry of pleasure.

After he undid the last button, his fingers brushed over her slit. She was wet already. He wasted no time and unlaced his pants. Once his cock jumped out of the confinement, he crawled into the bed. He was aching for more of her.

With the last bit of patience, he rubbed the tip on her clit then ran the ridges of his cock along those puffy lips. He noticed how much she liked it the first time they fucked. She arched her back and grinded her hips on his length. Every time she drove her clit over his ridges, she made more lovely noises.

Zevlor straightened himself up one more time. He dragged her towards him by the hips. He lined himself up and plunged to the hilt. By now, he knew better than to treat her with great care and gentleness. Those could wait until next time.

Her hips bucked to meet every thrust. Her hands were busy pleasuring herself up and down. Moans and gasps streamed for her parted lips. She got wetter with each motion. The sounds they made would make a grown woman blush.

She was magnificent.

That's what he liked about her: bold and unapologetically lively. She could ignite the world with it and cast any shadows away.

She looked divine in his shirt. Some part of him wished to keep her in it. He wanted to leave his mark on her, if he couldn’t be hers. How he sat awake some nights thinking about her, he would never tell her. How his mind wandered when young children ran past him, he would never mention to anyone. To share the pleasure of the flesh with her was beyond his wildest dreams.

He kept ramming into her and making good use of his length. Her whines and cries made him want to surrender and ravish at the same time. He hissed, grunted, growled, and sighed. Her cunt was perfect for him. Her wetness and tight grip on every single ridge on his cock gave him so much joy.

He was close but she was closer. She writhed under him. The knees that hugged the sides of his waist wanted to close up on him. He grabbed the back of them and pushed down. His tail released her calf and hugged her waist instead. He leaned down to her beautifully opened front and kissed her: “You are going to be the death of me.”

The moment of bliss was near. She latched onto him when he gave her a kiss. His tail felt every ragged breath. Tears slid down her temples while she sucked his tongue. Her hand was firm on his horn and fingers dug into his muscle in a tight hug. In her waves of euphoria, she groaned and cried. More tears gushed down her temples. Her cunt clenched relentlessly to coax Zevlor to empty his balls into her. He did his best to give her a few more thrusts before cumming inside her.

They stayed still to catch their breaths. She smirked with marks of tears on her face: “Maybe a little death, yes.” He snorted and gently slapped her thigh.

He could see sunlight creeping up the ceiling from the top of the curtains. He looked at the shirt she was still wearing. It was in no state to be worn by him today. She followed his eyes and giggled: “A rag after a ride?” He laughed at her terrible line and got up to get her a rag. When he walked past her pack, she said nonchalantly: “There is a little parcel in my pack. It’s a little present for you.”

That was new, he thought. He threw her a wrung rag then opened her pack. He tried not to pry too much into it, as it’s not his place. He took a small parcel out. It was flat and soft. She urged: “Open it.”

A guess came to him. He found two shirts inside it. At a glance, they looked identical to the ones he owned. They were made in some thicker material that was both durable and comfortable. He walked over to the candle to take a better look at them. The details at the collar and sleeves matched exactly the same as his. She probably had them made for him. His old shirts were styled differently from what Baldur’s Gate had to offer.

He turned around and saw her already snuggled back under the cover. The used rag was left on the side. No sign of his shirt anywhere. He hurried to finish wiping himself down and got his pack ready.

He blew out the candles before he left. The last one was by the bed. She opened her sleepy eyes and pouted. He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. She smiled: “See you again soon, Zevlor.”

Helm’s tears. He shouldn’t be blamed for being greedy and making terrible life choices.

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

End Notes:

Here it is! Please leave me feedback on how he was depicted in the fic. Or simply tell me what you think/feel about this version of Zevlor. I really want to know what you guys think about it. Much appreciate it. <3

Honestly, smut is too difficult for me lollllll

@ploompkin

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

Big Boss: What Happened?

Big Boss: Info Dump Request

@qoppybirdie requested:

This is my attempt at fulfilling that, with my own take on it. And probably a whole lot longer than OP wanted. But here we are. 

Google Doc version. NOW ACCEESIBLE (Opened Access)

As a quick aside, I personally consider Portable Ops canon to the timeline and lore. Not everyone does, but in this I will be using examples from Portable Ops, as to me, it’s canon. I’m aware this is debated, so I’m putting it out there first and foremost.

Here we go!

“Politics are a living thing. They change along with the times. Today’s good may be tomorrow's evil.”-The Boss, to Big Boss (then Naked Snake) during the Virtuous Mission, 1964.

Big Boss, known as John/Jack, was born in the USA in 1935. Almost nothing of his life is known until the age of 15/16, when he met The Boss in 1950, becoming her apprentice. The Boss served as his mentor, and remains one of the most defining figures in his life, up until his death in 2014. Soon after meeting The Boss, John fought in the Korean War, and was part of nuclear testing in Bikini Atoll, in 1954.

This puts the FOX unit in jeopardy, and at risk of execution unless they can prove America wasn’t involved, with Big Boss given the task of rescuing Dr. Sokolov for a second time, assassinating the Boss, and as they put it “if possible, Colonel Volgin”. Volgin happens to have a metal gear, but that’s secondary to this story believe it or not.

This is the Operation where he also meets Ocelot, and Eva. Both of whom we’ll get back to later.

Cue Operation Snake Eater, and what is arguably the start of a nearly 60 year downfall for Big Boss. Big Boss defeats the Shagohod Metal Gear and Volgin, (does not manage to save Sokolov) and kills The Boss. When he returns to the United States, he’s given a medal for his service, and is left with a feeling of emptiness, grief and a whole lot of unanswered questions.

Whenever I think about the spiral of Big Boss, I tend to come back to the moment here, (and the one later, when he’s at the Boss’ grave). It can be argued that he never, ever recovers from this. While it takes him a lifetime to understand it, by the time of his death in 2014,he has fallen so far from the man he once was that it’s only at death he can acknowledge what he’s become, to his clone son  Solid Snake,(Dave).

“Boss, you only need one Snake now..no, the world would be better without Snake’s.” Big Boss (at the Boss’ grave to Solid Snake, in 2014)

I could almost end this here, on the notion that he was used by the military to kill someone he loved and cared about, and lost all sense of what he believed in, and himself, in doing so. That the next 60ish years are just him going through the motions, attempting to come to a conclusion that doesn’t exist.

Why was he used? Why was he the one that needed to pull the trigger? Big Boss wasn’t exactly what I’d call an ‘idealist’ before that, but he did hold certain preconceived beliefs about his place in the world, and what he was meant to do with it. And that he had all of them wiped aside in an instant, all to save face for a country that would discard him at a moment's notice.

Before she was assassinated, the Boss was legendary as a soldier, and an American. She was idolised by her country and the people she served and worked with. When we find out later that her defection was part of a mission, and that it was jeopardised by Volgin behaving in a way nobody saw coming, it took nothing for them to discard her. When Big Boss is being awarded a service medal and the president attempts to shake his hand, I can imagine those are the thoughts playing on loop in his head.

They honour him now, in the moment. Yet a week before he was almost going to be executed by that same government and country, and his mentor, someone so beloved by the USA, was given that exact fate

He realizes here that his role, his personhood means nothing in the greater scope of war, and he’s supposed to just stand there, accept a handshake and pretend this total farce is a good thing?

Just like she told him, “Today's enemy, tomorrow’s friend.” That was a lesson the Boss understood before he did, and it’s one that he grasps all too well afterwards..to a degree. Big Boss we come to see is betrayed again and again by the people around him, because up to a certain point, he allows people into his life. In the same need for human connection and meaning all people have. Something that is abused countless times by the people close to him.

It takes years, but at some point, he does eventually give up. As we’ll see. 

Following Operation Snake Eater, Big Boss leaves the military for a bit. He works at various jobs like hunting guides, only to go back to fighting and meet and rescue Frank Jaeger  during the Mozambican War of Independence in 1966, but ultimately ends up doing mercenary work. In 1970, he’s captured via drugging by another rogue FOX unit, headed by a rogue agent known as GENE in what became the San Hieronymo Incident. 

Gene had an idea, a nation of soldier’s. Made by soldier’s for soldiers.

This will sound extremely familiar, as it is almost verbatim to what Big Boss ends up creating himself later on. Outer Heaven. Even though the San Hieronymo Incident ends in Gene’s defeat, and with Big Boss returning to the USA and forming The Patriots with his former commander, Major Zero and members of the unit in Operation Snake Eater. Such as SIGINT (Donald Anderson), Para-Medic, Ocelot and Eva. Using some of the Philosopher’s Legacy, (money), The Patriots started out as an attempt to unify the world, but expanded and corrupted far beyond that original goal.

Big Boss himself leaves the Patriots in 1972, after facing the second major betrayal via the creation of Les Enfants Terribles (aka, ‘The Terrible Children), under Para-Medic’s care. Without telling Big Boss, or asking his consent, LET was undergone using Big Boss’ DNA, with an unnamed egg donor and Eva as the surrogate to make his clone sons, Solid Snake and Liquid Snake (Eli). As well as the ‘perfect clone’ Solidus Snake, (George). (He was not surrogated by Eva, however).

“They’re no sons of mine.” “Just a bunch of cells grown in a lab?”

“What they are is much sicker than that.”- John and Ocelot discussing the clone sons, in 1984.

LET existed because Zero and Para-Medic wanted to ensure the continuation of Big Boss’ genes and soldier capabilities. He saw them as an abomination and betrayal. After learning of LET, Big Boss leaves the Patriots, and the United States. Working again as a mercenary for higher. 

No matter what he does, he cannot get himself out of warzones. 

“The Boss and I may have gone down different paths, but we were trapped in the same cage.”- Big Boss to Solid Snake, in 2014

Really quick, the definition of a mercenary according to Merriam Webster is; ‘one that serves merely for wages’. They mostly find themselves in warzones, but they are not fighting on behalf of a country. They are not conscripted or drafted. The gain is purely financial. But most specifically, a mercenary is hired ‘for foreign conflicts’ in particular. This is largely because a country may want to get involved in a certain conflict, or mission, but are unable to legally, or without raising suspicions. Thus, they hire a non-related mercenary, for pay, to do what they cannot.

This is the sort of environment Big Boss finds himself operating in more often than not. He’s fresh off a second betrayal, mistrustful and hurt, and finds himself on the lam and a gun for hire in Columbia, eventually ending up hired by the Colombian government to work with their army.  I can imagine his attitude in Columbia being one that is grieving, disillusioned and bitter. It’s here that he comes upon a guerilla squad commanded by Kazuhira Miller, and wipes them out. Except for Miller. Who he ‘recruits’ under the idea of it being non-negotiable. Kaz is the only survivor, and if he doesn’t stay with Big Boss, he’ll be executed. (Instead, Big Boss blackmails a commander who could be responsible for it, in order to keep Kaz off the chopping block). Which is a nice little fact to hang over Kaz’s head, should he choose to escape.

Heiwa to Kazuhira no Blues (the Peace Walker audio drama) expands on this a great deal. His ‘recruitment’ is no simple thing, and Big Boss also puts Kaz through a number of rigged trials he knows Kaz can’t win, in order to further cement his place under him. Combining that in conjunction with the fact that Kaz will be executed should he not ally with Big Boss (and I’ll point out here that yes, Kaz does try to blow himself and Big Boss up with a grenade but does he really want to die?) it’s something of a hopeless situation and somewhat one-sided.

The entire relationship and scenario with Kaz is complicated enough on its own. Kaz isn’t a fully innocent victim either, but it is at this point and time that one can see a significant shift happening in Big Boss’ mindset. There’s a sinister element to the trials he puts Kaz through, and yet, there’s still a part of him that clings to the idea of companionship. He’s edging closer to the dark end of grey in his climbing scale, but he has not yet crossed that point.

Kaz spearfishing during one of the trials (art by Yoji Shinkawa)

Defeated, Kaz joins Big Boss, and as his subcommander they form one of the first ever PMC’s (or, Private Military Company)-Militaires Sans Frontières (Army without Borders, or MSF). The concept of the PMC later takes over in the world (and the disastrous environment Solid Snake finds himself dealing with come 2014). While in MSF, Big Boss finds himself in Costa Rica to deal with the Peace Walker incident, and becomes allied there with some revolutionaries from the Sandinista National Liberation Front, who are under the command of Amanda Valenciano Libre, after the death of her father (the original commander). And via Amanda, Big Boss meets her brother, Ricardo Valenciano Libre, or. Chico.

Chico is where this gets complicated. Chico is around 12 years old at the time, and one of the key elements to where we see Big Boss’ mindset shifting fully. While he’s still somewhat optimistic, even a little goofy at times (the way we see him in Snake Eater), Chico’s situation is a mixed bag. On the one hand, it’s easy to argue that Chico being part of the MSF is one of the only alternatives he could have at the time. He’s in the middle of a warzone with his sister. If he’s not under Big Boss, where else can he go? What else can he reasonably do?

-What makes discussing Big Boss so tricky, I think-and why I believe it’s almost impossible to say he had some sort of ‘turning point’, is that it is completely possible to look at everything he does, everything that happens, and find a way to excuse or come up with a justification, or even logic for it. This is not me saying that he is right, or a good person. Metal Gear cannot just be boxed into ‘good’ or ‘evil’ it is grey. It is supposed to be grey. It centres around people and themes that do not have such simplistic barriers to work with. That is the point.-

-The downfall of Big Boss does not happen overnight. It is a slow burning wreck that expands and grows. It is the make-up and conclusion of many factors, incidents and events. It happens slowly, and sometimes it happens below the surface.-

For all intents and purposes, Chico is a child soldier. But is that Big Boss’ fault? Children are as wrapped up in war as any other. War does not care if you’re a child, or an adult. Did Chico truly have anywhere else to go?

I don’t really have an answer to that. And I’m going to admit it out right. What I will say is that early on in Chico’s recruitment, Big Boss rescues Chico, but he doesn’t want to go back with him because he’s ashamed of giving up information (link should be time stamped for access) about the others to the enemy.

There are MANY ways to interpret this moment. I’ve seen various interpretations of it myself, but here’s how I’m going to explain it. As per how I see it. Again, this is a complicated story and scenario-and people’s view on it is going to differ a lot. One of the points I really want to stress in this far-too-long essay here is that none of what we see comes with the easiest answers. It’s all layered. How you view a moment may differ from how someone else views it. 

Anyway, to me, I’m going to put it like this. Big Boss knows that Chico doesn’t mean that. What I can’t say for sure is if he’d have really shot him or not (I don’t think he would’ve, not only because he promised Amanda he’d bring Chico back, and if nothing else Big Boss will usually complete his missions. But that as far as we know, he never outright executes a child in the series). But Chico does not know this. Big Boss is, essentially, showing Chico that no, he doesn't want to die, come on now. And that breaking under the situation isn’t something he needs to feel guilty about. Nor, is it worth dying for.

WE can assume that Big Boss isn’t going to hurt him. WE can realise that but there is no way for Chico to hold the same understanding here. 

But Chico isn’t a man. Chico is a child. When Chico dies in 1975, Skullface says something very similar. Negating the fact that at the end of the day, this is no adult. 

“No more wargames, you’re a real man now, soldier”.-Skullface (to Chico when he’s a tortured prisoner in Camp Omega, 1975)

Here, Big Boss is visibly (I can assume anyway) attempting to encourage Chico. Prove to him that he doesn’t want to die, and that he doesn’t need to die for the infraction he believes himself to have made. (None of Chico’s compatriots blame him for giving up information, and why would they? He is a kid).

But did he? Big Boss can think that the ‘child’ died,  and he became a man. But is any of that really true? Is Chico not as much a child now as he is when he dies a year later?

I find it very significant that the artist, Ashley Wood, has Big Boss completely in shadow here. It says a lot about what Chico must be feeling, and how we (the audience) might be meant to interpret him. There is none of the silly dork we know Big Boss to have been a decade prior. There is none of the innocence and even almost child-like awkwardness he was so beholden to. So much of his optimism, his original outlook and hope, is eradicated by this point.

Chico, I’ll note really quick is never seen off-radio. He is kept ‘safe’ (if you can call it that) on the MSF base itself. And working as radio support. I’ll note too that Chico always wants to be seen as an ‘adult’ by the people around him. But, come on. I’m sure we all remember being 13. I’m sure everyone had that ‘I am desperate to be mature and taken seriously’ awkward teen phase. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a child, who is stealing Amanda’s cigarettes one moment, and laughing about his favourite monsters and cryptids the next.

It’s no more justified (in my opinion) than Huey Emmerich is when he uses the absolutely pathetic reasoning behind letting a 4-year-old Hal pilot Sahelanthropus.

“He (Hal) wanted to get in!”-Huey Emmerich to Revolver Ocelot under torture. 1984. 

What Hal may have wanted is irrelevant to the fact that you don’t let a kid touch a hot stove because they want to. It is on the adults around them to make sure they don’t do things they can’t control. Granted, Chico is old enough in Peace Walker to have very valid feelings about what he might want, and more than old enough for personal agency, but still young enough to where adults around him should be protecting him.

And I know that in war, the rules are not the same. I understand that. Later on we see a 12 year old Liquid Snake and child soldiers in situations no child should be in, but does that mean they still didn’t need protection? In any case, I’m too close to getting off topic here, so let’s keep going.

We will see him goofing off a bit more in Peace Walker. But it is important to note that by its end, Big Boss’ ideology, and his view on the world has shifted a lot. 

He also comes to find out that Kaz was employed by Zero (now going by ‘Cipher’) and working as a spy. Marking the third time Big Boss is betrayed by someone close to him. In this, I’m sort of torn. My personal interpretation of the ‘spy Kaz’ bit is extensive and doesn’t quite belong here, but I’ll note that it’s another way in which Big Boss comes to find that he can’t trust anyone that it doesn’t matter how close someone is to him, they are going to find a way to stab him in the back.

He’s already become more and more cynical around this point, and it is not aided by finding out the truth about Kaz either. The cloud around Big Boss darkens all the more. 

By the end of Peace Walker, Big Boss has come to learn what he thinks is the truth about the Boss. When she put down her gun (stopped fighting) she (in his mind) betrayed the ideology and beliefs that he feels she taught him, and when Big Boss ‘let’s go’ of her (in disgust, as he takes this to be an example of her betraying the will of the soldier, and him). I don’t fully grasp how he comes to this conclusion, but in letting the Boss ‘go’ (by removing her bandana) he shifts again, willingly keeping a nuke on Mother Base in the MSF (at Kaz’s suggestion, I’ll note) To Big Boss, I guess he might see this as the fourth betrayal.

With another metal gear defeated, Big Boss declares the following to the MSF:

"We have no nation, no philosophy, no ideology. We go where we're needed, fighting not for country, not for government, but for ourselves. We need no reason to fight. We fight because we are needed. We will be the deterrent for those with no other recourse. We are soldiers without borders, our purpose defined by the era we live in."-Big Boss to the MSF, after the Metal Gear ZEKE battle.

But this is not where that speech ends. Big Boss is under few illusions about the sort of man he’s become, and he tells his men much the same.

Fairly self explanatory, in my opinion.

Thus, the MSF becomes a nuclear power. And this is the mindset that Big Boss has when he goes into the Ground Zeroes mission at Camp Omega. Chico has escaped to go rescue Paz and Skullface has planned an attack on Mother Base while they’re gone. The inspection approved by Huey Emmerich (who didn’t ask Big Boss or Kaz first, and was apparently under the belief it was legitimate..and I don’t know if it’s true or not, I can never fully come to a conclusion there). 

The base explodes, and while Kaz is seething and raging, Big Boss is left so shell shocked all he can do is sit motionless while Kaz shakes him repeatedly. Attempting to get any sort of answer from him. Answers Big Boss doesn’t give, nor does he have. After all, it’s not his fault the base went up in flames. The end result is the death of Paz and Chico, and the start of a 9-year- coma for Big Boss.

And, for the medic on that chopper, whom Ocelot and Zero turn into Venom Snake. Big Boss’ phantom and living body-double. Fully hypnotized, brainwashed and made into another man, all without his consent.

The creation of Venom alone is gregarious enough, but Big Boss didn’t sign off on Venom. He was already made by the time he wakes up in 1984. But aside from a moment of protesting it, Big Boss embraces it. Allowing Venom to wake up in a hospital that’s largely blown to shreds and turned into a massacre under XOF (Skullface’s unit), all so he and Venom can escape under cover. Countless people die in that hospital, and Big Boss has become arrogant and callous enough to where it doesn’t matter to him.

Ocelot is also the only one aware of the truth. (Someone Big Boss doesn’t seem to mind having that right, since up to this point, and the rest of his life, Ocelot is one of the few people who doesn’t betray him). Kaz, by contrast, has been completely abandoned and cast aside by him. And not told about Venom being a different man (until later). Which has a real element of cruelty in it, in my opinion. Especially since it’s Venom who saves Kaz after he’s been a POW for a while. But that’s another post in it’s own way.

Big Boss wakes up a new man, with a new (stolen) identity, and with his body double firmly in place and Ocelot pleasantly self-hypnotized to carry it out, he leaves to go begin the formation of Outer Heaven. Free to let others do his dirty work, while he continues to operate by himself. 

Putting aside the fact that he looks damn good here-that isn’t the face of a guy with a whole lot of humanity left in him.

Remember Zero? Let’s go back to him for a quick moment. Because it’s at this point in the timeline that Big Boss begins to embrace a concept that was originally propagated by Zero when they were still all working together as the Patriots. By the early 1970’s, Big Boss had a pretty good reputation behind him as legendary soldier. And Zero believed it would be a good call to emphasise that narrative. It was beneficial to have Big Boss’ legend spread throughout, and continued. It’s also important to note that Big Boss himself rejected being called ‘Big Boss’ as he believed the title should only belong to the Boss.

In San Hieronymo, he’s called ‘Snake’ (much like his original codename, Naked Snake) and in Peace Walker the sandinistas often call him ‘Vic Boss’ as they compare him to Che Guevara (as does Kaz). The comparisons to Guevara do not end there, as historically, Guevara was most known for having several jobs under his belt, and being a key figure in the Cuban Revolution. Until his execution by the CIA in 1965. Personal opinions of Guevara are extensive and far beyond the scope of what I’m going to cover here, and will undoubtedly vary by person. Thus, I’ve left it as a link. He was a radical revolutionary in his lifetime, and is mentioned periodically in conjunction with Naked Snake, which paints a suggested idea of how some characters in-series viewed Big Boss as a person.

This being a good or bad thing, is again up to personal interpretation. 

Either way, it’s notable (for me and I guess for the purpose of this essay) that up until the end of Peace Walker, Big Boss largely rejects the idea of being a figurehead, a martyr or particularly legendary. That is no longer the case in the 80’s. Where he is fully ‘Big Boss’ as we know him, and absolutely fine with leaving people in the line of fire (consent or otherwise) after a long coma, one too many betrayals, and the full disillusionment of his original beliefs at the hands of a lot of hurt, and years of pain and complicated warfare.

I don’t know that I’d consider Big Boss was ever a ‘humble’ sort of man. In the very beginning of his first mission we see him doing (the Halo Jump into the Virtuous Mission) he’s arrogantly smoking and ignoring the man telling him to put on his mask. But by the end of the 80’s he’s gone completely into the beast he and others created, arrogant and without care.

While Venom is working on the Diamond Dogs (who are also later transferred to Outer Heaven, while Big Boss himself operates Foxhound), he’s (at some point) reuniting with Frank Jaeger (now Gray Fox, at some point rescues and recruits Sniper Wolf, and building up Zanzibarland). By the 1990’s, Big Boss is kidnapping scientists, building metal gears, has children he saved on his base, and is nothing like the man we saw in the mid 60’s.

Hey, speaking of kidnapping, let’s go over how soldiers get ‘recruited’ to the MSF, Diamond Dogs (again yes I know that’s Venom), Outer Heaven, etc. Starting with the MSF, (but there was a taste of it in the San Hieronymo Incident), soldiers are knocked out and dragged back to the base. They’re left in the brig for a little bit, and come out completely and utterly loyal to Big Boss.

How loyal?

“We live and die by your order, Boss!”-Diamond Dogs infected with the Vocal Cord Parasite mutation, just before being mercy executed by Venom Snake.

That loyal.(Again, it’s best to operate when talking about Venom Snake in this specific case as if he and Big Boss are one in the same, because it’s not exactly about the man, but the situation, the cult for lack of a better word, of Big Boss). To these soldiers, who they are as people doesn’t matter as much as what the Boss demands. It’s that same energy, that mindset, that had Venom Snake (then the Medic) throw himself in front of a flaming chopper to save Big Boss’ life.

And where Big Boss might’ve questioned that sort of thing beforehand, by the time of Diamond Dogs, Outer Heaven etc, it is fully embraced. It’s fine that he’s got another man doing plenty of his dirty work (without his consent). It’s fine that he left Kaz because Kaz hurt him and betrayed him and he doesn’t deserve to hear otherwise. It’s fine that thousands die in a burning hospital to save his own life.

And then it’s later ‘fine’ when a young Solid Snake (who doesn’t know he’s Big Boss’ son) is sent into Outer Heaven during Operation Intrude N313, to kill who he thinks is Big Boss, but is actually Venom Snake.

Venom Snake, who has now spent 11 years as Big Boss himself, who has one last mission to die. As Big Boss for Big Boss. Again. The tape to Venom is Big Boss at what I believe is one of his most arrogant moments yet. In it, he thanks Venom *sort of* for his work, and how he’s helped him build up their shared legend. A legend that later Big Boss takes all the credit for. Because Outer Heaven explodes, and the man is all but erased from memory. Absorbed back into Big Boss yet again. 

For a man that wanted to create a nation where soldiers mean something, and are revered, Venom’s discarded pretty quick (and he never agreed to be there to begin with). I cannot say if the Medic would’ve agreed to become Big Boss if he’d even been able to, but I can say that it is hard to deny that he’s used as much as any other soldier. Because at this moment, Big Boss now believes that dying on a battlefield is the only way to go, and Venom should be honoured to be him. Or ‘them’ as Big Boss puts it.

“I am you, and you are me.This story, this legend, it’s ours. I cheated death thanks to you.”-Big Boss to Venom Snake. 

And then Venom dies, all but forgotten. His purpose has been served. His job is done. He’s no longer needed. Him, nor any of the soldiers who die in Outer Heaven. With Solid mostly oblivious to the secondary layers happening below. (Big Boss has absolutely no issue using Solid, either. He’s past the point of caring). I can imagine someone telling Solid, “This guy used to laugh about eating glowing mushrooms that recharge his batteries” and being unable to believe it.

When Solid Snake faces down Big Boss for the second time in 1999, he is past the point of caring about anything that isn’t war. His speech to Solid in Zanzibarland before Solid defeats him is infamous, and sums up his general view of the world in a nice, succinct fashion for Solid (and the audience). 

This is the culmination of decades of hurt, betrayals and the knowledge that he is a man built and bred for the war machine. Big Boss has come to a point where he’s suffered enough, experienced enough, that war is all he can understand. War is all that he can possibly care about. He has stopped being able to feel, to connect with people. He is hollowed out, hardened and fully embracing the man he’s turned himself into.

These are not excuses. Big Boss can be a victim of his fate and the war machine, and still not be in the right here. The two can and in this case I’d argue, do very much co-exist. As I said above, his ‘downfall’ was not a matter of tripping down some steps. It was a slow, consistent decline that eventually accumulated. Despite this, Solid does defeat him, and Big Boss is put in stasis for the next few years. Left quite literally on ice. Conscious, but trapped in his body. 

Don’t YOU make your clone son kill your body double and use him almost as badly as others used you? No? (Solid Snake and Big Boss, Metal Gear Solid 2, Yoji Shinkawa)

“I never saw you as a son. But as a man, a soldier.”-Big Boss to Solid Snake, 2014

We know how this story ends. Big Boss spends a bunch of time on ice, gets re-fitted with body parts taken from Solidus’ and dies of the new Foxdie virus (which also kills Eva and Ocelot, just like it did Liquid before) in the same cemetery where most of it started. Leaning up against the Boss’ grave. Aware that he spent decades misunderstanding her will, and that he never quite got it right in life.

How then, would I wrap this up? Well, I guess you could say that I’ve cheated a little. Because I never truly answer the question, “how does Big Boss become evil”, did I? I suppose some of it’s because, as I summed up earlier, I just don’t see it as such a simple case. I do believe that we’re all meant to have our own interpretation, at the end of the day, and the easiest way to summarise it might be that a man becomes so enmeshed in the war machine, that he turns into the very machine himself.

Big Boss had child soldiers (but did the kids fight?). Big Boss used, and abused many people (and was used and abused himself). Big Boss created PMC’s (with help). Big Boss had nukes (at the suggestion of others).

Etc, etc.

At the end of the day, I’ll conclude this long, rambling spiral of thoughts to say that the moment Big Boss ‘turns’ is up to interpretation. Which may seem like a cowards way out, but is it not true? Whenever I pose the question, I see many different answers and responses out in the wild.

This, therefore, is my own take on it. My attempt. And I know I’ve probably forgotten something (or many something’s) but I personally, will end here.

If you made it this far, congratulations! I cannot believe how long this got, and thanks for coming along with me.

By,

Nate

[altocat]

Hi! I’m kinda new to the Crisis Core fandom (although a longtime FF7 fan) and I really enjoy your writing so I was hoping to hear your thoughts on something if you’re willing to share!

I really loved Angeal’s character, and I don’t know if I missed something but I feel like some really tragic elements of his death are overlooked? The man was already crumbling from the discovery that he couldn’t be the honourable hero he had worked his entire life to be due to a circumstance beyond his control, and was, by his own definition, a “monster” who had the same power as Ms Calamity from the Sky JENOVA, and then he discovers his own mother’s body after she commits suicide? That is such a huge amount of shock and trauma for any one person in an entire lifetime, and it all happened extremely fast.

I don’t want to suggest that him having Zack kill him was the right course of action, because I don’t think it was. However, I do think Angeal deserves a little grace for not having the best plan at this point in time. Losing a parent can be one of the most difficult kinds of grief to navigate, and he had to do that on top of the degradation/shattered self/deadbeat dad trying to steal his body parts.

So I guess I’d just like to ask you your thoughts on Angeal and the circumstances of his death? Am I being too soft about him? Thank you in advance for your time and I really appreciate all the writing you share with us 🌸

I think you hit the nail on the head. Angeal was wronged just as much as Genesis and Sephiroth. He feels like a hypocrite for wanting to be a good and honorable soldier when in reality his entire life is a lie. And he dies passing on that legacy to someone he hopes will surpass him, who in turn finds someone HE hopes will surpass HIM.

I think the tragedy of Angeal is that while Genesis lashed out and Sephiroth goes insane, Angeal just sort of gives up. He directs all his anger and bitterness towards himself and seeks to end his own existence as quickly as possible. He was obviously in a lot of pain. And while Angeal definitely has done some considerably questionable/morally gray things under Shinra, it's important to note that he's also Shinra's victim. And was just as lost and confused as the others. He didn't get to be an honorable hero in the end. But his loss also influenced a legacy of heroes in his wake.

[affo-gatto-gateau]

Okay, so I know there are plenty of 'tf2 mercs as [insert animal]' but I would also like to do this, so I, because I'm a sort-of nerd, I would like to do it as a crossover. I present:

What Star Wars creature would each Merc be?

Scout - Twi'lek/Clawdite Hybrid

He will tell you that he is a full Twi'lek, like his older brothers. His lekku are definitely as long as his full-blooded Twi'lek family, and his skin doesn't completely change its colour depending on his emotions. His dad was Twi'lek and couldn't have been anything else. (everyone believed that.)

Soldier - Besalisk

(Four-armed sentient, think Dexter Jettster or Pong Krell. Actually, don't think Pong Krell. Fuck Pong Krell.)He's thrill-seeking and has very little fear of death. Will leak secret intelligence if just lightly asked. Will engage in violent mating rituals, but then will stick with them for life. Also, think of how much more bread he could teleport with 4 arms. He could hold a shovel and a rocket launcher at the same time!

Pyro - Tusken Raider

How did a Sand Person get off Tatooine? Where is their tribe? What are they doing as a mercenary? What is under their mask? All good question, with zero answers. Pyro just is. Why does the Tusken Raider have a large flamethrower? Unclear! Can we take said flamethrower off them? Not while keeping all your limbs intact!

Demo - Togruta

I... I don't know why. He just seems like a Togruta kind of fellow. He needs lekku of some kind, and Togrutas also get to be carnivorous. I can see Demo being carnivorous. Maybe he's even missing one of his lek/montrals. Or, he makes up for his missing eye with the echolocation that his montrals bring

Heavy - Wookiee

Big, strong, loyal but known to rip off arms when provoked. Follow a warrior's code of honour. When angered (say, if you murder their Medic in cold blood) will fly into a berserker rage. Great for cuddling. Is there much else to say? Heavy is a Wookiee to a T.

Engineer - Lannik

(think a dwarf with ears bigger than an elf. Or, if you know him, Even Piell) Strong-willed, smart and great at battle strategy. Also, Lanniks are good with technology! Plus, Engineer is SHORT

Medic - Zabrak

(same species as Darth Maul and Savage Opress, though I don't believe he'd be Dathomiri. More likely from a Core World) Self-assured to the point of arrogance, striving to be the best, even to the point of playing god. A terrifying man, but you'd be glad to have him on your side.

Sniper - Kiffar

(Same thing that Quinlan Vos is) Idk but I really vibe with this. I mean, Sniper's a hunter, so it would make sense that he's good at tracking. And also, Sniper with traditional Clan tattoos??? Yes???

Spy - Clawdite

(a shapeshifting sentient species. Like that one bounty hunter from Attack of the Clones. I apologise for ) I mean. A species that can change their appearance at will? Come on. Who else could it be?

Idk I really just went with the vibes. I'm sure if I dug deeper into the pits of Wookieepedia I could have found some more obscure or better-fitting species, but I also don't want to make them just random things for the sake of being a nerd and forcing people to look just as deep as I did to make any sense of what I'm saying. I just thought this was neat. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[sjsmith56]

Coming Through - A Private Man, Chapter 2

Summary: Bucky feels a connection with the public health nurse and openly wonders if he can ask her out.

Length: 4.9 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Rebecca Barnes Proctor, Tracey Harris, several OFC, Sam Wilson, Foggy Nelson.

Warnings: Bucky’s anxiety and self-doubt.

Author notes: This chapter also sets up a relationship with a newcomer / refugee centre, as the people who use it become important fixtures in the lives of Bucky and his sister.

<<Chapter 1

🎈 ⚽️ 🍲

It had been a day and a half since Tracey stayed overnight at Rebecca's house. The volunteer centre ended up removing Bucky's notice which bothered her but the second agency she called said they had several people who responded immediately, wanting to give back to the community that had welcomed them from their own dire circumstances. She brought them together at their house on the Sunday afternoon so they could meet Bucky and Rebecca. What surprised her the most was that after listening to the different people Bucky was able to speak to several of them in their own language which pleased them immensely.

"How do you know their language?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He blushed slightly. "The Winter Soldier knew a lot of languages. I retained it all. Do they know who I was?"

She nodded. "I made that clear to the agency. I hope you don't mind. I felt being honest from the beginning was probably for the best. Most of them come from a culture that honours their elders. I think they'll be good to your sister."

With her help they set up a schedule for each person to take one night per week, starting Monday night. They all had Bucky's cell phone number in case of an emergency. Tracey gave them hers as well, saying she wanted to be sure that the lines of communication stayed open between herself and those caring for Rebecca. One of the volunteers, an Afghan woman named Samira, asked Bucky if he would object to her cooking some traditional snacks for Rebecca. He looked at his sister.

"What do you say?" he asked. "Are you willing to try some foreign foods?"

"As long as it's not too spicy, or greasy," she replied. "I would be embarrassed if something didn't agree with me after all the trouble she went to."

Samira smiled warmly and assured her she would tone down the flavours. The others asked if they could do the same and were pleased that Rebecca showed she still had an adventurous spirit at 94 years of age. With the schedule set the volunteers said goodbye to the pair, promising to take good care of Rebecca. Once again Bucky walked Tracey out to her car and they stood there awkwardly for a moment, not saying anything.

"I really appreciate the extra work you've done," he said. "Coming in today on your day off was very kind of you. Those volunteers all seem nice."

"They are," she replied. "I've dealt with that group before. We had a mother who had triplets and she needed overnight help to look after them. That agency rallied around them. I didn't mind bringing them together on your behalf. I didn't get a good response from the volunteer centre so I tried the newcomer agency and they were much friendlier about helping."

Bucky nodded. "I thought it was something like that." He hesitated. "How long do you think it will be before we find out about the extra funding?"

"It could be weeks," replied Tracey. "Anyways, I should get going. Bucky, I promise I will do everything I can to keep Rebecca living here. She loves you so much and that bond is crucial to her mental health, and to yours as well, I think. I will be by to see you both on Friday morning."

"Thank you again," he said, looking her directly in the eyes.

She opened the car door and smiled at him as she got inside the car. As she pulled away she looked in the rear view mirror noticing he watched her as she drove away. It made her wonder if he had much of a social life or if he put everything into taking care of his sister.

On Friday, Tracey made her weekly visit, ringing the doorbell at the house. Bucky let her in and she noticed there was coffee and cookies ready for her visit.

"You didn't have to do that," she said.

"I didn't," replied Bucky. "Amina baked them when she stayed over last night. I have to tell you the people you found are so kind to Rebecca. The women have been applying lotion to her skin and trimmed her toenails, better than I did. Kalyna even put nail polish on them and her fingernails. There's been a different snack for her every night. Tomorrow we've been invited to a Sudanese feast. Most of the volunteers from the agency are going. I don't have a car but we'll find a way to get there, if I have to push her in the wheelchair."

"I could drive you," offered Tracey. "I have no plans for the weekend. Would you be okay with that?"

Bucky looked to Rebecca who nodded amiably. Pulling her equipment out of her bag Tracey examined Rebecca and marked down the readings in her iPad. She asked different questions for the mental assessment but seemed satisfied with the answers. Then she sat back and picked up one of the cookies, biting into it.

"That's tasty," she said. "I can taste cloves. I'm quite pleased with your readings this week. Your blood pressure is good and you seem to have more strength in your arms. Are the ladies doing anything with you?"

"Samira gave me a soup can to do bicep curls," said Rebecca. "Said her grandmother did it well into her 90s but with a piece of firewood, instead of a can. They are all lovely ladies and tell me many stories of their life in their home countries. Some of them have been through terrible times but now that they're here they are so full of hope for the future of their families."

They visited for a little longer then Tracey checked her watch as she had to get to her next appointment. Bucky walked her out to her car, gazing down at her as she unlocked her door.

"What time would you like me to pick you up tomorrow?" she asked.

"Is 11:30 okay?" he answered. "It's at their community centre not too far from here."

"It's fine," she replied. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded. "Do you get out much? You know, as your sister's caregiver that it's important you practice some self care for yourself. Dating, or doing something that you enjoy doing."

"I don't date," he admitted, looking directly at her while he spoke. "I find it hard to talk with most women as I don't have a lot in common with them. I don't really know a lot about modern music or culture. When I'm home I read and putter around in the garden, planting stuff or fixing things."

"You talk to me just fine. I'm sure there's someone who would be pleased to go out with you, to a movie, or just to walk in the park."

"Would you?" Then he looked away as if he had overstepped a boundary. He refocused his attention on her. "Would you meet me for coffee sometime?"

"If your sister wasn't my client I would," she said, returning his gaze. "You're a nice man but I can't date a client."

He nodded in understanding. "Could you meet me for coffee to discuss my sister? Amina and Samira have both said they could help during the day so I could get errands done. Perhaps there are things you need to discuss in confidence."

He seemed slightly anxious while Tracey looked up at him. His blue eyes were focused on her with an intensity that would have unnerved her a few years ago but she didn't feel that way with him. Even with the stubble on his face she could see he was a very handsome man. Maybe what he really needed was practice in how to relate to a modern woman. There wouldn't be any harm in meeting with him as a client's representative.

"Okay, we can do that," she agreed. "Text me and I'll meet you. By the way, there should be a lawyer coming to meet with your sister next week. She wants to write her will, make you her heir. I asked a pro bono lawyer, Foggy Nelson. Perhaps he can help you with your claim for back pay. He's a bit of a crusader with his law partner."

"Thank you." Bucky smiled softly at her. "I'll let you know about the coffee meeting."

He watched her drive away and returned to the house where his sister sat smiling from where she watched the exchange between Bucky and Tracey.

"You ask her out?" she asked.

"She can't date a client," he said. "So I asked if she would have a coffee with me to talk about you. What's this about a lawyer?"

"I want to leave you the house if I die," said Rebecca. "If it doesn't get written down the government will take it." She looked at her brother, at the slight frown on his face. "It's the prudent thing to do, Bucky. Let me make sure you're taken care of on this. You already take such good care of me."

He smiled at his sister. "Alright. Tracey suggested he could help me with my back pay claim. It's been almost a year and I haven't heard anything. Maybe he can nudge the right people."

The following day Tracey showed up on time to drive them to the community centre. Bucky carried his sister out, gently seating her into the front seat of the car, reaching over and fastening her seatbelt securely. Then he folded up her wheelchair and placed it inside the trunk. It was a little crammed in the back seat because of his long legs but he didn't complain. It also allowed him the opportunity to look at Tracey. She even looked at him a few times through the rear view mirror.

When they arrived at the community centre there were balloons and decorations marking the occasion. Several of their volunteers came over to welcome them to the event. As soon as Bucky lifted Rebecca out of the front seat and put her into her wheel chair Amina took her inside the building. While Tracey parked the car Kalyna, a Ukrainian refugee, brought her husband Bohdan over and introduced him to Bucky. His face lit up when Bucky spoke Ukrainian to him, as he was still in the process of learning English. Bucky told him he would be happy to help him learn and on noticing the man had one arm told him he lost his own arm during World War II. Of course he asked to see Bucky's new arm and at first thought it was something he could get but Bucky explained it was a Wakandan prototype gifted to him. He tried to keep the explanation simple and was happy when Tracey rescued him from the man.

"Thanks," he said. "He kept asking how he could get one gifted to him. I don't think he understood this was, what do you call it? A one-off?"

"The Wakandans helped with more than the arm, didn't they?" she asked.

He nodded. "They made it impossible to activate the Winter Soldier again. He's dead and buried. I vowed never to kill again but as long as the code words were still there someone could bring him back. I owe them so much."

They approached the door and he stood to the side to let her in first. There was a hallway full of displays about Sudan and the neighbouring countries. She noticed and watched how he positioned himself whenever they approached one of the displays, always allowing her to see something first. He looked for Rebecca, smiling at how animated she was as Amina pushed her along and stopped at the displays, explaining this and that to her. It felt good to see her interacting with people as he realized his own introversion had kept them inside the house, isolating themselves from the neighbourhood.

There was a moment when someone's child came inside complaining about a lost soccer ball. Bucky's sensitive hearing picked up the conversation and he heard an adult ask if there was a way to the roof. Stepping outside he saw several kids grouped together looking up towards the roof of the building. Gathering that the ball had been kicked up there he went to the side of the building and jumped up, located the ball and stood at the edge with it before tossing it down to the waiting children. When he jumped down, landing cleanly on both feet there was applause. Someone came over and asked if he was an Avenger.

"I was," he replied truthfully. "During the battle of Wakanda and then again, when Thanos returned. I fought against the Flag Smashers when they hurt people. I'm not an Avenger now. Now I work at the docks in a regular job."

"They don't have the Avengers anymore?"

"No, no one would fund it," he said, somewhat embarrassed.

As his words were shared throughout the assembled guests he became uncomfortable with the attention and turned away, seeking a quiet corner. Tracey followed him, concerned for him. When they were alone he looked down at his feet and took some deep breaths.

"The attention makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?" she asked. "The questions about the Avengers bother you. Do you have anxiety?"

"Well, funding it wasn't in my control," he said. "I leave that sort of thing to more important people. My job is good. It's honest work and pays decently." Then he looked at her face and knew he hadn't really answered her question. "I do have anxiety over how people see and react to me. Since I've been ... rehabilitated I've tried to do the right thing. My abilities make me unique. I know that but if the government doesn't fund the Avengers then it's not like I'm rich enough to do it pro bono. Still have to eat and pay the bills."

"Did you like it? Being an Avenger even if it was only briefly."

"I was good at it," he answered. "Making sure people were safe, stopping others from hurting people. I'm just an ordinary guy really."

Tracey could see he was getting more uncomfortable with the questions and she smiled at him. "I think you're more than an ordinary guy. I think you're one of the good ones."

For a moment Bucky couldn't tear his eyes away from Tracey's lips then they were interrupted by the announcement that the food was ready and to line up. Searching through the sea of faces they found Rebecca and saw she was already being seen to by Amina, who looked back and nodded at them. They joined the lineup of people that were waiting. When they got to the buffet tables they picked up their paper plates and loaded the different foods on them. A couple of chairs were saved for them at the table where Rebecca was sitting. Amina introduced them to her family, a husband, son, and daughter. Bucky noted her son was the boy who came in asking for help with the soccer ball. He became aware of the boy watching him closely and finally looked directly at him.

"What would you like to know?" he asked in Arabic.

"May I see your arm?" he asked, to his mother's horror.

She started to apologize to Bucky and he waved it off. Gesturing to her son to come closer he took the glove off of his left hand and pushed up the sleeve of his long sleeve Henley shirt. Smiling and then nodding he told the boy he could touch it.

"It's metal," said Amina's son, Kafeel. "Are there wires and stuff inside?"

"It's all computer circuitry and microchips," replied Bucky. "It works just like a normal arm except I don't feel things quite the same. I had to learn to be gentle with it so that I didn't crush fragile things."

"Cool," said the boy. He looked up at Bucky. "Thank you for getting my soccer ball."

"You're welcome," he replied calmly.

Kafeel returned to his seat and Bucky pulled his sleeve down but left his glove off. Rebecca had a soft smile on her face, knowing that her brother was a kind man at heart, especially when children were involved. Later, when the gathering began winding down people were encouraged to take leftovers home with them and foil containers were put out. Amina brought a full one to Rebecca and Tracey, then went back and brought another full one to Bucky, saying she knew he needed more food than normal, having heard it from his sister. While Tracey brought the car he pushed Rebecca out through the main door. The sun was almost down and many people were standing around chatting before leaving. As he lifted his sister up several people descended on the wheelchair to fold it up and laughed as they touched it at the same time. It was put into the trunk as he placed her in the front seat and fastened her seat belt. All of her volunteers were gathered around to say their thanks to Rebecca and Bucky for coming.

"Thank you for asking us," he said with some emotion. "I wish I had known about you all sooner. You're good neighbours."

"Mr. Bucky, we're here to help," said Samira. "You're a good man and you look after Mrs. Rebecca very well. Please, don't hesitate to call any one of us, any time."

He nodded and got into the back seat. As they pulled away Rebecca waved goodbye to their friends, for they were friends now. At the house he carried his sister inside, placing her in the arm chair. He went back out to where Tracey had pulled the wheel chair out and stood beside the open trunk. For a moment they looked at each other studying the other's face without speaking. Putting his hand out he shook her hand, making her notice how gentle the grasp of his large hand over hers felt.

"Thanks for driving us," he said softly. "I'll let you know about that coffee meeting soon."

Tracey nodded and got into her seat. Like always she looked back via the rear view mirror and saw that Bucky watched her for a long time. When she made a turn she pulled over and sat there for a moment. What was happening to her? She never had feelings for a client before but then was Bucky really her client? His sister was but was that still too close for comfort? At that moment Hungry Eyes came on the radio and she took a breath. She didn't want to think whose eyes were more hungry. As much as she didn't want to she might have to step away from this client. She could get lost in those blue eyes and that would cause all sorts of problems professionally.

A small smile was on Rebecca's face when Bucky came back inside. He put the leftovers away in the fridge and put some water on for tea. Making them both a cup of camomile tea he brought hers out and placed it on the table beside her. Both of them yawned almost instantaneously and chuckled at each other.

"You like her," noted Rebecca. "I can tell by how you watch her."

"She's a nice lady," he said. "It's obvious she cares about people."

"She's divorced, no kids. Her husband worked out of town a lot and cheated on her. That's when she went back to school for nursing."

"I'm a fossil. My outside might say young but inside I still miss the 1940s. It was simpler then. She could do better than me, a dock worker."

He looked at anything except his sister, taking a sip of his tea. Whatever Rebecca thought she saw in him when he looked at Tracey was wishful thinking at best. Still, he liked the quiet nurse's calm manner and found it easy to talk to her. He had spoken more to her in the few days of their acquaintance than he had ever spoken to any woman since reassembling after the Snap.

"Ethically, she can't date me," he said suddenly, startling Rebecca. "You're her client, that makes me her client as well. She could get into trouble if we dated and I wouldn't do that to her."

"That's a shame," replied his sister. "You could build a life with someone like her."

He drained his mug and went to the kitchen to wash it out. Sometimes he didn't want to hear Rebecca say out loud what he was feeling. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at Tracey's phone number in his contacts list. Just as quickly he opened up another contact and dialled, then stepped outside into the dark of the backyard so his sister wouldn't hear him. It took several rings but when he heard Sam's voice he let a breath out.

"Hey, Bucky, what's up?" asked Sam. "How's Rebecca and the job?"

"Job is ok. Ran into some bureaucracy with Rebecca," replied Bucky. "We have a public health nurse who checks on her every week and she's doing good but we had to line up volunteers to look after her overnight while I'm working as she can't be alone. I couldn't afford to hire anyone."

"Yeah, that can get expensive," he said. "But you lined up volunteers? From where?"

"A newcomer agency for refugees and immigrants," said Bucky. "It's working out but I need your advice on something else."

"Okay," drawled Sam, sounding unsure. "What's wrong?"

"I think I'm falling for the nurse and I think she likes me but ethically she can't date me," explained Bucky. "She's really good with Rebecca and I don't want to get her into any trouble but how do I get her off my sister's case so we can date?"

"Oh man," breathed Sam. "Are you sure she feels something for you? Because if you do this and she turns you down ...."

"No, she hasn't said anything." Bucky was suddenly thinking that maybe this wasn't a good idea. "I just ... I just feel a connection with her that I haven't felt with anyone else. I'm tired of being alone, Sam. It's exhausting."

"You haven't dated anyone?" he asked. "What happened to that Leah, the bartender?"

"After I told Yori about his son she didn't want to see me any more," said Bucky.

"So, not even any casual hookups?"

Bucky knew that Sam would ask that but also didn't want to admit who he had been hooking up with for casual sex so he lied.

"No, nothing. Do you think I should tell her straight up that I'm attracted to her and want to take it further? Or should I let it go?"

He could hear Sam breathing at the other end as he thought over what Bucky asked. "You could tell her and suggest a different nurse take on Rebecca as a client. I'm sure they shuffle case loads all the time. Then you give her time before you officially ask her out, a month at least, longer if you can stand it."

Bucky took a big breath. That actually sounded like a good plan. If Tracey was interested in him he would be willing to wait until she was comfortable with dating him. They talked a little longer about whether Sam had heard anything from anyone about the Avengers restarting but he hadn't so they finished the conversation and said their goodbyes.

The following day it rained so Bucky cleaned the house, did some laundry, and read. He called Amina and asked if she could come in on one of the weekdays so he could run errands. She suggested Tuesday afternoon which he accepted. Then he texted Tracey, asking to meet for coffee then. He was afraid to phone, certain he wouldn't be able to talk coherently. She texted back, agreeing to meet him at 2 pm. Rebecca saw his face go soft when he received the text but didn't say anything, knowing he would withdraw from her if she spoke.

On Monday morning the doorbell rang and Bucky looked out the small cutout window of the front door. A somewhat pudgy man with long hair parted at one side waited. Bucky opened the door.

"Hi, I'm here to see Rebecca Proctor about a will?" he began then did a little double take. "You really are Bucky Barnes."

"Yeah, Rebecca is my sister," replied Bucky. "You're Foggy Nelson, I take it. Come in."

Nodding his head Foggy stepped in and wiped his shoes on the mat. Bucky led him into the living room introducing him to Rebecca. He looked around, seeing how neat and clean everything was.

"Nice place," he said. "So you want to write your will."

"Yes, I want to make sure the house goes to Bucky if I die," she replied. "He already pays the taxes and utilities, and we split on everything else."

Foggy turned to Bucky. "You live here, full time?" Bucky nodded. "You don't need a will for that. You can make your brother a joint tenant with right of survivorship. It makes it easier for him to inherit it. If you put it in the will then it has to go through an executor, and probate, and it could take a while for him to legally inherit it. As a joint tenant his name would be on the land title and it would automatically go to him."

Rebecca smiled. "Let's do that."

Foggy wrote down all of the relevant information and indicated they could still do a will for her personal possessions. He would print off the forms at his office and bring them back for signing. Then he looked at Bucky.

"Tracey said you may need my services as well," he said. "Something about a claim for back pay?"

"Well, I was a POW for all the time HYDRA had me," replied Bucky. "It was suggested by the lawyer who represented me after the Battle of Earth that I put in a claim for it. He thought I was entitled to some sort of compensation for being kept as a slave, really." Foggy listened sympathetically, nodding his head slightly. "It's not that I want a big payday or anything but there is evidence that some members of the military and CIA who were HYDRA sympathizers kept my existence a secret from people who would have come looking for me and rescue me. I put in a claim a year ago and since then have heard nothing."

"Bucky has to work night shift at the docks," said Rebecca. "It's not the best paying job but it's honest work. Between that and our pensions we manage but the money is tight. We depend on volunteers to stay the night with me so that I'm not alone. He's given up a lot to look after me. No social life is hard on a young man like him."

Bucky smiled at his sister. "I'm older than you, kid."

Foggy grinned at the sibling exchange. "What does your lawyer say about it?"

"He retired and when I phoned to ask if anyone else was taking the case they said they needed a retainer," he replied. "I don't have that kind of money."

"What about the Avengers?" asked Foggy. "Are they not active?"

"No funding," replied Bucky. "Everyone's doing their own thing basically, although Sam and Joaquin, Cap and Falcon, get the occasional contract. It's not like they paid us to take down the Flag Smashers."

Foggy nodded sympathetically. "Okay, I'll take on your case as well. See if I can light a fire under some bureaucrat. The evidence that your existence was hidden ... was that in the release of HYDRA and SHIELD files onto the web?" Bucky nodded and Foggy stood up. "Okay, I'll get these forms made up and bring them to you, Rebecca, to sign. For the joint tenancy, Bucky you'll have to pay your sister a dollar. I can witness that transaction, although I may have to bring a colleague to act as notary. Don't worry, that won't cost you anything. I'll call back in on Wednesday morning."

He shook their hands and let himself out. Rebecca looked at her brother.

"I liked him," she said. "Such a nice young man.

Bucky liked him, too, but was concerned about Nelson's ability to light a fire under a bureaucrat. His previous lawyer had said it was a slam dunk but nothing had come of it. If he was a suspicious man he might think someone was deliberately dragging their feet on his claim. As far as Bucky was concerned they could still be on their own.

Chapter 3>>

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[ibims1seb]

A Forever Caged Bird

The Sypher Trilogy

Tw: long term captivity, mentioned starving, mention dehydration, mentioned denial of basic needs, mentioned war, mentioned mass executions, mentioned mass punishment, mentioned beatings, dehumanisation/demeaning treatment, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers

Here is the Infopost for The Sypher Trilogy and Here you will get to the Masterlist :)

Chapter 0 || Prev || Next

Chapter 1

It had been three weeks since Malvik cut all of their supply and communication lines. Two weeks since they had barely enough food, water or information to call the conditions in the underground living and military complex of Base 162 ‘liveable’. One week since enemy forces under the command of General Pascal Winterson raided and took over the base.

One weeks where even breathing was a privilege. And it didn’t seem to stop anytime soon.

But that wasn’t the worst part, not for Azriel, at least. He was the Captain, the adoptive son and protégé of none other than Dictator Malvik Sypher himself. And they knew that. Had used it as an excuse to humiliate and shame him. And in the worst way possible for a Captain with his sense of honour and dignity.

He had his own room. He had clean clothes, bathroom, bed, desk and even his two Ravens, Sinistra and Dextra, he got to keep close. That sounds good, right? Oh no. The room he was assigned to, he shared with the General himself. Winterson had stripped him from any clothes that weren’t the Uniform of the Southern Provinces, the Uniform of Pascal’s Army. The man kept him close, made him sit with him instead of with Azriel’s men. He didn’t allow him to work, no, he was to *watch* as his own Soldiers worked themselves close to death.

He watched as his people suffered, and had no scars to show for it himself. He watched as they starved while he was forced to eat with the General and his men. He had nightmares of the prison cells the 29 people lived in while he turned under a blanket, in the same comfortable bed as the bastard who is doing all this to him, to them!

It was one of these days, of course it was. Azriel stood at the sidelines while his Soldiers were shoved and pushed around, insulted and told to work, himself doing nothing but picking at the uncomfortable uniform he was forced into once more. It didn’t even register in his mind what his people were forced to do, exactly. He didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to be there with them.

Multiple sets of thunderous footsteps, coming from similar heavy boots as the one’s he wore, ripped him back into the real world. He glanced behind him, and immediately regretted it.

Of course, it was Winterson and his Soldier dogs. Of course, he was wearing that ugly smile, that triumphant expression, that hated uniform and the even more disliked badge, supposedly showing off his ‘honour’. What honour, he thought. What fucking honour did this man have? He enslaved his prisoners, denies them food and water, beats them when they can’t live up to his expectations and forces them to sleep in dirty, cramped and small cells in the deepest, darkest hole of the complex in groups of up to seven people. And he didn’t even have to.

There were more than enough cells to accommodate them in groups of two, there were more than enough supplies to give them decent meals, medical attention, water and hygiene products. He just didn’t give it to them unless they begged themselves into the ground like cowering mutts.

So Azriel asks again: What honour does this bastard have to wear the badge of a General with such pride?

Winterson stopped next to him, his disgusting grin widening once more, as he watched his enemy’s soldiers work themselves six feet under the ground while being treated like less than the animals in the stables.

“You know… I’d be a lot more willing to treat them good if you did the begging yourself for once.” The scumbag smirked, golden brown eyes narrowing, but his attention was long no longer on the poor people down there, but instead on his favourite captive.

Of course, he’d say that. Of fucking course. But, he probably underestimated how Azriel viewed ‘begging’. He wasn’t one to be ashamed to do something that could help others. He wasn’t one who would think of it as degrading to get on his knees. He was too stoic to see it as humiliation, it was a means to an end. One he would gladly accept if it was for the well being and safety of his people.

You want me to kneel and beg? Okay, I’ll kneel and beg! But I’ll do it my way!

It took little hesitation for him to get down on his knees, ignoring the looks he got from both his own Soldiers and Pascal’s. The General himself just grinned widely, though that soon dropped when he saw the ease and strength his captive still had, even while on his knees.

His shoulders were still square, his head and back straight, his chin high and his hands sitting nicely on his thighs. It was the perfect kneeling position, and yet the Captain extruded so much power and dignity from such a demeaning and submissive position, one would think he was the one in charge. His own raven blue eyes didn’t leave the General’s golden brown one’s, and the coldness within them was as chilling and dangerous as a winter in the most Southern parts of the planet. It wasn’t submission, it was a challenge.

“General Pascal Winterson. I beg you to be the honourable and dignified General you claim to be, and allow my team fair conditions for survival at your hands and mercy.” There was no responds to the sudden and bold words, only the disappearance of that ugly smirk showing that the man was even listening.

God, Azriel would have lied if he said he didn’t like that. The way his grin faltered and his eyes narrowed and the small gasps and glares from the other people in the area. Yet, no one did anything. Pascal was interested and his Soldiers scared to act without orders.

He was playing with the guy’s ego, with his selfish view of himself, that illusion that he was honourable, dignified and a great person and leader. He played with those traits like a cat would with a mouse. And it was delicious how well it worked.

“I expected strength from a man of your position, and the strongest thing one can do in war is to have the decency, to themselves and the world, to treat Soldiers like the sentient, living beings they are, not worse than the animals in the stables. You are acting like a vengeful man, afraid to show mercy, fearing he’d be seen as weak, not understanding that this is the most powerful thing one can do. I do not expect freedom, neither do I expect kindness or equality, however I would have thought a General would be better than what he swore to destroy.”

Oh, how those words must have stung. How mentioning that the bastard was no better than Malvik in the way he tread his prisoners must have pulled at ego, and twisted his stone cold heart in a way that no one thought possible. Or, at least, that’s what Azriel wanted.

Another grin appeared on Winterson’s face, and even though no one saw it or noticed, it made the Captain’s heart burn with utter rage. However, this grin was not as… stupid, not as sadistic, cold and stupidly delighted at the suffering of others. It was… smaller, a little bit confused, and filled with emotions he didn’t know the fucker even had. Things like… adoration? Thoughtfulness? Respect?

“You do have a good way with words, don’t you..?” He hummed, the grin widening into something more unreadable, something more similar to that damnable smirk. “Get up.”

The order was followed with a pause, not necessarily hesitation, just a need to show that he was not getting up because he was blindly obeying the man, but because he himself wanted to get up and just show the mercy of following the order to not let Pascal look like the utter loser he was in front of his men.

When he stood again, his back as straight as a board, his chest puffed out slightly and his deep water blue eyes never leaving the bastard’s own, and his high heeled, shin high combat boots standing firmly on the ground, one thing was made very clear. Not only was Azriel not afraid of Winterson, he was also not afraid to show that.

“Okay… I’ll bite, Captain, what are the demands, huh? What is your plan to making your little stay with us better? And what will I get in return?”

He gritted his teeth until one could hear soft cracking sounds, barely able to keep the utter distain and hatred he felt towards this man out of his ever-cold glare. What did he gain from it? Respect, actually honour and everyone’s loyalty. If he treated these prisoners better, they’d have no reason to ever run or defy him. Literally, most of these Soldiers had nothing left. Malvik had made sure of that.

“Okay… the plan is simple. Two people per room, enough food to keep than at a healthy weight, water whenever needed, hygiene products, access to medical help and the basic decency to treat them like sentient beings instead of slaves. No more mockery or insults, no more undeserved punishments. Just basic fucking morality.”

“And what will I gain from that?” Oh, he fucking hated that smirk! That ugly, knowing, smug grin he wore like he ruled the world. The question came instantly, and the answer to it came even faster.

“Respect. Whether it be from my Soldiers who will see you as the godly provider they hadn’t during their time in the Army of Peace, or from your own because you show them that showing mercy is a strength you actually posses. If that is not enough, I am also gladly willing to trait my insight and knowledge on the Amperium Stratocracy and the Army of Peace.”

That was a deal Winterson couldn’t not take. And damn, he wasn’t even afraid to show it. His eyes widened noticeably and so did his grin, an eyebrow raised and for a quick second, his glance flashed towards the working man.

“You’ll defect for the safety of your Soldier?” He asked, almost not believing his ears. Captain Azriel was willing to betray his own country, his adoptive father and all he had ever known… for the safety and security of 29 men, women and people… and he didn’t even think twice about it. That did not only deserve his respect, but also his agreement. Azriel couldn’t even try to maser the rhetorical question when the General already nodded, snapping his fingers at one of his soldiers.

“Okay, deal, we’ll get all of that sorted out.” He said, his eyes not leaven the smaller one’s own, almost getting lost in them, before he quickly turned his head and barked out some orders.

“Stop the working and get these people food, not too much for now, we don’t want them getting sick. After that, pull out one after another and let them get medical checkups, treat whatever needs treatment. Tomorrow, I want a briefing session with the whole base about a few… changes.”

Azriel stood there, feeling almost… helpless, as the orders were barked out and reluctantly followed, as everything moved and swirled and turned. He turned this situation! He.. he did his job, he kept his Soldiers safe, he would bring them back home alive! He would do it…

“You really do hate that bastard, if you’re willing to betray him like that…” it was almost a question. A question for his reasoning, his motivation to do such drastic things for other beings,

“You don’t seem to know much about this base. Did you ever ask yourself why it was so easy to take this place over?”

A raised eyebrow was all the answer he got, but also all he needed. Of course, Pascal didn’t know. He probably didn’t care, was just happy that it went so easy. There was no reason to be concerned, he had everything under his control, after all.

“This place is the garbage bin for all the Soldiers Malvik has no use for, or those he can’t execute officially, but wants them gone anyway. Every person here was and is on the Dictator’s bad side. The ones that, after being taken from their families and homes, didn’t immediately bend to his will.”

“And you?” The question was almost innocent. Almost, but there was a tiny hint of mockery in them, even though Winterson tried to hide it.

“I betrayed Malvik long before I made you that offer. I defied more orders than I could count, I was on his bad side long before this war started. He just wanted to make my punishment extra cruel by putting me in charge of his black sheep, while throwing all of us to the wolf and enjoying the show. He cut communication and supply lines and waited how long we’d last. Didn’t even take a week, and you showed up.”

Azriel sighed, and the taller could do nothing but huff. It wasn’t necessary out of amusement, or maybe the amusement he heard was a coping mechanism to digest the unforgiving truth he was just presented. These people were victims, just as much as the people from the Southern Provinces were. No one deserved to be part of Malvik’s games, and yet, he played all of them like pawns on a chess board, and there wasn’t even a real strategy behind his moves. He just did it to have a show to enjoy.

“Everybody here wants Malvik dead, one way or another. And yes, that includes me as well. If I had it my way, I’d be the one to ram the dagger into his heart.”

—————

Hello! I’m back! Who would have thought! Anyway, enjoy the new chapter and if you like, interact with it in some way, would be very nice :)

Masterlist

[revacholianpizzaagenda]

Lungs and heart

Metaphorical use of lungs and heart to signify love, devotion, joy, spirit etc in Disco Elysium: a copypasted list

tl;dr heart beats lungs 5 to 1 and that's rounding up and with some very generous skipping of heart-related lines that were pretty similar. Lungs only come up when literally talking about or to Dolores Dei/Dora, one moralist-flavoured mention by Empathy, one likely symbolic use by Lilienne, one use by Shivers which may or may not be related. In common parlance, everyone from the skills to the crab man to Dora herself would appear to use "heart" same as we do.

Heart:

You - (Bow down.) Yes. My heart forever beats for Revachol, I am all she has left. The constant kingsman.

Endurance - Your heart can belong to Revachol or it can belong to darkness. As long as it's torn between them it's broken and useless.

Inland Empire - Alcohol and heartbreak.

The Hanged Man - The blue heart? Oh, that's good shit, you'll love it. Just press down and *fuck* it open like you always do.

Washerwoman - "I've seen it all before. You think they've got *our* interests at heart? Rich men are always selling poor men promises they never plan to keep..." She pulls a dark red rag out of the bucket and puts it back.

Authority - The virtue you exhibit in even the most difficult of moral dilemmas, speaks of the purest of heart and soul. Soon it will be time for another Arch.

Inland Empire - Heartfelt gratitude -- but does it feel like closure? What *really* happened?

Suggestion - You're dealing with a subject near and dear to their hearts. It might behove you to tread *lightly*.

Jean Vicquemare - "Good bye, Harry. And -- I know it won't happen, but..." He looks at you, heart steeled and eyes cold.

Inland Empire - Heartbreak Welkin.

You - "I blacked out -- from sheer heartbreak -- and lost all memory of the world."

You - "At ease, patrol officer Pigs, your heart is in the right place." (Bow.)

Egg Head - "Here we go, hyper-soul, inside -- into the MEGA-heart!"

You - "... each of you tearing at the other's innards, leaving a gaping emptiness, a vacuum heart that still hurts ceaselessly!"

Shivers - THERE IS A HOLE IN MY HEART.

Church Doors - ... in the heart of the city.

Egg Head - "But how could it *become* harder-core? I know the answer in my heart, but cannot think it in my head. If this is not hyper, how could anything be..."

Volition - His pleaful smile is disarming, but you can withstand it's glorious assault, if you just put your heart into it.

Rhetoric - This must be it. Beyond this door lies the beating heart of radical communism in Martinaise.

Coalition Warship Archer - "The heart of the city, the old town, is a district composed of weathered marble, comprising thousands of columns and arcades arranged around a series of grand plazas. During the day it's a beautiful sight, equal to any of the great cities of Perikarnassis."

Empathy - Her wishes are sincere. You can take heart from that, at least.

Coalition Warship Archer - "That's why the old town is sometimes called 'The Ceremonial Heart of Humanity'..."

Savoir Faire - You will. I'm here to make your life better. They call me the Man-About-Town. Gilded Heart-Throb. Master of Money.

Call Me Mañana - "Yet it calls back to an older era, where this was commonplace. You have a true boiadeiro heart."

Noid - "Many non-Occidental cultures share a beat at their heart.

Noid - "No need to fake it, we know you're still a cop at heart..."

René Arnoux - "I was 22 when I returned from King Guillaume's Ikeira Operation in the south and found my sweetheart in the arms of this wretch..."

Gaston Martin - "But it wasn't the revolutionaries that *sullied* the idea for you, was it?" He looks at the old soldier almost gently. "She gave them to me too and your jealous little heart just couldn't accept it."

Plaisance - "My precious! Her dedication brings joy to my heart."

You - (A hand on your heart.) "On my honour."

Empathy - Tugging at his heart strings like that... doesn't it feel a bit manipulative?

Conceptualization - This is how a sea monster sees the world. You've become a sea monster -- giant, hidden and... strangely tender at heart. All is blue.

Empathy - Push Tommy and it will break his heart -- and his spirit. Don't expect you to be pals.

Drama - It's true. We would have caught a lie. But... a *kind* heart is tricky.

Composure - Yeah. You know, beneath it is just heartbreak, a pulmonary tract infection, atherosclerotic disease.

You - Who broke my heart?

Beautiful Necktie - Your heart is broken, *bratushka*. And it cannot be mended. Believe me, I've tried.

Hand/Eye Coordination - Your hand shakes so hard you can't even muster up the courage to *try*. Maybe you're just too *wild* at heart?

Authority - You acted with great compassion and dignity, not taking advantage of this man. Praise thine honourable heart!

Tiago - "If you could submit to the mother -- sing her praises with your burning heart -- you could be free from selfish desire."

Tiago - "Look, man. I'm at liberty to talk about the sacred blaze of the Mother's glorious heart. But not about the coffee."

Soona, the Programmer - "Hold on." She's behind the keyboard now, typing in some numbers that only she understands. The terminal beeps, and the light inside starts pulsing like a glowing heart.

Evrart Claire - "Harry..." He sighs. "You wound me, Harry. In the heart.

Hand/Eye Coordination - It's me. I'm keeping his hand from moving. We're not doing that anymore. We're not reading those words. People have died. He needs to work, not ache his heart for something that will never return.

Inland Empire - Have you stirred the ghost of the Doomed Commercial Area from its rest? Could this be its dismembered heart, beginning to flutter?

Joyce Messier - "I'm over-exposed, baby. My travels take me through the pale dozens of times a year. I've got the longing -- and I've got it *bad*." She points to her heart.

Inland Empire - There was a sting in your heart at the mention... before.

Shivers - THERE IS PEACE IN THE HEART.

Empathy - No, not an idiot. You're just more of a *sensitive* type. Thinks with his *heart*. This woman's *pain* draws you in.

Cuno - "That's cold, Pig. Sub-zero. Cuno ain't like that. Cuno's got heart."

(had to split the heart list in two because it was too long for tumblr)

You - "I just said what was in my heart. I can't apologize for passion."

You - "I know what's going on here. I've been *wronged* too. I got this fucking dark shadow over my heart."

Inland Empire - And a hole in his heart. That first.

Logic - You have cold hard facts to protect you from heartbreak -- and that is enough.

Measurehead - "YOUR AGREEMENT MEANS NOTHING TO ME. YOU'RE A MAN *DEFEATED* BY LOVE. IT IS PLAIN TO SEE. IT IS IN YOUR FACE, IN YOUR VOICE, IN YOUR HEART. LOVE TAKES COURAGE -- YOU DID NOT HAVE ENOUGH."

Cindy the SKULL - "They'll never be SKULLS. But..." She softens. "But their hearts are in the right place."

Ruby, the Instigator - "So, heart-of-gold Tommy fucked me over too..."

Pissf****t - "Cold-hearted cop..."

Empathy - At least she still has her heart intact, unlike some people here.

Inland Empire - Your heart knows. But it does not want to say, not yet. Let these things be unknown for now.

Shivers - MY HEART IS THE WIND CORRIDOR. THE BOTTOM OF MY AIR IS RED. I HAVE A HUNDRED THOUSAND LUMINOUS ARMS.

Idiot Doom Spiral - "Beside your gun and your badge? You said something about your hope, or heart, or something. To be honest the details are a little hazy..."

Inland Empire - All of this, accompanied by a musical composition telling of the heroism of old, when men were bigger in both body and heart. You feel strange kinship to this old soldier. You and him are the same now.

The Deserter - "Everyone is a blobber in this world. Everyone betrays everyone. They're all already locked up -- for betrayal. The best ones, the ones with heart, were slaughtered, trampled..." He looks to the city.

Limbic System - Coz only love can break your heart...

Evrart Claire - "Harry, Harry, Harry!" He flicks his fingers. "Do not fixate on this little matter. Maybe it was a rabbit stew... or a hair dryer, or an iron. The point is, her heart wasn't in it. Mine *was*."

Dolores Dei - "Oh, yes. This is real darkness. It's not death, or war, or child molestation. Real darkness has love for a face. The first death is in the heart, Harry."

Lungs:

You - "Bourgeois love from a bourgeois god-queen towards a world getting rapidly more bourgeois, that's lungs for you."

Conceptualization - Why wouldn't they be? Are the lungs not the place where you hold the breath of your soul?

Egg Head - "LOVE!" he suddenly yells and the world seems to stop. "In a woman's lungs! Lonely as I am, I'm not afraid! This strange, damaged feeling grows on and on, 'cause I've never loved someone like you before!"

Egg Head - "Lungs are for love!"

Egg Head - "When Dolores Dei was anointed innocence, her lungs started glowing through her body, for the world loved her and she loved it back! YEAGH!"

Empathy - Come on. You know in your lungs that true authority flows from institutions, not individuals. That's the single principle that separates civilisation from barbarism.

Lilienne, the Net Picker - "Aye. Brains, generally, aren't very good, are they? I prefer backs, arms, shoulders -- lungs, too." She smiles. "You know..."

Damaged Ledger - You jam the compartment shut, it's hard to breathe. The air in your lungs feels sour somehow. The drawer is locked, blue ink drips from the white pages in your hand.

Inland Empire - Then it's you. *You* will make her lungs glow. Your pain is NOT meaningless.

Dolores Dei - Her chest rising like a pillow, warm exhalations against the side of your mouth -- her tender soul moving through her lungs. (+ related lines in the same scene about Harry wanting to make her lungs glow again)

Conceptualization - That is why the lungs are the symbol of love for the cultures of the Reál Belt.

Shivers - I ALSO RESIDE IN YOUR LUNGS AND VESTIGIAL ORGANS. EVERYWHERE THERE IS SPACE.