#i need constant layered noise and vocals okay

[berryunho]

it's only when normal people give me music recommendations that I realize what strange and inexplicable music taste I have like wtf is wrong w me

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Meta)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Unclean Realm

Lan Wangji has a Louis Henry Sullivan moment on seeing the Nie family home, becoming enraptured by its overwrought monumental architecture after a lifetime of restrained good taste and single-story buildings.

He approaches the fortress with the expression of delighted wonder that he usually reserves for when he’s looking at the moon or at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is like, yep that’s a building, all right, but he supports Lan Wangji’s kinks.  

Meng Yao tells them about the Wen Clan directive, and has what appears to be a moment of genuine, affectionate amusement at Nie Huaisang’s reaction.

Jiang Cheng kinda blames the Lans for inventing the whole “indoctrination” thing and for encouraging his brother’s disaster bi tendencies. Wei Wuxian responds by complimenting the Lan Clan, almost like someone who met his true love got some real value out of the instruction he received there.  

(more after the cut)

One of the great ironies of this story is that Wei Wuxian sort of becomes a rogue Lan disciple because of his relationship with Lan Wangji. He relies on Lan temperament techniques, uses music as a primary cultivation method, has committed all of the Lan rules to his supposedly terrible memory and cites them on multiple occasions, and is an important mentor for the younger generation Lan disciples. Because Hanguang-Jun is just that good in bed.

Xue Yang in the background of this conversation is channeling OP’s church-enduring, school-enduring inner 10-year-old.

Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, appears, and couldn’t be more different than his brother. On first watching this episode, I saw him as a grumpy, sexy, very emotional leather daddy man who is quick to anger. Rewatching, I see someone who’s struggling with a growing illness...the resentful energy kind.

Nie Mingjue’s handling of resentful energy is very different from Wei Wuxian’s straightforward interest and acceptance. NMJ has a traditional cultivator’s view of it, regarding it as evil and as something to resist, while he is literally carrying it on his back. He’s like a secret alcoholic who is preaching temperence, and can’t find a way to be reconciled with himself.  

At this point of the story, Nie Mingjue is keeping it together, but is under a hell of a lot of stress, and Baxia’s blood thirst is already maybe a problem.

The Yunmeng bros think that Nie Huaisang’s fear of his brother is hilarious, because they don’t understand the situation. They think he’s just living in a hideously toxic family dynamic like theirs, when actually he’s in a loving, sorta healthy, if parentless, family that is being crushed under a generational curse.

Compliments for the Yunmeng Bros

I’m not the first meta poster to notice how happy Jiang Cheng is to be praised by Nie Mingjue.

He never gets this at home. Jiang Yanli praises him, but in that watery “you tried your best” way that doesn’t really stick.  Nie Mingjue’s praise really means something, because he is a fearsome warrior and stern authority figure. And this is a double compliment, because Nie Mingjue says he heard it from Lan Xichen, and agrees with it.

Let’s Make Terrible Decisions

Keep Xue Yang alive, says Wei Wuxian, and Meng Yao immediately agrees, although I’m pretty sure he would have proposed that even if WWX hadn’t.

So they do, not realizing that “kill him later” is never a good plan for someone who 1. super needs killing 2. has a whole lot of death-dealing skills.

Future clan leader Jiang Cheng notices how smart and talented Meng Yao is.  Xue Yang finds it hilarious when the trio praises Meng Yao, possibly because their evil team up is already underway.

Boss’ Bed Warmer Son of a Ho

The constant insults toward Meng Yao are about his mom, but there’s another level of leering implication, that Meng Yao seems to encourage in his conversation with the soon-to-be-murdered guard captain.

Nie Mingjue elevated him way above his expectations, and he is ridiculously pretty, which has to create rumors. In the Nightless City scenes when he’s fondling Baxia and telling Nie Mingjue’s family secrets there’s definitely a sense of intimacy that’s not just “loyal retainer.”

I feel like maybe this whole exchange is a bit of theater designed to show Xue Yang something without showing it to anyone else. Meng Yao didn’t need to have this conversation in front of his prisoner.

Let’s Do Exactly What We Said We Wouldn’t

Once the younger quartet are alone with Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian crosses the room away from his friends and practically into Lan Wangji’s pocket, if Lan Wangji had pockets.

He has no pockets and also has no personal bubble any more, when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

We could make a weapon out of Yin Iron, Wei Wuxian says, completely forgetting his entire conversation with Lan Yi, apparently. Lan Wangji doesn’t argue with this idea.

Nie Mingjue warns Wei Wuxian not to try it.

I stabbed a man in Qinghe just to watch him die

Nie Mingjue is like the Johnny Cash of the cultivation world, carrying the weight of his poor choices and trying to steer the young folk to the path of righteousness. But--like Johnny Cash--his bad choices have made him really fucking cool, so he isn’t very good at deterring anybody.

Meng Yao Didn’t Come Here to Make Friends

Immediately after Meng Yao’s fellow Nie clan people call him “son of a whore” again, Wei Wuxian meets him, is nice to him, addresses him by his military title, bows to him, asks why he’s away from the party, and thanks him for his service.

But Meng Yao has already decided to make friends with Xue Yang, so Wei Wuxian goes onto his list of people that he doesn’t give a crap about except if they can be useful to him.  Then Meng Yao goes to make out hatch a plot with Xue Yang.

I’ll Sleep On Your Roof

Meeting SongXiao seems to have done away with the last of Lan Wangji’s resistance to his connection with Wei Wuxian.

He hears a noise on the roof and, when realizing it’s Wei Wuxian, he smiles one of his tiny reserved smiles before heading outside.

When he sees Wei Wuxian drunkenly sprawled on the roof, limbs akimbo, wine on his chin and neck, mouth full of poetry about the open road, Lan Wangji gives him the most fond look imaginable.

Then he reluctantly leaves, with his signature “say goodbye, but only when he can’t hear you” thing.

They’ve both come a really long way since their first meeting. Wei Wuxian is openly and vocally attaching himself to Lan Wangji...but is not actually entering his space or asking for anything from him; he just wants to be near him, and wants to let him know that. “I’ll sleep on your roof tonight.”

And Lan Wangji just...loves him. Wei Wuxian is drunk, embarrassing, demonstrative, eager to make a hell weapon out of yin iron, touchy feely, and absurdly sexy. And Lan Wangji is pretty okay with all of that.

I Might Have Been Drunk

Wei Wuxian carefully avoids telling Jiang Cheng where he was last night.

Even if he did get blackout drunk, he would have woken up on Lan Wangji’s roof. And I don’t think he was as drunk as that. He just knows Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like the truth.

Wen Fucking Chao, Again

Wen Chao shows up to be annoying and boring.  This leads to a pretty good fight between Nie Mingjue and Wen Zhuliu. Note that when the chips are down, Nie Huaisang stands with his Gege without any cowering. Almost as if he had hidden reserves of bravery, and is not as helpless as he lets on.

Wen Zhuliu isn’t styled to be super hot, although he’s certainly compelling, and in Dance of the Phoenix he looks good with sensitive-guy hair wispies. I wonder what actor Feng Mingjing looks like out of character?

BRB, adding a tag to my follow list

Battle Bros

When the fighting breaks out, the Yunmeng brothers are decisive and united, with Wei Wuxian giving orders to Jiang Cheng and JC following without hesitation.

I feel like if these two could have gone through a few big battles together, instead of being separated during most of the Sunshot campaign, their whole relationship would have improved. On the battlefield, they respect, trust, and understand each other.  

The Pointy End

Nie Mingjue is holding his own against Wen Zhuliu, but he gets distracted by Meng Yao hollering “Xue Yang has escaped” and then shanking the guard captain right in front of him.

Wen Zhuliu takes advantage of the distraction to aim a very slow stab at Nie Huasang, and Meng Yao jumps in front to get stabbed on his behalf.

When the Yunmeng bros show up to help NMJ, Wen Zhuliu immeiately yanks Wen Chao back behind him and points his sword at Wei Wuxian. He absolutely sees these two as a serious threat.  Considering that eventually WWX is going to kill Wen Chao while JC kills Wen Zhuliu, this concern is not misplaced.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Chao to stop being such a jerk, and Wen Chao menaces Wei Wuxian and gloats about the burning of cloud recesses. The burning, that is, of some part of cloud recesses that doesn’t include the library, the Jingshi, the main cultivation chamber, the rabbit warren, or Lan Qiren’s house, unless the Lan Clan is really really good at rebuilding things to very exact specifications.

In a rare moment of seeing Meng Yao’s internal thoughts, he is worried about Lan Xichen when he hears about cloud recesses.

The Yelling Part

Now we have the particularly nasty breakup between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. It’s...got some layers. Meng Yao is cowering on the floor, but is not apologizing.

He never apologizes throughout this encounter.

孟瑤無悔  - Meng Yao (has) no regrets

This scene is amazing and excruciating to watch, even more when you know what’s ahead.

What the Fuck is Meng Yao’s Plan

On one level this is Meng Yao, manipulative sociopath, setting up a cover story for his aiding and alliance with Xue Yang.  On another, this is Meng Yao, loving subordinate, being tossed aside by his lord because he dared to stand up for himself.

He uses the same “scout’s honor” gesture we’ve seen Wei Wuxian use to swear he’s telling the truth. Wei Wuxian is always lying when he uses this gesture.

I’m...not sure exactly what Meng Yao’s plan is, with all these chess moves? By stabbing the captain in front of NHS, he created an opportunity to plant a cover story about Xue Yang’s escape. He might be hoping that Nie Mingjue will forgive him and keep him on, while Xue Yang can stay in his back pocket to be used later.

Dry eyes? Try Visene

Or he might be intending to get kicked out, given his non-apology. In any case, Nie Mingjue is weeping during this encounter, and Meng Yao...isn’t. He is signaling distress in his voice, expression, and body language, but his eyes are dry up until the last moment, and even then they just glisten a bit. In a show where every actor is an expert at crying on cue, that’s got to be a deliberate choice.

Which isn’t to say that Meng Yao is faking being full of emotion in this scene. It’s just that the emotion isn’t necessarily sorrow.

What Does Nie Mingjue’s Head Think

Flip the view and this is about Nie Mingjue being betrayed by a subordinate, who has turned out to be a self-serving murderer. And on another level it’s Nie Mingjue being betrayed by his lover, who was just using him for advancement.

I rewatched the later episode where we get the scene as Nie Mingjue’s head perceived it, and he’s particularly brokenhearted and disillusioned from his head’s POV.  In that version there is a telling addition to the conversation.

Nie Mingjue asks about the guys who were roasting Meng Yao behind his back. He asks, if I hadn’t come, would you have murdered all of them?

Um. No, dude. Of course fucking not. That’s what a patriarchal authority does. That’s the way an angry Nie Mingjue/Baxia team might solve a problem.

Meng Yao has to use subterfuge to kill his enemies. And while he super hates being called “son of a whore” it’s absolutely not enough to make him kill someone, with the risk murder brings. Likewise, being treated well isn’t enough to make him spare someone. Nie Mingjue totally doesn’t get this, because he’s been the patriarch of this clan his entire adult life.

And Here’s the Actual Problem

There is a betrayal here, but Nie Mingjue is not simply a victim.  Whether it’s a sexual relationship or a non-sexual bond of affection, there can be nothing solid in Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s relationship within a feudal society, because it is fundamentally unequal. Even if they love each other deeply - which I’m not convinced either of them does - every encounter they have is tainted with power dynamics.

Meng Yao has been elevated by Nie Mingjue and quite probably taken into his bed, as well as being told many family secrets, but has not been given a new surname (like, for example, Wen Zhuliu was) or independent power. More importantly, Nie Mingjue has not used his authority to remove or punish the many people who disrespect his subordinate.  Lan Qiren would have had all of those gossipy fuckers kneeling in the snow, and Wen Ruohan would feed them to his mosh pit zombies.

Meng Yao is a murderous little snake, but he is right to be angry with Nie Mingjue about some things, and his pursuit of his own agenda is understandable.

Well, That Was a Slice

Meng Yao leaves, hurt, with a dignified bow; just as he did that one time when his dad kicked him down the Carp Tower steps.

Take note, both patriarchal authorities: that is his way of saying “I’m going to murder you one day.”

Nie Mingjue sits with his broken heart, as we realize that we’ve only spent 20 minutes with this guy and we’ve gone on an entire emotional journey with him. This episode packed in a LOT.

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

[asmolbirb]

A semi-comprehensive list of sexy moments in Love Run (2019) by The Amazing Devil

In honor of them hopefully releasing their new album today, I listened to their first album for the seven thousandth time and wrote down every moment that made my soul sing. I will not be talking (much) about lyrics here because I simply do not have the space to do so!

Love Run (Intro)

When Madeleine joins Joey on “love’s worth running to” and her voice goes up when his goes down. Ya bitch loves contrasting vocal harmonies!

The buildup of the “ahhh”

The quiet amalgam of lyrics from other tracks underlying the “ahhh” in the focus

King

The fact that King is in triple time is already Supremely Sexy

When Joey joins Madeleine on “let the seabirds cry” and the percussion drops out so it’s just vocals and guitar

How breathy Joey’s voice gets at “burning there”

The rhythmic buildup of the percussion under the second set of “let the seabirds cry”

“Every unwanted daughter” is just. Yeah.

Madeleine’s vocalizations under Joey’s “I’ll keep the king”s at the end of the song

Pruning Shears

Can I say “the whole song”? No? Fuck, okay, here we go

The percussive sound of the first verse, made all the more sexy because Joey has a tendency to close to consonants really quickly

(Also in the live version, the way Joey says “car is so kitch”)

The way Madeleine’s lines have overlapping syllables with Joey’s!! This is an Amazing Devil constant but it still FUCKS ME UP

How Madeleine’s line is actually lower than Joey’s at “had it all planned” emphasizing that this line/experience is from Joey’s POV whereas her verses are higher than Joey’s suggesting that her verses are her own POV

The vocalization under the second half of the final chorus !

The “whoa oh whoa oh” after the final chorus !!!

The percussive sound of Joey’s final “in the back” hhhh

Shower Day

Joey and Madeleine’s unison for the entirety of the first verse and chorus really underscores the way they split into harmony afterward

Just. The bi/pan solidarity of the “you” character both “lov[ing] him” and “kiss[ing] her sister” (OR, if you interpret the song like I sometimes do, the closeted struggle of “know[ing] you should love him” but wanting to “[kiss] her”)

The syncopation (hemiolas specifically) at “we’ll wear our eyeliner” !!!! Fuck me up!! (Also the solidarity of the male POV character/Joey wearing eyeliner too! We need more men in eyeliner, this is the future liberals want)

THE REVERBERATING PERCUSSION THAT JOINS IN AT “WELL I’M LOOKING BACK” AND ALSO LITERALLY EVERYTHING THAT FOLLOWS. This whole portion of the song is full of so much heartache and desperation and emotion!!

The way Madeleine and Joey sing “For Christ’s sake just say something” in a round

The way Joey says his S’s in the repeated “say something” section at the end

Elsa’s Song

Okay so the fact that this starts off a cappella is massively sexy

How every verse ends with “forget me not”

Everything about Madeleine’s harmony!! It’s the return of the contrasting vocal harmony but turned up to 11. If I listed out every sexy piece of contrasting harmony I would simply have to list out the whole song

The introduction of the rhythmic percussion in the third verse

In general, how Madeleine is really leaning into her sop range here! It’s such a lovely contrast to Joey’s baritone. It’s a treat to hear her sop range shine when she tends to stick to mezzo/alto lines.

Pray

How Madeleine closes to a hum on “mean” in “what holy men really mean”

How Joey echoes Madeleine in the second verse

(How Madeleine ad libs the repeated “I won’t, I won’t pray for” section in the live version)

Madeleine’s ad libbed vocalization directly after the “I won’t, I won’t pray for” section. Heart eyes motherfucker

The repeated “oh oh oh” under Madeleine starting at “why you cannot sleep for sighing”

The harmonic buildup of all the background vocalizations under Madeleine’s final chorus. Like every new measure adds another layer of harmony and it’s just SO SEXY

Little Miss Why So

Suddenly I can’t see through the fucking waterfall taking up residence on my face

This is such a poignant description of depression and how difficult it is to explain to people who don’t get it

The part that fucks me up the most is the accelerated repetition of “it’s so boring” that releases into the a tempo “etc”, simultaneously emphasizing the lover’s frustration and encapsulating the narrator’s apathy. The buildup and release of tension is exquisite.

Also every time Joey joins in is just....incredible. The desperation of “For Christ’s sake, just say something” kills me every time.

But I can’t really in good conscience call anything in this song sexy because it’s all so...gentle and it just hits home so hard

So. Moving on

New York Torch Song

DID U MEAN. MY LIFEBLOOD.

The “fuck you”s both at the beginning and in the bridge

The slide on “tomorrow” in the intro right before the percussion kicks in

Joey’s “bright with every hum, ah-ah”

Joey’s humming under Madeleine’s “watch the fire” in the choruses

How the section starting with “god or devil” speeds up and adds more percussive complexity

The way Joey closes to the consonants when he sings “from within this”. It’s so delightfully sibilant !

How Madeleine laughs as she says “can’t we just talk about this”

The way Joey says “tippy toe tin rooftops” hnnnng it’s already a sexy lyric because of the alliteration but he makes it so much more percussive

THE WAY JOEY FLIPS UP ON “LIGHT” IN “TRICK OF THE LIGHT”. THE WAY HE HAS TO GO INTO HIS HEAD VOICE. THIS WHOLE POST IS SIMPLY AN EXCUSE TO DIE OVER THIS WORD. 

Two Minutes

The fact that it’s a live recording and not a studio recording and there are all these little noises and echoes in the background

Madeleine harmonizing with words that are just barely intelligible, right up until she finally sings “I can hear the children calling,” is so damn haunting

The moment when the piano picks up !!! 

Not Yet / Love Run (Reprise)

Buckle in kids !!! This song is 8 minutes long and every second is sexy!

The contrast between the gentleness of Joey’s voice and the almost anthemic determination of Madeleine’s voice in the verses, plus the alternation between acoustic guitar and heavy percussion

Madeleine’s “seams” vs Joey’s “seems”, Madeleine’s “hell” vs Joey’s “I held”, Madeleine’s “she’d howl” vs Joey’s “she’d hold”

Just. Everything about the Not Yet chorus. It makes me so fucking tender

Especially Joey’s diphthong in “pirates”; he closes to the long i sound almost instantly and it w r e c k s me

The way Joey says “everyone knows sex is better when you’re unemployed,” especially in the bridge right before the breakdown

(The way Joey says “you can’t dance for shit” in the live version)

The way Madeleine basically growls “Where is God, ma / Where’s the vodka”

The harmonies under the bridge right before the breakdown

The fact that Madeleine sings Love Run (Reprise) when Joey sang Love Run (Intro)!!! Inversion bitchesss

Joey’s entire verse in Love Run (Reprise) hhhhh -- it’s just rife with all his little vocal tics that make me absolutely feral

The vocalizations beneath the main track that start at Joey’s verse and continue through the end of the song

The tradeoff of “love run” between Joey and Madeleine

Madeleine’s “all that matters is that you’re here, all that matters” is so haunting and beautiful and sexy

The brief moment of acoustic respite at the start of the third verse

THE SHOUTED/GROWLED “RUN”S UNDER THE SECOND AND THIRD CHORUSES AAAAA

In conclusion:

This post was brought to you by a bisexual disaster who is an Amazing Devil stan first and a functional human second

I’m almost definitely missing some moments because I only listened to the album like twice while I made this post so please feel free to add your own sexy moments 

Please, Joey and Madeleine, for the love of god release The Horror and The Wild, I am starving--

[grailacademy]

Welcome To Grail Academy - Chapter Twenty-one: Something Soon

Calicem was a diverse city, but a heavily segregated one as well. The rich pushed most of the working-class citizens out of their homes and neighborhoods years ago, planning to renovate the abandoned buildings left behind but never actually starting any projects. The communities that still fought against the gentrification were all grouped together in one sector of the city, and it was in one of these neighborhoods that a famous diner stood, like a beacon in the darkness: Peach’s Diner. This is where Yorick sat, huddled in a booth with his hands around a tall glass containing a vanilla milkshake and a curly straw. As he slurped on his drink in silence, Rettah plucked the cherry on top and popped it into her mouth, interrupting the anecdote she was sharing.

“-And he never even called me back! Can you believe that?” She chewed on the tooth-rottingly sweet red bubble.

“No way, he didn’t want to talk to a girl who sawed the legs off all of his furniture? That’s crazy!” Queenie responded with sarcasm, but they both knew it was a joke, and the girls laughed.

“It’s still not as bad as Scarlet’s last boyfriend, ha!” Queenie jostled Scarlet sitting next to her, making the chunk of cake on his fork plop onto his plate with a splatter of icing. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe some frosting off his face, mumbling a quiet, “Yeah, he was a total weirdo.”

Queenie slid a napkin towards the center of the table, showing all the notes and lines scribbled on it in pen. “Okay, our guy is waiting at the club next door. This should be a normal trade, but the buyer is a little….paranoid.” Yorick leaned forward to look at the napkin, eyes scanning over the plan. He asked Queenie, “What exactly do we get in return for these trades?”, and she shrugged her shoulders underneath the poofy letterman jacket decorating her torso.

“Depends,” she started, “Information, coordinates and defenses on our enemies, recipes or ingredients for Boost products, new recruits, whatever Sable values as important. This one is for blueprints of a few buildings she wants to use as outposts.”

Yorick nodded and spooned the last bit of whipped cream out from the bottom of the glass with his fingers, popping it into his mouth. Queenie and Scarlet stood up, the leader of their team slapping a few Lien on the table while their teammates left the diner to scope out their checkpoints for the meeting. “I got this one, you guys go ahead and scout.”

Bernard closed the door to the bathroom behind him. He turned the faucet to the shower on and let the water run until it heated up, meanwhile setting his scroll on the edge of the sink. His teammates had yet to return to the dorm room after their exams, so he took this bit of alone time to clean himself up. He pressed the play button on his scroll’s screen, and jumped into the shower while music played from its speakers. He didn’t consider himself to be a good singer, but that didn’t stop him from crooning out the words to his favorite song as he washed his hair. This was the one time he allowed himself to be vocal and dynamic, when nobody else was around. His out-of-tune rendition of an old rock n’ roll song paused just before the chorus, because the ringing of a call on his scroll stopped the music. The warm water from the shower faucet dripped down his chest, following the trails of various scars and old wounds before they were trapped by a soft towel. He answered the call while he dried his hair.

“Hello?”

“¿Como va tu entrenamiento, Bernie?” The voice on the other line made him shiver. He knew who it was, but that wasn’t his mother. Bernard looked at the lesions and blemishes across his chest the foggy mirror, draping the towel over his shoulder.

“....Qué deseas.”

“¿No puedo revisar a mi estudiante estrella?”

“Qué es lo que realmente quieres.”

“....Los planes han cambiado. Necesitamos que termines tu entrenamiento y vuelvas a casa. Hay trabajo que hacer.”

Bernard was quiet. Not out of choice, but because he didn’t know how to respond. The voice on the other line filled the lack of noise for him, though.

“Sería una pena si tuviéramos que poner a tu hermana en el sistema. Usted tomó ella lugar para mantenerla fuera de peligro. Hazlo por ella.”

“Tres meses.”

“Demasiado largo. No empujes tu suerte. Un mes.” The person hung up, and the chorus of the song played again. It didn’t have the same impact on him that it did before, ringing through the now hollow emptiness he felt in his chest.

The factory homebase of the Hedge Witches was much larger than most would expect. Yes, there was the actual factory portion where shipments were made, and the courtyard connecting the greenhouse to the main building, the field behind it, and the array of repurposed storage rooms used as offices, but there was much left to explore. The black haired boy who sat in on meetings held by the organization’s leaders, arms crossed and sitting on a crate when he was supposed to be taking notes, cautiously moved down a long stairwell. His only source of light came from candles mounted on the walls, which flickered rhythmically as he walked past each one, like a dance of warning to turn back. He wasn’t afraid. The stairs opened into a narrow hallway in the basement, a level of the headquarters few people had ever actually seen. This area looked older than the building on top of it, and it reminded him of ancient catacombs more than a dusty cellar. As he made his way through the crypt, the boy took time to acknowledge how the brick walls and wooden floors were now covered in dirt and mud, packed on in layers like an animal den. The end of the hallway opened up into another oddly shaped room, a mud-shaped cave that ended at a near wall, and an extremely high ceiling. At one point, it was a smokestack that puffed fumes from the taffy factory. But now, the floor of it was covered in silk pillows and cushions. The boy looked up to the tall, open center of the pillar that shone a foggy grey sky through a mess of black webs and nets wrapped around its walls. “You needed me?” He shouted up, listening as his voice bounced off the walls of the structure in echoes.

The black netting shifted and changed shape, and slowly, Sable lowered herself onto the pillows by her hair like a ribbon-dancing acrobat. Her locks stayed where they were, except for the few that held her head and waist like a harness. “Yes.” The sway in her walk gave her body the shape of melting wax, her movements resembling the dancing flickers of the candle flames at the entrance as she stepped over the lush cushioned bedding on the floor.

“I need you to run an errand for me. Yorick’s semblance training is moving at a….less than reasonable pace. We have to speed up the process.” She handed Hari a tattered comic book. The ink on the cover was faded, but the title, Blue Inferno vs Doctor Bloodlust, was still readable. He took it, running his hand over the figures of a masked vigilante fighting a man in a lab coat, both of them clad in futuristic armor and shooting lasers at one another. The art style of the book has not aged well, the blue spandex on the story’s hero looked to be riding up a bit too high in some rather unappealing places. “How long do you think a trip to Atlas will take?”

“Two days, if I leave right now.”

“Good. Find Azura, follow her to their home. Take anything that you think will spark memories for him.”

“Anything?” “Anything.”

Hari rolled up the comic and tucked it under his arm, and Sable’s hair spread to make an opening in the tower’s ceiling. He crouched down, pulled at the neckline of his tank top, and looked up through the hole into the sky. “Oh!” Sable remembered, advising him, “Bring a coat, I hear it’s cold in Atlas this time of year.”

Hari rolled his eyes, “I’ll be fine, mom.”

“I know you will, but I get worried!” She hugged him and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek, which he immediately wiped off in embarrassment and disgust.

“Goodbye, sweetie! Stay safe! I love you!” She clasped her hands over her chest, giving Hari a patient look while she waited for him to repeat the phrase. He groaned loudly and turned his back to her, groaning “....I love you too, mom,” before he sprung out of the crouch and disappeared out the mouth of the smokestack in a swirl of black hair and feathers.

Yorick’s hands were getting sweaty again. It was a strange sensation when it was paired with the frigid cold from his milkshake glass. The drink was long finished, he wasn’t even holding the cup. But the club he followed Rettah into after Scarlet and Queenie scouted it out put him off. It wasn’t exactly his scene. Rowdy biker bars full of criminals and drunks weren’t his preferred spot. The raucous laughing and shouting pounded at his ear drums, and the constant shattering of bottles and metal music on the jukebox in the corner didn’t help. He would have killed for a smoke right about now, to calm his nerves. A gang of bikers hunched over a pool table, one of them with a thick beard reminiscing about the good old days. Like some kind of miracle sent by an angel, the miscreant flicked half a cigarette butt onto the floor at Yorick’s feet, apparently finished. Avoiding eye contact with the group of men, he sneakily picked up the butt from the floor before someone stepped on it and snuffed it out. He took a couple of puffs and followed Rettah the rest of the way to a booth at the back of the bar, where their friends waited. Their path was blocked by a crowd of people waiting in line for the bathroom, so the girl grabbed Yorick’s wrist and pulled him through the sea of ruffians. On the other side of the line, Queenie leaned forward over the table of their booth and negotiated with a lanky man in a burgundy pinstripe suit. Scarlet scooched further into the booth to make room for the other two to sit down, and Rettah skipped over giddily with Yorick trailing behind.

“You have been very generous to me, and I appreciate that.” The man combed a strand of hair neatly back into place on his head of grey hair, eyeing Queenie. “But I want something in return for these goods. Understand?”

“Whatever you need. Money, Boost, supplies, we can provide it.” Queenie rapped her knuckles against the wooden table.

“Protection.” The man shifted in his seat, the gold pins on his lapel reflecting the light hanging over them. “I want a guaranteed alliance with the Hedge Witches. The way I see it, you need someone on the inside, and I need someone to keep me safe if you want this job done correctly.”

Scarlet tugged on the sleeve of Queenie’s jacket, whispering something into her ear. She nodded, and held her hand out to the man. He took it and shook, then glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching them. Under the table, he handed an orange envelope to Scarlet, who folded the package and hid it between his knees. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mister Reed.”

Reed picked up his hat from one of the coat hooks on the sides of the booth, placing it on his head and leaving the bar without another word. The four of them made sure he was out the door before they pulled the envelope out. Scarlet wedged his nail under the fold on the paper, ripping the top open and pouring its contents onto the table. “What is it,” Rettah asked. Queenie turned the papers over, and showed them the detailed blueprints of Grail Academy’s clocktower.

[callmetippytumbles]

Pick a song for every letter in your URL

I know I am late AF with this post, so much for that resolution.  I have finished the Spotify playlist I made for this days ago, but I just have not sat down and written this part. I am doing it now. This post and all subsequent productive posts are brought to you by the new ADHD meds that I am testing out on a Sunday.

I was tagged by @lizzybeth1986 and @maxattack-powell. If you tagged me as well, I am sorry I did not mention you here, it got lost in my activity feed.

I am not going to tag anyone else, because I am hella late, but if you want to do this tag feel free to do so and tag me.

Here is the list.  Yes, I talk about the tracks because I am extra like that.  I used to do music reviews in college and I still like doing that. The music review part is below the “Keep reading”.  I made a whole playlist though so I will not link to any songs. See below.

C--Cadillac by Miguel This song is fun and one of my favorites from the Get Down soundtrack. I watched this during that dance competition scene, and I too would like to do the Hustle to this song in a scene-stealing dress.  A--Alright by Kendrick Lamar This song gets heavy play.  Especially if I am just going through it and I just need to be encouraged.  Sometimes all you need to hear is "We gon' be alright" to make it. Love this song. L--Lovely Day by alt-J Okay, so there are a bunch of covers of this song.  I love the original by Bill Withers. I like the Jill Scott version. I chose to share this one.  I think it is because of the tone and feel that this version brings as opposed to the others.  First, it's sonically different.  The other versions are upbeat and lean into that feeling of the song. This one doesn't do that.  It's haunting. The song plays like everything in your life is shit. Just terrible but because this person is in your life you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and you can make it through.  This song is not something you play in anticipation of the beginning of a good day. Instead, the song is something that you play to make it through that day. (Many TRR fans will connect to that feeling. It should be on all of your angsty playlists.) L--Lookin Ass by Young Money, Nicki Minaj Look I know men can be trash. I like to play this when I need a reminder.  The n-word is all over this song.  If that is not your ministry, then this song is not for you.  I like it because its a woman calling men out that want to judge women but are in no position to do so. I live for that.

M--M I L K by Leikeli47 This song is perfect for working out and just feeling yourself.  I play this when I am working out but need a reminder that I am working out for me. The base and beat is just hypnotic and can pace a run or a speedwalk. E--Every Man Has a Woman Who Loves Him by Yoko Ono Say what you want about Yoko Ono, you have to admire her artistry.  I like her music. This is one of my favorite songs. When I read reviews of Double Fantasy, a lot of them shit on Yoko Ono's contributions even though she is on ALL of the tracks, produced the tracks (including the tracks that Lennon leads), and wrote/co-wrote them.  Double Fantasy is intended and created as a joint album. It was designed to be a conversation.  That's why the tracks alternate.  That aside, I am drawn this particular song.  The straightforward lyrics, and that guitar that echoes and chimes in the background.  The music, like the actual organization of the instruments on the track, is impressive. The instruments from synthesizers to the base, the guitars blend in a way that is layered but not excessive or cluttered. This is a track that is very well suited to Ono. Her vocals match the mood of the song. The song is a delicate song about a woman and led by one. Definitely deserves a listen.

T--That's All by Genesis The song is mesmerizing.  The grand piano, to the drums to the base build to make this constant pace that sticks with you.  It has excellent repeat value.  Phil Collins vocals really match the frustration of the lyrics. I--I'll Call U Back by Erykah Badu This track is on one of Erykah's mixtapes.  This song is an exhale.  Everything from the beat to her voice, to the mood, is about chilling.  Erykah is very unbothered on this track. She'll call you when she calls you.  A song that is this deliberately mellow could easily meander and play for several minutes, but that isn't what happens here.  It's very short.  That is a deliberate choice too.  She is not going to spend a lot of time or energy to reclaim her time.  Unlike Lookin' Ass which is about telling a man off aggressively, this is shooing someone away and going back to doing you. Play this track when a debt collector tries to call you and fuck up your day. It's fun. P--Plastic 100°C by Sampha Sampha is the kind of artist that has an incredibly unique voice that is used a lot for features.  He was the man singing along with Solange (who is a Cancer like me, won't stop claiming that) on “Don't Touch My Hair”. Also, he features a lot on SBTRKT tracks (like “Something Goes Right”).  His features are good, but his solo songs deserve way more shine than I feel they get.  This song has a sense of drama to it even is the instrumentation is really delicate and lush in contrast. It was written after he lost both parents to cancer and he found a lump in his throat while his career was growing.  Before I found out about the events of his life that inspired this song I kept thinking of intense vulnerability, how scary that really is but opening up and exposing yourself despite that.  He sings "It's so hot I've been melting out here/I'm made out of plastic out here/You touched down in the base of my fears." You hear the panic in his voice. It's a gorgeous song.  Like its waiting to be turned into a songfic. P--Phantom Punch by Sondre Lerche This is kind of a departure from his usual very thoughtfully arranged, very romantic fare.  This man is a FUBU romantic.  He is a romantic that writes for romantics. This song is still about someone who is infatuated with someone.  It's just really lively with a focus on electric guitars and synthesizers.  It makes you as giddy and filled with energy as Sondre is.   Y--You Come Through by PJ Harvey I am a person that likes a ballad, plenty of my favorites come from artists that are not known for them.  I think why I enjoy if not prefer ballads from artists that do not always set out to do them because it's like being let in on a secret.  You are seeing an artist expose themselves in a way they don't usually don't.  This is one of those tracks.  PJ Harvey is a force of nature.  You are more confronted by her work than you are entertained.  This song is entirely different.  It could be viewed as a confession of love and mourning a love lost or even both. The lyrics leave a lot of room for interpretation.  What is unquestionable is the vulnerability that she conveys during the performance of this track.  The track is bare and stripped so that her vocals are the focus and not the music backing them.  Her vocals are softer and restrained as opposed to at full force. This combination creates the effect that you get as a listener that you are an interloper on her private thoughts and emotions as well as becoming as vulnerable and exposed as she is. It's beautiful.

T--Transit by Robin Hannibal I noticed that I chose a lot of deceptively simple songs that are quite complex, like vanilla.  This track leads with the drums.  You hear the drums in the track before the keyboard or Robin's vocals.  The lyrics are about a complicated relationship. "Break up, just to make up" are some of the words to this song.  While the relationship described is complicated, the arrangements don't seem that way.  The song doesn't sound fraught or in a state of panic.  Robin is not in any kind of emotional anguish while performing this track.  It's calmer and mellower.   U--Until Then by Broadcast Until Then is a song on an album full of beautiful, stand out tracks. The Noise Made by People is a delightful album and worth a listen.  It's very nostalgic without going full-on throwback in a way that seems like a poorly executed 60's costume.  The album feels like it should be the score and soundtrack to some kind of play, but it isn't.  Until Then feels the most like a track that could be sung in a theatrical production.  The climax just hit, and all of the characters have reached ruin, and this is the song they are all singing before the plot tracks their recovery from said ruin.  This could be a reprise sung by a musical theatre group or sung on the album by Trish Keenan.  Both work. M--My Love by Jill Scott I have to say; I do not really like songs that intro with a conversation break and not the song starting.  I can do a quick sample but do not interrupt the music.  I am here for the music.  I can make an exception for this song.  My Love is about a woman who finds out a man that he may have been on again/off again with is marrying another woman and she is confused by this.  I may have played this on repeat after the TRR1 finale.  Halle may have too.  Jill croons "My love is deeper, tighter/Sweeter, higher, flyer" comparing herself to the woman the man chose to marry but this is quickly followed by "Didn't you know this?" like he should have known better. It's not mournful like "I miss this man so much." Jill don't play that.  The tone is more like "you dared to choose her and not me, and you knew better."  It's poetic, soulful and lush.  Even if Soul is not your thing, this song could still find its way to your catalog. B--Blind by TV on the Radio TV on the Radio is what happens when you let art nerds start a band. This song is on the Young Liars EP.  It's the longest song on the playlist, clocking in at over 7 minutes.  This song uses that time to kind of lumber around the issue presented in the lyrics.  It's about a guy who suspects his girlfriend may or may not be cheating on him. The words go through all of the questions, the doubt, action and inaction that happens when confronted with that kind of situation. This track features organs, a droning beat that builds as lead singer Tunde Adebimpe sings with a voice filled with melancholy and ambivalence. It's a compelling track.   L--Lost in the Plot by The Dears If Adebimpe in the last song sings with a voice with melancholy and ambivalence, Murray Lightburn of The Dears sings like is either about to have or recovering from complete emotional upheaval.  His voice is just filled with such intensity and fervor you are forced to reckon with whatever emotions he is dealing with.  This song in particular really showcases this.  By the time he is shouting "It's the same old plot", you are just as over everything as Lightburn is. E--Elephant Woman by Blonde Redhead Elephant Woman is the opening track to Misery is a Butterfly.  The song is about being broken emotionally as well as physically.  It was reportedly inspired about when Blonde Redhead lead singer, Kazu Makino, being thrown off her horse and severely injured as a result.  It grapples with feeling betrayed by something (but can easily apply to someone) you love and struggling with the damage after the fact.  It's set to beautiful and haunting strings and whirling guitars. You ache when Makino delicately sings "Now inside and outside are matching." It's beautifully crafted and magnificent to listen to. S--Sleeping Ute by Grizzly Bear While it feels weird to close a playlist with a song that was an album opener, this just feels right.  If you are someone who likes guitar riffs (looking at you @lizzybeth1986), this song opens with some great ones. It's a song that deals with restlessness and seeking reprieve from chaos.  The arrangement reflects those themes by opening with trashing cymbals and guitars that sound like they are on top of each other and it mellows into a calmer melody as the drums fall back and the guitars come into foreground like the calm after a tumultuous storm.

[criscura]

Pinocchio

((I wanted to write something different ^^; A little graphic at the start, but that’s it. Source for this guy –v and a link to it on Ao3))

It wasn’t real. It could not possibly be real. Monsters—monsters like that didn’t exist. They didn’t exist. Bogeymen didn’t come and steal your family away. Beasts didn’t charge from the woods in the night and eat up your parents.

But one did. And it was metal.

And made of fire.

And it made no noise until his mother stopped screaming. It played it back.

It was made of metal, and made of fire, and spoke with the voices of the dead.

He would’ve given anything to steal the scream back from it...

But instead…

He turned himself into steel, and he spat out fire, and his voice was the voice of a boy that had died with his family.

Monsters weren’t real, but now they were. Bogeymen were only fairy tales, until they weren’t.

His father told him a story once about a puppet who’d become a real boy. He was good, and loved his maker like a father, and was blessed by a blue fairy into flesh and blood.

Genos was good. He loved his family.

And his was gutted in front of him.

And the doctor had blessed him with a metal puppet’s body.

Bogeymen were real. He was a fairy tale.

And he could be a monster, if he needed to be.

~~~

The pain, the pain, every day alive was pain, every night of sleep was pain, burning and tearing and snapping, every day some bone split under the weight of his torso or his wrists twisted because he crashed down on them, and he relived his parents’ massacre whenever he blacked out.

He deserved it.

His mother bled on top of him, what half of her was left. His father exploded by the front door trying to keep it shut.

He sobbed quietly under it all, invisible beneath the flesh.

He couldn’t protect them. He didn’t even try. He sat paralyzed, terrified, silent, as they let themselves be shredded to pieces for him.

His mother asked if he was okay when her bones were jutting from her body like branches from a tree in winter. Then she screamed as her legs were torn from her, and the beast couldn’t hear the second scream behind it.

He hurt then, with his arms shattered under the bricks of his roof. He could have died then, had the thing so much as glanced back after it ripped his life apart.

He did not.

He should have.

And this pain—of shaving off his hips to attach stronger hips, of welding iron to his spine to make it support his weight—

Of feeling his eyes cut out, for just a moment when the anesthesia stopped working—

Of having the base of his tongue cauterized so it could be replaced with one that would function with his new vocal cords—

He deserved it.

The hours and hours of crying through therapy, through his shins cracking from walking or the horror of going blind because this optic nerve also did not work…

He deserved every part of it.

How dare he be weak, when his parents had been strong enough to hold him until they couldn’t hold anything anymore. How dare he cry, when they hadn’t cried as the embers of the house fused to their skin. How dare he expect peace, expect comfort, expect anything but this agonizing searing ripping shredding constant fucking pain when they’d done all that and more just so he could fail to try and help them at all.

It was all he was worth. It was all he could give back.

The kindness of the doctor—he didn’t deserve that. The soothing words, the warm bed, the hot chocolate—

He didn’t deserve that.

Days, months, a stolen lifetime of pain…he could handle that. He earned it.

Not hospitality.

Not love.

When his heart began to fail him and he felt his entire body seize up—when he lost that last bit of flesh and his rib cage became a shell, his heart turned to lead and fire just like the rest of him…

Then Kuseno told him, “This makes you no less human, Genos. You are still you.”

That was a lie.

Genos had seen horror movies, he had played video games. Robots, floating brains, sentient guns…

Those were the monsters in them. Those were what you killed. You were you, and they were them.

And Genos was one of them now.

His mechanical feet and legs—those were lies. His sculpted fingers and hips, those were both a lie. His mouth, his ears, his entire perfect fucking face, that was all a lie.

A floating brain, cradled by a sentient gun. A robot. A monster.

That wasn’t a lie.

That wasn’t a lie at all.

He was the thing you killed in movies, and it was all he deserved to be.

~~~

Years. Years. Four years he had spent scouring the country, and he had nothing to show for it.

He’d done everything right. He’d improved his tracking system, he’d hunted down the CEOs of every major cybernetics company in the world, he’d been to any region that showed the remotest trace of an attack.

And he had absolutely no idea where the mad cyborg had gone.

He had failed, and was failing, and continued to fail with each passing day that he did not rip its metal body apart.

Kuseno tried to calm him down. When his room filled up with caverns from his fists and the steel walls turned rainbow from the heat in his palms, he reminded him how long it had been rogue, how no one who’d tried finding it had any success.

It only made things worse.

He had tried harder than them, than any of them possibly could. He was more qualified, more capable for this mission, than anyone else could possibly be. He was equipped with a body that could identify scurrying mammals ten miles out, canons that could level small towns, accelerators that could move at the speed of sound. He knew in excruciating detail what would drive a cyborg to go one place or another. He could anticipate the movements of a monster within mere minutes of studying its behaviors and had spent years memorizing witness accounts of facing the beast.

Destroying the cyborg was all he was good for at this point. He was built for the sole purpose of wiping it off the face of the earth.

So why couldn’t he do the only thing he was supposed to be able to do?

He got upgrades. He trained. He studied. He replaced part after part after part to get stronger, left for weeks, months at a time so he could train more, so he could track more, so he could gather more information.

And it wasn’t enough.

He just…wasn’t enough.

He’d given everything he had, more than everything, and it just wasn’t enough.

…He was a failure.

It crashed down on him every time he crashed down onto himself, thrown aside by some new demon with a move he knew was coming, and still could not avoid. It hit him when they did, it rose up and consumed him when he was gathered up into a body bag by Kuseno’s drones so they could cart him back into the lab.

He was weak, and slow, and stupid, but above all…

He was a failure.

Most of him had died when his family did. Most of him burned and bled, and dissolved in the explosions that erased what his future could have been.

What was left, he tried to perfect. He gave it layer after layer of armor, of weapons, of technology so it was impossible that it could die too, not until he had destroyed the monster that had destroyed everything he’d ever known. When he would be decimated in battle, he let the doctor pour his life’s work into him purely for the chance at avenging his family. He swallowed the guilt with the oxygen tube because it was the only way he could make himself worth it.

What was left of him, he let be twisted and molded so that it could be better than what it was.

He tried to live with it, what was left.

But…it did not change that, all those years ago…most of him had died.

…And every time he came back from a hunt without the cyborg’s blood on his hands…

…he wished it would have been all of him.

~~~

He could be stronger. He could always be stronger. He had to be stronger. He was weak, a failure, a constant stream of losses, and if he could overcome that—if he could make sure once he found it he could obliterate it so there was no way it could slip through his fingers—if he could be so strong he could vaporize it simply by pointing his canons at it and set them off—if he could delete it from the history of the planet with nothing more than a single well-aimed blow—if he could be strong, if he could only be strong, if he could only be more than this pitiful fragile rash faulty eternal fuck-up of sham of power, he could do it, he could do it, he could defeat it and stop and rest and vanish and make up for it, make up for himself, he could make up for being weak, weak, weak, weak, WEAK—

~~~

He was just a man.

Just a man, with a normal body, and no clothes, and no hair. He was small and soft-spoken.

He was just a man.

And with one slap used more power than Genos had ever felt in his lifetime.

He did it to save him and he didn’t ask for thanks. Genos couldn’t take the monster out with every blaster on his body, save for the one that would detonate like a nuclear bomb.

He’d done it in an instant, without any effort at all.

He was just a man.

He was soft-spoken.

And he said his name was Saitama.

~~~

How. How. He couldn’t understand.

He’d studied him for weeks, first in secret and then up close. He chased him when he ran, he hunted him down when he would hide. He was like a hermit crab in that way, or an ant—a tiny creature, unfathomably powerful for its size, living quietly as if it was nothing unusual. And for his lifestyle, it wasn’t.

He joined him as he ate, and it was nothing special. He followed him when he went shopping and the stores were stocked with the same goods that you could find anywhere. He visited the baths with him and the facilities had nothing extraordinary in the water.

Nothing, of course, except for him.

Extraordinary…was a good word to describe him. Several other could apply—odd, outlandish, intimidating. For everything he was—for everything he was capable of—he could have the world at his feet. Genos had seen so little of his strength, but somehow he knew it was only a fraction of what he could achieve. And yet…

He clipped coupons. He ate Cup Noodle. He did his laundry. He complained when it got cold.

He was ordinary, with so much extra inside him.

…There were still more words that would fit him, though. Humble. Kind. Short-tempered.

Awesome, in every sense.

That was one he would use frequently—“awesome.” When they ate something he enjoyed in particular, when they found a steep sale, when Genos showed him part of his incinerators.

Genos did not think he knew what it used to mean, “awesome.” It described things that were “filled with or inspiring awe.” It was how kings were explained, or war heroes, or angels.

Angels were terrifying creatures, in many texts.

The scope of their power, and their grandeur and beauty and form—it was inconceivable, ethereal. It scared whoever it was with, that power. They knew they were in the presence of something out of their control, and so far beyond their plane they could never hope to touch it. It had been to Other Places. It had come back unscathed.

It was capable of anything it chose, and nothing could stop it.

This man…he was awesome.

And he let Genos live with him.

“Sensei,” was what he called him. “Sensei,” as if that could summarize how he felt about him. About his power.

…About the power Genos needed, if he was to become more than the mistake he was. If he was to become strong enough of a monster to wipe out the one that had led him here, on legs of metal with a heart of fire.

Here, where his parents could never come.

Here…beside his sensei. Beside this hero.

Beside this awesome, extraordinary, quiet man.

~~~

It was not fair. Circumstance, fate, statistics, happenstance—

None, none of it was fair.

He had saved them. He had saved every one of them. He had done it once—twenty—countless times by now, and when they were there to witness it, they berated him for it, cut him down for it.

Tried to crush him like an insect under their shoe.

And they praised Genos for the insects he crushed for them.

Nothing he’d done was worth a fraction of what his teacher had done. The vermin he destroyed were vapors compared to the volcanic disasters he’d avoided. The catastrophes he prevented as easily as stifling a yawn, the cataclysms he solved the same way he’d calculate the time passing between commercials—

He quashed the apocalypse the same way he scratched his back, and Genos shattered his trying to stave off a single demon.

So much power. He had so much power. More than he could ever use, more than he ever wanted.

He had complained to Genos on more than one occasion that he was too powerful—that fights were boring and enemies were weak.

The same enemies that Genos had watched destroy homes and raze towns. The same that could crush his body in their fingers.

The same that he could never defeat even if he expended every shred of power his core could offer him.

The same that his teacher pulverized without so much as breaking a sweat.

…And the same that could have made so made so many more that were just like him, had his sensei not been there.

He had…so much power.

It didn’t seem like anyone but Genos knew it.

It wasn’t that they didn’t see him use it---they did, on many occasions. It was simply…that they didn’t seem to understand, like they couldn’t comprehend. It was too much for them to handle, and so they didn’t, and they made up stories to explain it away.

“A fraud,” said some. “A poser,” said others. “A cheat,” said many.

“A liar,” said them all.

They were so wrong.

Genos—he was a lie. Genos, whose ranking was based on tests far too simple—Genos, whose popularity was due to a finely crafted mask—Genos, whose victories seemed large only on the small TV screens they were recorded for.

“A hero,” they called him, like was worth anything at all…when the only true things about him were the two words of his hero name.

“Caped Baldy” was the abomination they chose to call the savior of their planet.

“Demon Cyborg” was what they called the abomination they thought was their savior.

What jackasses. What fools. What ungrateful bastards.

…None of it was fair.

~~~

Nightmares, pain, failure, anger. Seclusion, frustration, destruction. Fear. Loss.

Sadness.

Hate…for the monster, but mostly…

For himself.

He deserved that.

It had been almost five years and he did not get vengeance for the ghosts that haunted him when he slept. It had been almost five years, and he was still just as weak as the boy that had let his parents die around him.

It had been five years, and he had yet to make anything of the extra time he ripped from death.

And people thanked him for it.

They acted like he was an idol, a god. They sent him awards and tokens, gave him plaques and presents and complements like he was worth of any of it.

They thanked him for the work he didn’t do, and it was infuriating.

Could they not see how little risk was involved for something that could replace its entire body, when there were heroes that risked it all? Did they have no idea how meaningless their gratitude was, when they did not give it to the one man who should receive it?

And…when that man would congratulate him, did he not see...how undeserving Genos was of it? How undeserving he was of…

…all of it?

He’d let him have the limelight, when he was a beacon of strength. He laughed along at all his love letters, when he got nothing but hate mail himself.

He shared his home like it was nothing big, when it meant the world to the one he shared it with.

It had been…so long since Genos had a home, and not a base to return to. It had been years since a normal breakfast was eggs in the morning and not the burnt carcass from whatever he killed the night before.

He’d forgotten what it was like to flip through channels instead of a performance report, or the simple comfort of hearing “Good night” beside you.

It was…safe, and soft, and normal, in a way he didn’t realized he missed.

He did not deserve it.

Just as he didn’t deserve the quiet praise, or the worried calls—the smiles when he walked through the door or the little surprises waiting for him after shopping trips. Those were treats for people living as they should, rewards for making the most of time between friends.

He could never earn that right.

He could clean, of course, and cook, and scrub and launder and tidy. He could give presents back along with the praise, and spend days off at home. But it would never be enough.

Not when his teacher got nothing but slander for protecting the human race. Not when the afternoons he could share were split between game marathons, and repairs to the shell of his body.

Not when the time he had was indebted to the parents who sacrificed theirs for him.

Genos operated on bolts and batteries, and stolen years and Inconel and guilt.

He was a wonder of modern science and a failure of a son.

He did not deserve the life he’d had, nor the one he shared now.

~~~

A carp could become a dragon, if it swam all the way upstream. That was the way the story went.

A fish, so brittle and insignificant, if only it could defeat the rapids, would leap into the clouds where its body would grow and its scales would bloom into silver and gold. It would be free to slip through any ocean then, both the ones that were filled with starfish and the one that was filled with stars. It could be more than it was, if it tried hard enough.

Genos’ body had grown. His skin had bloomed into silver and gold, and he could fly through the air, when he chose.

He still sank in water, though.

That’s what it felt like, when they walked the streets on Children’s Day. They were surrounded by little boys and girls, faces identical to the men and women holding their hands, all staring up at the paper carps streaming through sky. They could have been sand on the bottom of a riverbed, watching as schools of fish swam above them.

He was sluggish as he moved through the crowds, and his words were thick and slow. He knew the fire in his chest was burning hot as ever, blazing like a small blue star…and still, it felt cool to him. It got cooler when he saw the smallest sons picked up by smiling mothers. It chilled when he saw the older sons who were on the precipice of becoming young men.

His parents would never get the chance to see him come of age.

Months ago the day crept up and trickled past, and Genos did nothing to commemorate it. It was better that way, it was right, not to honor this thing he’d become. The boy that would have been celebrated—the one that would age and change and mature until he could have boys of his own—he had died long ago. This body was a grave for the life he’d lost, and the ones he couldn’t save.

Weak…he was so weak. He’d seen towns ruined as his was, and watched so many pull themselves from the wreckage. They came back later and thanked him, the survivors. They came with children and boyfriends and mothers, showing him the lives they rebuilt afterwards.

They were truly strong. They had grown, they had matured, they flourished in the wreckage they were left.

It was physically impossible for Genos to mature, and he’d grown to be the wreckage he was pulled from. Shining like silver, malleable like gold, with a body that could fly through the air like shrapnel.

Vicious as a dragon. Brittle as a carp.

Sinking under the weight of the dead.

~~~

His teacher was a quiet man, and he lived a quiet life. Everything around him was soft and light, from the old pajamas he slept in at night to the humming television he watched in the morning.

There were complements too, and praise, called only loud enough to make it out over the crowds.

Genos had trouble understanding them.

He didn’t grasp it first, too consumed with determining where the man’s unforgiving core was hidden. He must have had it, or something like it, when he could rocket through a meteor unhurt. He must have been guarding vibranium or adamantine or Thor’s thunder in his heart, for it not to break under the battering ram of public hate.

But…he was not.

His teacher, his hero, who could rule like the gods…he was just a man, with a soft smile and a big open heart, guarded only by the extent of his quietness.

He would not agree with Genos on his kindness. “It’s the right thing to do,” he’d explain as he opened his wallet, knowing he could not replace the groceries he’d destroyed saving a girl. “It’s what heroes are for,” he pushed, refusing the praise for rushing into a battle that was suicide for most.

But Genos watched him—he watched the way the insults cut him, he watched his shoulders fall as those he rescued laughed at him. He watched him spring protect someone who just told him he was a waste of space.

He watched his rare outbursts at crowds, knowing he could say so much more to them, and did not.

He watched him go back home and recede into a book, speaking even quieter than normal, if at all.

Genos watched this amazing man, this hero who could have had epics written for him and instead got slurs sent to his door…

…and it was his heart that broke.

The cracks started there—in his chest. They were not visible and still Genos could feel them, featherlight and biting in the open air. As he sat with him, ate with him, trained with him, they spread out into Genos’ arms, into his hands. His face would shatter in battle and it felt almost normal, so much so that he didn’t notice until they were pointed out.

“Are you okay?” he’d ask him. “You make me worry,” he’d tell him.

It was said so softly, but it fell like a hammer on his core.

The cracks got a little deeper. Routine passed through them like sea breeze through the boardwalk, and they filled up with windfall from the day—a string of puns chuckled through the produce section, whispered conversation in the dark before sleep. The sound of water bubbling down the drain as they washed dishes after dinner.

The fissures filled with these passing moments, each grain sealing them shut even as they split them further.

…Genos’ body was made of an iron alloy, and iron, on its most basic level, was weak. It was a common metal that needed to be mixed and twisted so it could withstand the pressure of daily use.

Sand, on the other hand, was a natural composite, formed from the rocks strong enough to withstand thousands of years of the ocean’s abuse. When stripped to its most essential mineral, it was made of quartz. Quartz was varied and strong, and formed the same way diamonds were. Quartz was used for healing and traded for its beauty.

In folktales, iron was a weapon used to kill fairies. The Iron Age was the reign of the filth of man. Quartz was used to protect infants from demons and in myths immortalized purity.

Quartz was always very strong, and iron…

Iron was soft.

If beaten, it will break, and will need to be gathered into a single piece again. If exposed too long, it will rust, and chip away when something brushes past it.

Iron will bend and crumple and yield, if put up against quartz.

Even a tiny piece can win the battle, over time. A single grain would be enough if it found a crack and settled deep within it. And Genos, with his fragile body…

He was covered in cracks.

Routine has a way of smoothing things out, of buffing the impurities of the day. A routine can turn the sharp cut of a jeer into a minor bump on the way to dinner.

His teacher had shared his routine with him. He worked beside him, day by day, learning from the quiet man how to live a quiet life. When he’d come home, he wouldn’t shout his greeting so he could hear the happy welcome that answered him. When he woke up, he wouldn’t focus on his nightmares but the even breathing next to him.

Before he lived like a forest fire, consuming everything on the path to the monsters of his past. And now…

He passed his days like water breaking on the beach, steady as the rise and fall of the waves.

This lifestyle…it was gentle, it was easy. Not to struggle swimming against the riptide, but to let himself drift on and off shore like sea glass or hermit crabs…

The cracks were still there, and they were growing, but Genos couldn’t help feeling that he was growing with them.

When his sensei smiled, his chest swelled and his armor could have been crackling under the pressure. When he thought of plans they made, he’d prepare for the day feeling lighter, like he had no armor at all.

That would make him weak, he realized, to be worn down by routine. It would leave him open in ways no battle plan could save him.

But his sensei was quiet and soft, and he was the most powerful man he knew. And if he could be that way, then…maybe…

It would not be so bad for Genos to be soft too.

~~~

When dolls broke apart, they were glued back together, piece by piece, by piece…by piece… He just needed some duct tape and some patience.

Patience.

Patience for pieces, that was it. Time to get torn down, after he’d been torn down, because that’s how the doctor would know where it all fit. Humpty Dumpty him up, only he had a king to put him together, and not the king’s men.

All the king’s men.

…There had been many men there, and women.

They had cracked too, but they didn’t leak yellow, or black the way Genos did. They looked the way they should, when real people got hurt. It would mean something later. It would turn people into monsters.

Just like him.

The other heroes had taken care of them, surely. All the monsters…but it was hard to remember who was who, with all this fog in his head. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…

Breathe out…

Ha…laughing gas, it was called. When he was little. Like he needed reasons to laugh then. They should sell it to grown-ups in bottles, like they did sleeping pills and caffeine pills. “Smile-all,” it could be. “Grin-it-down.”

Sugar makes the medicine go down… What had made this medicine go down? He hated it, all of it, always, this part. He hated it so much.

It made him remember who he was. He hated who he was.

He always fought it off, so hard. Like waking up from a nightmare, only he lost, he lost every time. He never won.

He hadn’t won this time. Nope, the claws went straight through him, right through his spine, and he shattered like a porcelain doll.

He didn’t remember hitting the ground, though. He usually did. It hurt, that part, the fall right after. It was the worst.

It was the best too, though, ‘cause he deserved it, and he didn’t always get what he deserved.

Who’d taken that away?

This hurt, a little. Not much. Not with the laughs.

He didn’t giggle though, it was a feeling. Not like at home. He giggled for real there.

He did it at Sensei’s faces, he did it at his jokes. What had he called him? A hot head?

Ha, ha…ha… Hot. Sensei was hot. Sensei was warm too, but he was cool, he was so damned cool…

Genos wasn’t. He’d broken in front of him. Humpty Dumpty, derpy demon. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men ran away because Demon Cyborg didn’t save them again.

What a joke. What a laugh.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

That’s what the HA looked like—HA, HA, HA, all across the rescue helicopters. They buzzed around like dragonflies, but they didn’t spit out fire. They got eaten up by it. So did the drivers, so did the stretchers underneath. Then the HA turned to AH, and they all did just that, “Ah, Aah, Aaaah…”

He was so tired of screaming. He heard it every night in his sleep. He was sleeping now, though, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that anesthesia? Just a slightly more awake sleep. So were those the screams?

But he wasn’t screaming. He didn’t hear any.

Well, not now. Before he made everyone scream. One bad shot and he knocked the monster into an apartment. Kaboom, it went. Kasquish, they went.

Screams. Lots of screams.

It should have been Genos in there.

He wouldn’t get backlash for it. Never had, never did, never would. Too pretty to knock down, that’s really what it was. The HA said he kept his ranking because he did good work.

He did shit work. He was shit. Shitty, shitty, shit.

…Shit…

He should’ve been left on the claws. They should’ve schlicked right into his brain, so he could stop and stop making more mistakes than he had. He was one great big mistake. He was five years of big and small mistakes, he was two and a half wasted lifetimes of miiistakes.

What a waste he was… What a tongue-twister that was…

Betty bought a batch of butter...”But,” she said, “This bot is bitter,” so she went and bought a better bot, but that bot was just as bitter. “Real boys are better,” bickered Betty, so she burned the bot and brought back a boy that was better than the bitter bot…

His father loved butter cookies. He loved to tell stories too, but not about the butter cookies, that was only when he told the tongue-twister.

He could bake butter cookies. He could bake them now, they would probably be good.

…No they wouldn’t be.

…Maybe they would.

Sensei liked his cooking, he’d like his cookies. Sensei said he liked a lot of things about him. Sensei said he had pretty hair, and pretty eyes, and a cool body. Sensei was wrong, but it was nice.

Sensei was nice. Sensei, Sensei…Sensei…

He was the one with pretty eyes, all dark and big and sparkly—but only sometimes. …Hehe. They were sparkly like his head.

Genos liked his head. Genos liked everything about him.

He should tell him. He should really tell him, not those half-assed tells he told because he was too scared to let him know how he felt. But Sensei would not tell back, because he probably didn’t feel back.

Sensei was a hero, an angel. Genos was a demon. He was a monster, a bogeyman, a dragon, that could go chomp chomp and burn up a village. Sensei was a dragon slayer.

He wouldn’t want to date a monster.

…He sure saved Genos a lot though, like he was some kinda princess. He wasn’t a princess. Not even when he got all broken up again, and needed to be eased down from the top of the HA tower. Rapunzel was on top of a tower, but even she could help save herself. She put her hair down. Genos’ hair wasn’t that long.

His spinal chord…maybe that, next time. Maybe he could pull that out and use it. Like they were doing now. It was so tickly, when they got here, even with all the gas in his lungs. It would probably hurt real bad if he was awake. It must’ve wasted a lot of money, this gas. He could’ve been shut down he was sure. His brain could be popped out and put in a bowl to save it, couldn’t it? That would make things easier. It’s not like much would be lost if it didn’t make it.

…Ah, but Sensei wouldn’t have omelets in morning then. He promised, before the sale, they’d make omelets together. Sensei liked cooking with Genos, he did it so much. He couldn’t do that if Genos was dead.

The beeps—the beeps were loud, now. They were like screams—beep, beeeep, beeeeep…

No, that was a real scream. Or just a yell? That was his name, for sure.

Oh, the gas was going. Bye bye, happy gas… Goodbye, happy…

But that…was his voice, and that was happy. Hearing him say his name, so softly, so carefully. No, it wasn’t screaming…how could he have thought that? It was mumbling…it was quiet…

It was warm next to his ear, and sounded like the start of a spell.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…breathe out…

He was coming out of it. He was sore, and sluggish, but he was in one piece, and there was a hand around his. It held on tight, like he’d vanish or fall.

…Ha, haha. Like the nursery rhyme—Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

He would wake up soon, he could almost open his eyes. But for now…hearing “Genos?” said so shakily, like that voice would crumble if it wasn’t answered back…

…What was the rest of the rhyme?

…Of all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men…

Only one had made him feel whole again.

~~~

Five years he spent hunting the demon down. A quarter of his life, he’d devoted to a constant search. His mind, his body, his humanity—he’d given it all in a sacrifice for a chance at vengeance.

His plea had been ignored.

Of the hundreds of nights he spent hiding in the brush, none of them gave him a clue where it fled. The thousands of hours he spent scanning through reports, not one of them brought him closer to tearing it apart. News of it came less and less, and every month he did not kill it was another dig in the pit in his stomach.

He would search for it—he would always search for it—if anyone would pin it down and rip it limb from limb it would be him—

..but he could no longer ignore the growing suspicion that his mission was doomed from the start.

Leads were scant at the onset of his journey and even rarer as it continued. Then, though, he was too blind with rage to realize the most obvious reason for it—

He was so obsessed with living up to the ghosts of his past that he hadn’t considered he was chasing one of them.

It was never confirmed, as they found no body. For all he knew it could still be out there, burning villages and children and hopes and dreams…but if it was he would have heard of it.

There had been no news for a very long time.

It ate at him like acid, gnawed like a piranha at the nape of neck. If the beast was already dead, then his vendetta had been in vain. His agonizing, his fury, his rage, the years spent training and training and training—

They never brought him anywhere close to the cyborg.

Genos was weak, and he knew that. He had been too weak to protect his mother and father the ways they had protected him, and any courage he had smoldered with their bodies. He was hefted up like a toddler and given a better body, and still it took time for the courage to come back.

Once it did, he proved his stupidity in battle was more than enough to destroy his body again.

When he managed to conquer his stupidity, it was his rashness that beat him.

When he conquered rashness, it was distraction.

When it was not distraction, it was once more that he was simply too weak.

Weak. Weak. No matter how many upgrades he got, no matter how hard he fought, he was always too weak.

…To him.

It was not so to the man he spent his days with.

He would cry out at how fast he moved or marvel at how hard he hit, and in the beginning, Genos thought he was humoring him. How could someone able to level continents think he was at all strong?

But as the months passed by between them, he realized…no, his sensei was telling the truth. He thought his student powerful, despite needing to be carried back from half his battles. He thought him smart and quick and cunning, when he tripped up at least once in every fight.

He thought better of Genos than Genos ever could. He thought he was amazing, extraordinary.

“You’re really awesome,” he told him, or “That was a cool kick,” or “You’re defending yourself real well now!”

“You sounded great on the news,” was another. “Your voice is nice,” was a favorite.

And the one that was hardest to believe, even though Genos knew he meant it more than the rest, “I missed you while you were gone.”

His sensei thought of him, when he was gone. He thought of him enough to want him back.

Genos saw himself as waste of space. He drained time and money and resources, in such copious amounts he could never hope to replace them. In his mind he was a black hole.

But to his teacher…he filled something in him, so much so that he noticed when it slipped away.

That was no small feat. One afternoon the man had confided in him the years he spent alone, feeling hollow and inhuman. He described watching the fire of his emotions shrivel into coals, and the coals settling into grays and blacks. He told him how long he had waited for them to burn again, admitting finally that he’d let them die, and eventually he would die not remembering how they felt blazing inside him.

He pointed to Genos’ core, and said, “But you have a little star in there, so I’m sure you don’t have to worry about it.”

Genos cried then, slick tears of oil, and the black shone with the light from his chest.

His teacher looked confused and Genos thought it was odd, to be so unmoved as he spoke. At a loss he looked up into those great, deep eyes and was swallowed up in the blackness there.

Dark. They were utterly dark…like they’d never held any light at all.

Genos cried harder.

It nagged at him as the weeks passed by, and he did what he could to bring it back. He kept him company at unfamiliar stores, he rented movies when there were snowstorms. During blackouts he would open his shirt, and they would huddle in the corner for warmth, the way he remembered doing when he was young. It had made him feel safe then, and happy. There was some sort of magic in that tiny heat.

He could not tell if was working on his teacher, so he kept on trying.

It was not until that simple greeting that he knew it worked at all. Behind the smile and those three little words, he saw the shine in his deep eyes. It was gentle, yes, and flickering, and still very weak, but the light was strong and steady and his teacher did not seem confused by it.

He shifted to make room at the table beside him right after, and he didn’t seem like he could be more sure of anything in the world.

Saitama was not a deity, or an angel, or even some spirit from another world. He was just a man, who was soft-spoken, who lived a quiet life.

But he had given Genos a home, when he had only had a fortress.

He helped Genos become a hero, when he had only been a monster.

He gave Genos a horizon, when he had only seen a flatline.

Genos gave himself in a blood offering, and his plea for vengeance had been ignored, but…

…his prayers were heard, and received…

…and they had been answered tenfold.

~~~

Monsters had not been real before, but they were real now. Children were stolen and eaten in the night. Princesses were killed for no reason at all.

They were all living in one long, extended fairy tale…and that meant there were heroes, too.

There were white knights that struck down ogres, and fairies that could turn puppets into men, if only they were good enough.

Genos had not been good. He had loved his family too much, and let it turn to hate—hate for the world, hate for circumstance. Hate, more than anything, for himself.

He had killed, and let others be killed.

He was the villain in his own story.

…But his was no longer the only story he was part of. He’d been woven into another one, so smoothly he couldn’t find the seam between the two. And whenever stories blend…

….the characters can change.

The big bad wolf becomes the fox spirit, the harbinger of death becomes the mother of sleep.

The bloodthirsty dragon that hunts down villagers becomes the gentle wind spirit that protects a town.

A villain can become a hero, if he shares his story with another.

Especially when that other was a great hero.

Especially when that other saw him as a hero.

Happy endings were not made for the villains and monsters—they were for the good and right, the fighters, the saviors. The ones whose actions screamed loudest on the pages, no matter how quietly they did them.

Saitama was the kind of man that deserved a happy ending.

But Genos…he was a walking war machine, a floating brain in a grave of weapons, one of the demons that was killed before they had a chance to kill everyone else.

Genos knew better than to expect more for himself.

But fables grow. Fairy tales change.

The hard shell of a puppet can turn soft and warm, and a monster can become a man, if his hero is strong enough to rescue him.

Genos’ hero was the strongest of them all. He was a small, soft-spoken man.

And if that man though Genos belonged in his happy ending, well…

…maybe he could have one, after all.

[winterwolvesandstarbucks]

The cool breeze blowing through the great outdoors, never felt more refreshing to Bucky as he makes his way down the side-walk of East-Brooklyn. Despite the fact he was far from the solitude of the countryside where the air was cleaner and the outdoors quieter, Bucky felt a semblance of rejuvenation and nostalgia at the feeling of being back home where he was born almost a century ago. The best part—he didn’t come back alone. He feels a tug on his arm where he held a triple-headed leash in his hand. A smile stretches across his lips, ardent and purer than anything he’d felt in so long. The greatest gift ever given to him was giving birth to a litter of three wolf-pups. Aurora, Brennen and Madison. Each of whom where collared by the leash he held that was comfortable for them as well as easy for him to hold. Sipping an iced coffee, he clicks his tongue to gain their attention. “You guys ready to take a stroll?” He beams. Since he regained his human form weeks ago, thoughts of returning to Brooklyn had been at the edge of his mind until he decided he needed to stretch his legs and show his kids where their daddy came from. Their reactions had been mixed from excitement, to nervousness and refusal. His pups had grown up in the past year since their birth, coming into their toddler ages, he wanted to show them more about where their parents came from.

Pointing her tiny muzzle at the myriad of industrial scents that were unrecognizable to her senses, Aurora froze in her wobbling paces as blares of traffic vented from the congested backlit streets haloed by orange glows of streetlamps that caressed light over her silken brunette-cinder fur. The little wolfling squeaked out a feeble yelp, twisting her leash into a knot as she twirled on her paws, feeling unsure of the strange noises coming from every direction, piercing her enhanced hearing. It hurt. She went down low on her pudgy belly, and lifted her paws over her flatted ears, blocking out the deafening crescendo that never ended. “Daddy…” She whined with a girlish sniffle, feeling her twin brother’s chubbier form nudging fussily against her, while little Mattie was reeling back in her unbalanced steps, nuzzling her whiskered nose over Bucky’s tactical boot. “Too much noise…”

A tight smile formed on Bucky’s face, ever remorseful towards his children’s discomfort but his smile was placating at the same time. “I know, sweet heart. New York is a big city, with so many people and animals moving around, there isn’t much room for quiet time, unless we’re at the library,” Bucky sighs, recalling how much serener it was as a kid growing up in the 1920s where loud vehicles were as sparse as the people driving them. So much could change in close to a century. Music blared from the apartment windows, louder engines to faster cars zooming past, and the flocks of civilians moving down the street. The only thing louder was as a Dodgers game, and there was no way Bucky was taking his kids to see one of those in person. “Try not to let it bother you,” he offers her. “It stinks like butt and garbage, daddy.” Brennen shrugged irritably, his nose winkling while he bats his paw into the air as if he were battle some unseen foe that was assaulting his nostrils. The wolfing had been the most vocal about his refusal to leave home and go into the city were trees were few and the humans too many. It was a naked feeling the pup didn’t like, he longed for the cool solitude of their den, than the blistering heat of city streets beneath his paws. “I hate it!” He whines. “Bren, watch your language, pal,” Bucky admonishes to his son gently, despite the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he relished the sweet cool taste of caffeine on his tongue while sipping his Starbucks iced coffee.

Giggling at her twin brother’s irritable protests, Aurora slammed her weight forcibly into the chubbiest of the litter, knocking him off his paws, as their leashes twirled into a knot, while they both were seeking dominance over Bucky’s awareness. Sensing her brother’s devious tactic to wiggle out of his collar, she nipped her puppy fangs into his furred back, growling aggressively. Mattie stooped back like an alarmed kitten between Bucky’s heavy combat boots, squeaking out high pitched whimpers, shuttering into a tiny ball of mahogany fur as the two eldest pups engaging their sidewalk sparring. “No runnin’ this time, Bren…”

“Get off me, I’m not runnin’,” the chubby pup grunts with a tinge of aggression. His domineering instincts to be the best among his pack was a constant trigger that was easily pulled. He and Aurora stumble slightly, their tiny barks drawing the attention of passing civilians who cooed and awed at the adorable display. Bucky remains tight-lipped, though there was an air of exasperation in his bemused expression. Since they arrived in Brooklyn 72 hours ago, Aurora and Brennen were about as aggressive in their fun as a band of Asgardians. Something Steve had pointed out just last night and Bucky couldn’t appreciate till now. “Okay you two, knock it off, or we’re not stopping for iced cream,” Bucky warns, watching expectantly as the twins stumble off of each other and find their proper postures as if someone had hit a reset button. They traded glares with each other before putting up facades of innocence and remorse. Ah the puppy dog eyes, Bucky realized with a dry smirk. “Sorry, daddy. We’ll behave,” Brennen pipes up almost desperately. Despite how much he didn’t like the city, there were a few things he was more than taken by—ice cream being at the top of the list, along with buttered popcorn and stuffed pillows.

Aurora’s temperament alternated to less hostile furball, as she mastered the angelic visage of little sweetheart, really sugar coating it, with a docile wag of her stubby tail and girlish sulk. “S'orry, Daddy, we’ll play nice…” She gazed up at Bucky, watching his eyebrows pinch into a taut furrow under the brim of his Dodger’s baseball cap, the humid breeze flitted his wolfish strands of his heavy, stubbled jaw as he quirked his shapely lips into a jovial smirk, conveying his own playful spirit. Little Mattie snuggled against his boot, whimpering for him to scoop her up.

“I hope so, otherwise, Mattie and I hear are gonna get the whole share, isn’t that right, little darlin?” Bucky coos while lifting the tiny pup into his arms who proceeded to nuzzle his neck and shoulder affectionately before burying herself into the warm and secure crook of his arm. Bucky chuckles before placing a sweet kiss on her head, her scent of vanilla and cinnamon easing his vexation and putting him into a casually fun mood. “What kind of ice cream you want, hm?” he beams down at her with a soft smile.

“Daddy, I wanna, um, the pink icy cream, plwease,” Aurora chirped back demandingly, balancing on her four paws with balletic –wobbling graces, her intense starlit azure eyes gleaming with hunger anew while Mattie snuggled cozily over the cool metallic plates of Bucky’s concealed robotic arm, the electronic pulse soothed down the worming tension in her belly, as she giggled in unison with her older sister. “Girls like the pink stuff, Daddy…”

“I want chocolate, daddy! Can I get my own bowl this time?! Can I?!” Brennen barks up excitedly, his tiny paws already quaking with savory anticipation of the sweet and delicious treat. When he had first discovered it, the wolfing nearly ate an entire bucket by himself. The ice cream headache that followed had been worth the rush coolness and the stuff of fulfillment. Staying in the city was worth it to the wolf pup as long as he had a daily fill of the tasty cold dessert. Bucky chuckled at the excitement of his two twins. He understood Brennen’s addiction to ice-cream. There were times he caught himself drooling at the thought of a bowl of chocolate with peanut-butter moose tracks. “Okay okay, little guys. Just remember not to take too much in at once or you’ll get headaches,” Bucky softly chides as they resume their walk. “I’m sure you remember last time,” he reminds them of the long night the twins spent whining into the night as if they had been robbed of their favorite toy. Neither he nor Steve slept that night.

A fussy squeak followed the maelstrom of playful yips, Mattie twisted her neck around and glared heatedly at her siblings, with her unwavering luminous coffee orbs, they disrupting her contentment. Barring her puppy fangs at Aurora, her mahogany furred bristled irritably as she nuzzled herself deeper into the sleeve that layered over Bucky’s cybertronic arm, resting her tiny muzzle on the area where the chrome plates vibrated a soothing pulse. She wanted to sleep in her Daddy’s cradling arms–nothing compared to his secured warmth, not even ice cream.

“It’s all right, little darlin’,” Bucky whispers to her knowingly, caressing the top of her head soothingly. He knew how much Mattie felt protected and safe in his embrace, as if nothing in the world could harm or even vex her. It had also been a long day, and he knew how much she wanted to be at home, drifting off to a warm and comfortable sleep while secured against the warm expanse of his chest. The thought was soothing to Bucky in itself, and it was also what he most looked forward to each night. “We’ll be home soon enough,” he tells her. In the sky, the afternoon sun had begun to drift towards the western horizon, giving the hint of nightfall soon to come. The family continues down a side-walk, turning a corner that would lead them down a less-busy street and where a local ice-cream parlor stood close-by. Few civilians wandered by from an apartment building. Their scents were a myriad of musky cologne, nicotine, lavender perfume, and leather. Before he had become a mountain direwolf, Bucky’s sense of smell had never been so potent or empowering. While some scents were delightfully mouthwatering, like the smell of hot-dogs being sold by a vendor down the corner. There were other scents that triggered something predatorial within the man-wolf.

Approaching the crowd with caution measured in her paw steps, Aurora felt her nose scrunch up, instincts were steering her away from the shop, and towards a burgundy leafed maple tree rooted on the corner of the crosswalk. Scanning the area, with her glacial azure eyes, her lithe body tugged at the leash, with relentless momentum as she caught the phantom scent of something devious and arrogant within her proximity. Whimpering out a high pitch squeak, she thrust forward, trying to escape from the leash. “Daddy, let go, I smell somethin’,” she urged, arching her weight up until she balanced on her hind paws. “I want it.”

“Rora, settle down,” Bucky reprimands her gently, not releasing his hold on the leash despite her sudden outburst. He roots himself once he feels Brennen begin to act up just as well as his sister, their strength together proving to be a surprising force while Bucky frowns in confusion. In his arm, he feels Mattie tense up but she had remarkably also raised her head to sniff at something unseen. Bucky wondered what was going in, as he notices Brennen raise his own muzzle and sniff aloud too. “Brennen? Rora? What’s wrong?” He asks, looking around warily. He knew that in human form, his sense of smell wasn’t as keen as his kids in their wolfling forms. He sees them staring up at the tree beside him that was as high as two stories. Whatever it was, it seemed to incite the young wolfling who releases a low growl, surprising Bucky. “Up there, daddy. You see him?!” Brennen barks, nearly hopping on his paws as he strains to get closer to the wooden bark. “Hey, ugly! I see you!” Brennen barks. “What are you two talking abo—” Flabbergasted, Bucky looks up…and his incredulous expression darkens into something captivated and primal. The blue of his eyes had become as intense as a storm as they glared, unblinkingly at a furry creature, perched on the branch of the tree high up, squeaking while at the same time wagging his chin at them mockingly. “Get down here, squirrel! You think you’re so tough?! Let’s see!” Brennen barks out, challengingly.

High in his branched perch, the lanky rodent furred in raven-black, flicked his bushy tail, almost daring Bucky to engage. His beady eyes gleamed with sconces of virulent, immortal green as he stared down at the ensorcelled beast machine, who looked so degraded–leashed- from his menacing and lethal visage of tactical garb, he almost squeaked in jest, at the roundness of pudge layered on Bucky’s stubbled cheeks. ‘Oh, what has become of you, dear James Barnes?“ he whispered in a sinister, polished cadence, relishing it in that sadistic pleasure. "Such a waste of mortality, but I can still have some fun with you…” The raven furred squirrel veered his steely gaze at an acorn dangling loosely from a reachable branch, and quickly whipped off, aiming for Bucky’s head.

"Hey!" Bucky was both appalled and incensed as he feels the stunning sensation of a nut clocking against his forehead, followed swiftly by another. "What the—" Another nut clocked against his cheek, some of the ones that missed rained down on the ground, one bouncing off of Brennen's head. Bucky had little time to register the fact that the furry creature was eerily familiar, when rage engulfed him and his pack. "Annoying little…" Bucky bit his tongue to refrain from unleashing a verbal assault in front of his children. He was from Brooklyn after-all, and he had a few choice words to describe the bothersome pest that had drawn his ire. His blood pumped loudly in his ears as the beast within howled to let out and take control. "You're gonna pay for that! No one likes you squirrel!" Brennen continued to bark and rave on his paws, pouncing against the stump of the tree in an effort to climb up and snatch the offending prey.

"Oh no you don't Bren," Aurora snarled out aggressively, using effective momentum while lunging at her feisty brother with a graceful pounce. She pinned him underneath her pudgy weight, registering a stubborn "grah" that squeaked out of his scrunching muzzle. She had the pudgiest of the litter locked into submission, as she delivered a victorious giggle, wickedly curving her delicate muzzle into a devious puppy fanged smirk. "Not so tough now, are ya?" she challenged haughtily, setting the predatory gleam of her frosted azure orbs intently on the slender black creature perched above. Unrestrained instincts steered her to engage an immediate advance for a killing strike."That's my kill..."

"Get off, he's mine!" Brennen wiggled and squirmed as he tried to wrestle out of his sister's hold. She was stronger than she looked, and it was a blow to his pride that she took him down so quick and efficiently despite the distraction. While the two wolfings tumbled and swat their paws at each other, Mattie climbed out of Bucky's arm and gracefully leapt to the ground beside her brother and sister. Rather than join their tug of war, she grapples a nut that was thrown tugs it between her teeth like a chew-toy. Exuberance and aggression filled the wolfings, but it was unmatched by the brewing storm growing within their alpha. Bucky's entire focus had settled on the squirrel, his steel-blue eyes burning with anticipation as the creature's own emerald orbs gleamed back at him—mischievous and challenging. A growl erupted from Buckys throat, he was filled with a resurgence of primal instinct that began to manifest into a predatory transformation.

"Yes, do embrace the inner beast, Winter Soldier," Loki whispered in resonant of jeered spite, daringly leveling his insipid beady eyes of silvery emerald on the enchanted Siberian assassin, who to him was measured as a bloated out slug of mortality. He relished the pleasure of evoking the unhinged aggression that he detected surging inside; all it would take is one more acorn to the face, and the menacing spirit of the wolf would become unleashed for the hunt. Flicking his bushy tail with a swift movement on his branch, the Asgardian Trickster chirped loudly, watching Bucky's upper lip curl as longer canine fangs jutted out with a throated seethe. Loki sniggered, just relishing the unfolding of bestial changes seizing Bucky's restraint."Oh, this little game is going to be so much fun to play..."

The coherent thoughts of a grown human had evaporated in a boiling tempest. Bucky's clenched fingers became uncomfortable as sharpened claws extended from his nails. His round ears that tucked away loose strands of dark chestnut had come loose to make way for pointed ends. His eyes once a cool blue had become burning flames of sapphire. The beast within struggled against the assailing control of man, allowing only a portion of his visage to morph into that of a wolf. Bucky's chest rumbled as the vibrations of a growling beast shook his body to the core. A beast that had a famished taste for squirrel. "You're mine, runt!" Bucky snarls, his high-adrenaline and malice fueling his movements as he pounced towards the tree with one violent thrust with his raised claws.

Undaunted by the sheer primordial rage that was pulsating within Bucky, the elusive invader of the Barnes family contentment, instantly felt an intoxicating rush surge within his slender form, Loki quickly vaulted off his branch and hurried down the sidewalk. The amber gleams of haloing streetlights caressed over his raven fur as he gained distance when the beast machine. His little ears perked once he felt thunderous, intimating vibrations of stomping boot steps menacingly tagging his fervent pace. He loved being on the edge of chaos, locked in the crosshairs of mortal restraint against influxes of awakened brutality. He craved for a relentless pursuit, testing the young alpha's limits of unsated bloodlust. Turning his head, Loki watched Bucky charging at him with deadly speed and fierce precision, his broad shoulders arched back and teeth barred."That's it, Barnes, unleash the wolf, let him seize the night."

A beastial roar combined with the dramatic cry of an angry man, bellowed throughout the streets. Once the squirrel had taken off down the street, Bucky had given no other thought than the satisfaction of wrapping his teeth around the furry creature, and wringing its neck. Who did this squirrel think he is to provoke a sleeping beast? Was it that eager to become his next meal? The wolf fumed as he races through incoming traffic, his sharp reflexes allowing him to effortlessly jump over the hoods and elude collision. The bewildered drivers looked on while honking their horns furiously at the display. Bucky didn't stop as he sees the squirrel bounce use increase speed and agility, scurring away like a coward that continued to mock him by wagging its tail at him from a lamp-post. "I'll gut you!!" Bucky roars, lunging for the post only to miss the squirrel by an inch as it chose to evade. The man-wolf was unable to control his momentum as he crashes against a hotdog vendor, over-turning his cart in a sea of devastating shock. "Son of--! My hotdogs!" The furious vendor yelling, trying desperately to preserve his overturned product. His pinched brow becomes bewildered as a trio of pups race past, the fattest of the litter snatching one of the stray wieners from reach and continuing at a brisk pace. "Hey!"

Pulling up to the sidewalk curb, and cautious of the pick-up truck parked behind him, Steve glided Harley’s tires with measured ease, feeling the revving vibrations of the engine lessen as he swiftly jammed the heel of his motorcycle boot against the chrome kickstand before extracting out the ignition fob. The bluish halo glow of the headlight dimmed, as he effortlessly slid his Adonis bulked weight off the bike’s saddle, and set the hawkish intensity of his azure eyes on the convenience store –his destination for stocking up on fruit infused popsicles and ice cream sandwiches for the pups. Being a doting uncle was a mission in itself, there wasn’t a dull moment and he loved every minute of it. As he casually strode towards the store’s door, a crescendo of screeching tires and furious shooting grappled his steeled regard, as Steve instinctively whirled around in a heartbeat, and paced further away from his motorcycle, passively veered a gaze directly at the obstruction of vehicles, taxi cabs and a mess of hot dogs dispersed recklessly along the crosswalk. “Well, how bout that?” he whispered heartily, his full shapely lips quirking up into a boyish smirk;  his unwaveringly vigilant azure irises went alight with mounting befuddlement as he watched a little pudgy canine sitting nonchalantly on a tipped over vendor cart, munching sloppily on a snatched grilled ball park. “Now, there’s somethin’ you don’t see every day in Brooklyn…”

[nicksstoryvault]

The cool breeze blowing through the great outdoors, never felt more refreshing to Bucky as he makes his way down the side-walk of East-Brooklyn. Despite the fact he was far from the solitude of the countryside where the air was cleaner and the outdoors quieter, Bucky felt a semblance of rejuvenation and nostalgia at the feeling of being back home where he was born almost a century ago. The best part—he didn't come back alone. He feels a tug on his arm where he held a triple-headed leash in his hand. A smile stretches across his lips, ardent and purer than anything he'd felt in so long. The greatest gift ever given to him was giving birth to a litter of three wolf-pups. Aurora, Brennen and Madison. Each of whom where collared by the leash he held that was comfortable for them as well as easy for him to hold. Sipping an iced coffee, he clicks his tongue to gain their attention. "You guys ready to take a stroll?" He beams. Since he regained his human form weeks ago, thoughts of returning to Brooklyn had been at the edge of his mind until he decided he needed to stretch his legs and show his kids where their daddy came from. Their reactions had been mixed from excitement, to nervousness and refusal. His pups had grown up in the past year since their birth, coming into their toddler ages, he wanted to show them more about where their parents came from.

Pointing her tiny muzzle at the myriad of industrial scents that were unrecognizable to her senses, Aurora froze in her wobbling paces as blares of traffic vented from the congested backlit streets haloed by orange glows of streetlamps that caressed light over her silken brunette-cinder fur. The little wolfling squeaked out a feeble yelp, twisting her leash into a knot as she twirled on her paws, feeling unsure of the strange noises coming from every direction, piercing her enhanced hearing. It hurt. She went down low on her pudgy belly, and lifted her paws over her flatted ears, blocking out the deafening crescendo that never ended. "Daddy..." She whined with a girlish sniffle, feeling her twin brother's chubbier form nudging fussily against her, while little Mattie was reeling back in her unbalanced steps, nuzzling her whiskered nose over Bucky's tactical boot. "Too much noise..."

A tight smile formed on Bucky's face, ever remorseful towards his children's discomfort but his smile was placating at the same time. "I know, sweet heart. New York is a big city, with so many people and animals moving around, there isn't much room for quiet time, unless we're at the library," Bucky sighs, recalling how much serener it was as a kid growing up in the 1920s where loud vehicles were as sparse as the people driving them. So much could change in close to a century. Music blared from the apartment windows, louder engines to faster cars zooming past, and the flocks of civilians moving down the street. The only thing louder was as a Dodgers game, and there was no way Bucky was taking his kids to see one of those in person. "Try not to let it bother you," he offers her. "It stinks like butt and garbage, daddy." Brennen shrugged irritably, his nose winkling while he bats his paw into the air as if he were battle some unseen foe that was assaulting his nostrils. The wolfing had been the most vocal about his refusal to leave home and go into the city were trees were few and the humans too many. It was a naked feeling the pup didn't like, he longed for the cool solitude of their den, than the blistering heat of city streets beneath his paws. "I hate it!" He whines. "Bren, watch your language, pal," Bucky admonishes to his son gently, despite the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he relished the sweet cool taste of caffeine on his tongue while sipping his Starbucks iced coffee.

Giggling at her twin brother's irritable protests, Aurora slammed her weight forcibly into the chubbiest of the litter, knocking him off his paws, as their leashes twirled into a knot, while they both were seeking dominance over Bucky's awareness. Sensing her brother's devious tactic to wiggle out of his collar, she nipped her puppy fangs into his furred back, growling aggressively. Mattie stooped back like an alarmed kitten between Bucky's heavy combat boots, squeaking out high pitched whimpers, shuttering into a tiny ball of mahogany fur as the two eldest pups engaging their sidewalk sparring. "No runnin' this time, Bren..."

"Get off me, I'm not runnin'," the chubby pup grunts with a tinge of aggression. His domineering instincts to be the best among his pack was a constant trigger that was easily pulled. He and Aurora stumble slightly, their tiny barks drawing the attention of passing civilians who cooed and awed at the adorable display. Bucky remains tight-lipped, though there was an air of exasperation in his bemused expression. Since they arrived in Brooklyn 72 hours ago, Aurora and Brennen were about as aggressive in their fun as a band of Asgardians. Something Steve had pointed out just last night and Bucky couldn't appreciate till now. "Okay you two, knock it off, or we're not stopping for iced cream," Bucky warns, watching expectantly as the twins stumble off of each other and find their proper postures as if someone had hit a reset button. They traded glares with each other before putting up facades of innocence and remorse. Ah the puppy dog eyes, Bucky realized with a dry smirk. "Sorry, daddy. We'll behave," Brennen pipes up almost desperately. Despite how much he didn't like the city, there were a few things he was more than taken by—ice cream being at the top of the list, along with buttered popcorn and stuffed pillows.

Aurora's temperament alternated to less hostile furball, as she mastered the angelic visage of little sweetheart, really sugar coating it, with a docile wag of her stubby tail and girlish sulk. "S'orry, Daddy, we'll play nice..." She gazed up at Bucky, watching his eyebrows pinch into a taut furrow under the brim of his Dodger's baseball cap, the humid breeze flitted his wolfish strands of his heavy, stubbled jaw as he quirked his shapely lips into a jovial smirk, conveying his own playful spirit. Little Mattie snuggled against his boot, whimpering for him to scoop her up.

"I hope so, otherwise, Mattie and I hear are gonna get the whole share, isn't that right, little darlin?" Bucky coos while lifting the tiny pup into his arms who proceeded to nuzzle his neck and shoulder affectionately before burying herself into the warm and secure crook of his arm. Bucky chuckles before placing a sweet kiss on her head, her scent of vanilla and cinnamon easing his vexation and putting him into a casually fun mood. "What kind of ice cream you want, hm?" he beams down at her with a soft smile.

"Daddy, I wanna, um, the pink icy cream, plwease," Aurora chirped back demandingly, balancing on her four paws with balletic --wobbling graces, her intense starlit azure eyes gleaming with hunger anew while Mattie snuggled cozily over the cool metallic plates of Bucky's concealed robotic arm, the electronic pulse soothed down the worming tension in her belly, as she giggled in unison with her older sister. "Girls like the pink stuff, Daddy..."

"I want chocolate, daddy! Can I get my own bowl this time?! Can I?!" Brennen barks up excitedly, his tiny paws already quaking with savory anticipation of the sweet and delicious treat. When he had first discovered it, the wolfing nearly ate an entire bucket by himself. The ice cream headache that followed had been worth the rush coolness and the stuff of fulfillment. Staying in the city was worth it to the wolf pup as long as he had a daily fill of the tasty cold dessert. Bucky chuckled at the excitement of his two twins. He understood Brennen's addiction to ice-cream. There were times he caught himself drooling at the thought of a bowl of chocolate with peanut-butter moose tracks. "Okay okay, little guys. Just remember not to take too much in at once or you'll get headaches," Bucky softly chides as they resume their walk. "I'm sure you remember last time," he reminds them of the long night the twins spent whining into the night as if they had been robbed of their favorite toy. Neither he nor Steve slept that night.

A fussy squeak followed the maelstrom of playful yips, Mattie twisted her neck around and glared heatedly at her siblings, with her unwavering luminous coffee orbs, they disrupting her contentment. Barring her puppy fangs at Aurora, her mahogany furred bristled irritably as she nuzzled herself deeper into the sleeve that layered over Bucky's cybertronic arm, resting her tiny muzzle on the area where the chrome plates vibrated a soothing pulse. She wanted to sleep in her Daddy's cradling arms--nothing compared to his secured warmth, not even ice cream.

"It's all right, little darlin'," Bucky whispers to her knowingly, caressing the top of her head soothingly. He knew how much Mattie felt protected and safe in his embrace, as if nothing in the world could harm or even vex her. It had also been a long day, and he knew how much she wanted to be at home, drifting off to a warm and comfortable sleep while secured against the warm expanse of his chest. The thought was soothing to Bucky in itself, and it was also what he most looked forward to each night. "We'll be home soon enough," he tells her. In the sky, the afternoon sun had begun to drift towards the western horizon, giving the hint of nightfall soon to come. The family continues down a side-walk, turning a corner that would lead them down a less-busy street and where a local ice-cream parlor stood close-by. Few civilians wandered by from an apartment building. Their scents were a myriad of musky cologne, nicotine, lavender perfume, and leather. Before he had become a mountain direwolf, Bucky's sense of smell had never been so potent or empowering. While some scents were delightfully mouthwatering, like the smell of hot-dogs being sold by a vendor down the corner. There were other scents that triggered something predatorial within the man-wolf.

Approaching the crowd with caution measured in her paw steps, Aurora felt her nose scrunch up, instincts were steering her away from the shop, and towards a burgundy leafed maple tree rooted on the corner of the crosswalk. Scanning the area, with her glacial azure eyes, her lithe body tugged at the leash, with relentless momentum as she caught the phantom scent of something devious and arrogant within her proximity. Whimpering out a high pitch squeak, she thrust forward, trying to escape from the leash. "Daddy, let go, I smell somethin'," she urged, arching her weight up until she balanced on her hind paws. "I want it."

"Rora, settle down," Bucky reprimands her gently, not releasing his hold on the leash despite her sudden outburst. He roots himself once he feels Brennen begin to act up just as well as his sister, their strength together proving to be a surprising force while Bucky frowns in confusion. In his arm, he feels Mattie tense up but she had remarkably also raised her head to sniff at something unseen. Bucky wondered what was going in, as he notices Brennen raise his own muzzle and sniff aloud too. "Brennen? Rora? What's wrong?" He asks, looking around warily. He knew that in human form, his sense of smell wasn't as keen as his kids in their wolfling forms. He sees them staring up at the tree beside him that was as high as two stories. Whatever it was, it seemed to incite the young wolfling who releases a low growl, surprising Bucky. "Up there, daddy. You see him?!" Brennen barks, nearly hopping on his paws as he strains to get closer to the wooden bark. "Hey, ugly! I see you!" Brennen barks. "What are you two talking abo—" Flabbergasted, Bucky looks up…and his incredulous expression darkens into something captivated and primal. The blue of his eyes had become as intense as a storm as they glared, unblinkingly at a furry creature, perched on the branch of the tree high up, squeaking while at the same time wagging his chin at them mockingly. "Get down here, squirrel! You think you're so tough?! Let's see!" Brennen barks out, challengingly.

High in his branched perch, the lanky rodent furred in raven-black, flicked his bushy tail, almost daring Bucky to engage. His beady eyes gleamed with sconces of virulent, immortal green as he stared down at the ensorcelled beast machine, who looked so degraded--leashed- from his menacing and lethal visage of tactical garb, he almost squeaked in jest, at the roundness of pudge layered on Bucky's stubbled cheeks. 'Oh, what has become of you, dear James Barnes?" he whispered in a sinister, polished cadence, relishing it in pleasure. "Such a waste of mortality, but I can still have some fun with you..." The squirrel veered his gaze at a nut dangling loosely from a branch, and quickly whipped off, aiming for Bucky's head.