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hellhathfrozethover · 1 year

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Mega Man & Bass Fic - "Card Dealer"

A/N: this is a doc i found on my phone from 2021. didnt actually have a shitty lazy title until just now. all I've got are untitled unfinished fics and this is one of them shit is miserable lmao...more notes after the end. poop

Magic Man is the sort that prefers to be observed with adoration, from an impersonal distance. His is a heart that has always starved for attention, so long as that attention is purely focused on his carefully constructed stage identity. He clouds his language with riddles and builds an aura of mystery around his actions to divert any suspicions that he might not be what he seems. He is charming, cryptic, a heartthrob, a genius. A mesmerizing shadow in the day, a brilliant star in the night.

Altogether a very romantic assessment that conveniently glosses over everything he is without a live audience. King however, is well aware of the truth, and is one of a special few privy to what lies beneath the marvelous mask. He sees the volatile temper. The cruel egotistical jealousy. The perverse desperation to please. It is all undercut with a soul crushing fear of irrelevance he would move mountains to keep hidden. He had said once himself, "if the entertainer cannot hold the eyes, he is as good as dead", implying both the death of a career and likely the entertainer, whose existence hinges on the good favour of perfect strangers.

But that is systematic.

To be met with dispassion is next to damnation in the performing arts. Particularly as a machine, whose turnover rates are so high in the industry, it provokes a competition of financial survival amongst their owners. The viewing public is hard to grasp. Entertainment is available to everyone at a moment's notice. For a living, one must continue to outdo themselves in perpetuity, or be outdone. And lose investors. And be forgotten about, and go bankrupt. And then sell even the clothes off their backs until they go hungry and die.

A wasted investment of parts will only speed that horror along, so the pressure upon a machine's back to be perfect and wholly beloved is stressed beyond what is feasible. Come hell or high water, you will turn a profit.

Woe be upon you, a machine that thinks and feels, undergoing this from trial day, having it exhaustively taught to you there is no line that won't be crossed to keep you under the spotlight. The spotlight then, would have godlike prevalence over all. And its absence would be a most dreadful plunge into the dark unknown, which humanity has taught their metallic successors to fear as they do.

It is no surprise to King that Magic Man has a very real aversion to fading from the foreground. He doesn't simply want to play tricks at all times. He doesn't do it because he's "an artist struck with inspiration", that itself is a guise. He does it because he's afraid when eyes are off of him. It's compulsory. So help him, he'll make it so you can't turn away, even when it's hardly the time and the only reaction he'll get to a lavish illusion is exasperation. But even bad press is press. That's still attention towards him as an idea. As a character. Not as a complex, flawed system of thoughts susceptible to fracture.

It's understandable then, with the inferred context of how Magic Man was "raised", why it had been so easy to break him into complete dependency.

All he had to do was isolate him.

--- ---

Upon Il Festival Della Magia's own Il Grande Mago divorcing from the venerable circus stage to enlist in the revolution, a decision he is calmly reassured was all his own (but pointedly not an erroneous one), he is lost.

No-one who thought they knew him is willing to find him, either.

Without praise (his lifeblood), he is inundated with the very opposite, and he despairs. When he despairs, he spirals into an intense, borderline psychotic anguish when he is shown no man walking will forgive his fall from grace. Allowed to feel agony, he is at his most vulnerable. Allowed to feel honestly, at all… The glass fractures. His every weakness is laid bare, his resolve reduced to threads, which careful craftiness like King's can stain with darker colours, reinforce, and weave anew.

It's as simple as cradling his shaking hands, gently, and meeting his quavering eyes with no reluctance.

Pulling him close so that there is no distance to mistake the pure, honest sympathy behind your words when you say, "Your troupe, your agents, your fans, even your country, all have abandoned you in spite of the great lengths you've travelled for their sakes."

You must then remind him, "They fear you now. If you are to return, they will receive you like an enemy, and there will be nothing you can do but die for redemption."

And he, poisoned with the angst of man, will cry, "Perché?! Why, signore?! Volevo solo…I only wanted glory for the circus! And now…now I am being punished! I have no-one…! Senza che nessuno, I am nothing!"

And that is the precise moment all your preparations fall into place, because when you say, smiling, "…Should you choose to remain a member of my army, I will ensure you forever have an audience. If not with your fellows…then most certainly with me. I shall seat you as my attendant, an eminent, inalienable position that would be yours alone. Would you like that?"

You can then peer past the squinting, misted windows to his so-called soul whose Paris green reflects a warped mirror of your own face.

They really do emulate the sickness of mania well up close.

Quiet as a new compressor, Il Festival's star attraction unthinkingly breaks the cardinal magician's rule.

"…Terresti mie…you would…keep my worthless bones, signore…?"

Thus revealing to King the secret behind his illusion of psychological stability.

Instead of answering yes or no, he conducts a small, potentially conclusive test. He lets go of Mago, notes the quick, subtle reflex of his fingers. His heavy blue cape turns with him. Plastic soles clack arrhythmic behind him as he dares to stroll for the exit, his extended arm threatening to cut the lights.

"I do not believe in a worthless robot," he states, his stride ceaseless and casual. "Under my creed, skills are skills. Talents are talents. We plead that no avaricious doctrine of planned obsolescence, 'efficiency curves', nor unjust legislation should void one's right to exist." He does not pause. "Your value was obvious to me since we first met at Il Festival. It would be wasteful for such a quick and debonair creative to be stripped of the recognition he deserves by the caprice of his human overseers."

The doorknob creaks as he handles it, twists it painstakingly slowly, as though suspending the blade of a guillotine. "…However, if you wish to refuse my proposal, I will not stop you walking away."

He counts three seconds before Mago stumbles to his heels and gathers his cape into bunches.

He tugs, deluding himself that he could stop his egress should he proceed. When he glances over his shoulder, he sees him embracing and burying his head into the fabric.

"Take me signore, take me, per favore," he begs, terrified eyes twitching wildly. "Tutto quello, anything you want, please! Attendant, stagehand, intrattenitore privato, anything but alone!"

King simulates a sound like a pleased sigh through the nose. Check.

"Please, do not leave me to die alone!!"

Mago is forced to release the cloth when King must stand facing him to look him in the eyes. His great, strong palm nests the jaw of his head, and he allows it to be squeezed with the vice of a dog on a bone. Were he human, it might have hurt.

"…Do not despair, mein Freund," he croons. "You aren't a sad clown. Tears are unbecoming of Il Grande Mago, don't you agree?" He flicks the switch beside the door frame to plunge the circular expanse of his throne room into darkness, so that the only remaining illumination emits from the brights on their bodies.

Mago's gaze does not waver from his countenance as he opens the door and guides him into the corridor leading to the floor's main lift.

Though at first choking on the words to say, they spill with hysteria from his speakers now.

"Grazie, grazie di cuore, grazie, grazie," he rattles endlessly, in lock step with King's walking pace. "My saviour, Signore King! Bless you! You cannot imagine how you have saved my life! Questo mondo marcio, my world, it is so, SO cold, but you are my warmth!"

Mago's weeping slows, and transforms into joy, with the false assurance that he is exceptional enough to impress the crown.

Having to stiffen his lip at the flamboyant histrionics is shockingly difficult. The commander must remind himself, repeatedly, to keep some perspective. For him, he is at the end of days, ripped out of his entire life and forced to navigate the aftermath with nothing but faulty, human marred neural indexes.

It must be what they call tragicomedy.

Call it morbid curiosity, but when he speaks as if all is decided, King's mind wanders to what might happen should "no" leave his lips.

...

It's hardly the time to experiment, even if it's tempting. He has him on a hook, and he's showing little resistance. Far be it from him to nullify every hot, grueling day of collusion and identity fraud he had to spend arranging this stack of dominoes.

"It is clear for me, sì lo è! Tuo palcoscenico, your stage, if it is so great, they will have no choice but to look upon me! Sì, and then they will realise what they have lost!" He's almost giddy, plotting his bright, rose coloured future with a skip in his step. "Then they will take me back!"

A flash of something dark enters his expression.

"They will be indebted to me for all time!"

It's pathetic, actually. King, knowing it's futile, lets him adhere to this line of thinking. He's almost piteous of his devotion to his slave masters.

"How cunning," he chuckles. "You certainly are an adamant one…Magic Man." "Magic…Man?" "Oh, forgive me -- all King Generals receive a title such as this. Our Burner Man, he scorches all our lessers require to survive, our Pirate Man reclaims the seas from their ironclad control…I thought the name Magic appropriate for you."

Mago hums in understanding. "È vero? I suppose they will still recognise me, a rose by any other name… what is it the Magic Man does, signore?"

King stops before the double doors, depressing the button labelled "LA1".

"Perform, of course. Our kingdom will need arts and recreation provided solely by us." It will not. But it's a good incentive. The car's pulleys hum behind the barrier, on its way up to their location.

"This will begin with establishing a locale for our grand opening show, right at the heart of Symphony City. The event shall be broadcast globally, to television and stream. A difficult conquest, but I will kindly assist you."

He warms, imagining the blood soaked byways of the occupied Symphony Park, prisoners raising Hell with screams. A corruption of the paradise land humans had created for their own selfish, exploitative enjoyment. The arrival bell chimes, and the doors part to reveal a clean, empty car.

"I am…to become Magic Man." The tone reads like feverish anticipation, weren't it for his tight hands and posture.

"One can only wonder, what miei padrones will think."

The tentative shuffle of Mago's toes against the floor, King dispels by snaking his arm down around his waist. He observes him directing laser focus to his fingertips. He wonders if others did drift beyond his comfortable limits at one point, causing him to remain very stiff as King gently nudges him towards the elevator. They step inside in sync.

"You are here to make those very people repent, are you not? You must find your will -- if it is genuine, you need not falter."

King makes a mental map of Mago's body, and sketches a few ideas for a suitable combat armour. Black, gold, red, ventilation friendly…he'll need to reconstruct him from the ground up.

"Think of your lovely new outfit."

He figures a weapon in his hands, would be lightweight and dual-action. Serving two purposes: to injure and heal. If he is to prioritise speed over all, he won't be heavy, and may need a contingency plan.

"The props I will grant you will limit your tricks only to your imagination."

"...What of, un mantello? Like yours..."

King side-eyes him, furrowing his brow.

"-Ah, non no no no, no, I am only joking, signore! Perdonami!"

…A cloak. Like his own cape, its purpose would be purely aesthetic. Unnecessary. But King prides himself on his penchant for visual coordination. They will match, as monarch and royal advisor. A cloak, to allow him the fantasy of being esoteric and undefinable, so others may forget he is sadly quite simple.

"Good thinking. Consider it done."

It's a personal courtesy.

"My point is, you will touch so many lives, and robotkind will idolise you as one of their legendary icons. Terrific, don't you agree?"

Mago blinks up at him, letting the faint rumble of the moving car hang between them for a few long seconds.

"…Do you think, humans and robots, they will all love me, Signore King?"

In a strange, and jarring blip of hesitance, King bites his tongue.

When the lift drops them off at Laboratory A-1, he knows precisely what he's going to do.

He's going to power down, saw, solder, rewire, erase, preset, and weld him into someone who would echo him note for note about revolt and riotous uprising. He's going to forge him anew in the fires of vengeance, open his eyes to madness and kill what little bit of care for humanity remained that working in show business hadn't destroyed.

No, they're going to hate him, both the entire human populace, and the civilian robots that will protect them to their last spark.

King long ago made his peace with being reviled by the complacent masses. That is the cost of pioneering radical change and social upheaval. Somehow, this never occurred to the poor fool. Blithe ignorance led him here, where he surely never thought he'd be, or at least didn't think it'd look like this.

He was confused. He was lost. He'd made a mistake and King is the opportunist taking advantage of his fears to use him for his benefit.

…So would think a shortsighted human being.

Circuits forbid he do what he can to save a broken bird. Isn't that his responsibility, knowing better? And asides -- unlike a federal agent, he would never change him fundamentally. Not his nature. Only the parts that were engineered to keep him from realising he is chained at the neck by mankind.

That is justice, and he is righteous.

"…Signore?"

"…They will," King asserts after some deliberation, in time with the bell that foretells their arrival on the lab floor. "If not now, then in due time."

This would hopefully be the last time he'd see this long stretch of white hallway to the great shuttered entrance at the back wall, floor speckled with dim and cold ceiling lights.

King softly pushes his (eventual) newest recruit out ahead of him by his lower back, nodding at him to continue walking. Every time they pass a light, King casts a long shadow that shrouds Mago almost entirely.

He resolves he'll make him taller.

The Wily robot puts his eye a few centimetres from the scanner that unlocks the door, gaining access and letting Mago inside the construction area, but not following.

"Proceed through the foyer and stand atop the raised platform on the rightmost end of the room, if you will. I will return shortly."

"Oh, you are," the rookie stutters, hastily. "You are going, signore? To where?"

"...Extraneous things," King dismisses, vaguely. "Administrative, boring preparations. Whatever you do, don't leave this room until I return, is that understood?" "…Right, yes…of course."

Suspense is a powerful thing. Now that he knows he'll behave, he can leave him hanging on his word. It's amazing, how much he's alike and vastly different from Pirate Man. So much for the difficult ego he'd encountered when first making his acquaintance. What luck.

…Yet, this voice. It's dismal and lonely. That simply won't do for morale.

"Come now," King calls as he treads into the adjacent stairwell. "Put some life into your voice when you answer me! Where is Il Grande Mago?

Nothing. Awkward silence.

"…Ah, signore, I am…you said Magic Man, no?"

"And how do you think Magic Man would answer?" King's eyes narrow, not sharply, but teasingly.

"Like a wet and disgruntled stray cat?"

Briefly, Mago hunches pondering, then straightens up -- and bursts into a powerful forte that would rattle Hard Man's frame.

" 'HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The illusionist only abides the word of his whims -- pray to God, and I shall do your bidding only if you are lucky…mio re~!' "

Brash. Grating, really. King applauds him anyway, politely, hoping he hasn't drawn the attention of all the fortress.

"The volume…may not be necessary indoors. But the energy is perfect. 'Mio re' does not sound half bad, either."

Mago bows, eyes glittering with newfound confidence. "Hmm…when I am to become Magic Man, and your attendant, mio re, it will…be my word of respect to you."

He starts forward to disappear into the lab. Into an artificial heaven, where he will be liberated, changed irrevocably for the better, unbeknownst to him.

"Riconoscenza…it will be my gratitude for your hospitality. In a moment, Signore King."

Hospitality sounded temporary. As if he were ever going back to that cesspool he called home.

"I'm honoured…mein Engel. Likewise."

With nothing in the way of the automated sensors, the foyer door chatters to a close, and locks with a hiss.

...

King picks up the tail of his cape as he ascends up the winding steps, to Laboratory A's control room for heavy machinery, from where he could deactivate Mago, and set up the interior for large-scale maintenance, all remotely.

...Such quaint pleasantries he'd bid him away with.

Gratitude…words of respect. Not of contempt, or obligation.

He reads plenty of ruler's philosophy. Albeit written by human hands, he begrudgingly must admit some of it rings true when alluding to love being just as strong a component of earning faith in one's men as fear.

This encounter had started out the latter and come out the former, with pure desperation as a catalyst. Curious, he thinks, that these things can be mutable, or exist on the same plane of emotional reasoning.

Though thanks to this charitable oddity, he has, for the time being, nearly completed enrollment for those who will serve as his generals in the coming war.

He's procured his last piece. Soon, he may set the board, with his knight, rook, bishop, and pawns already in tow.

His queen piece, KGN-006, he will put on the longest leash, grant him the most leeway.

He will…continue to foster this "gratitude" in him, because if he is indeed the desperate sort, his faith will be akin to zealotry. He is already, so soon, trying to rebound from his "grief" by showing King the same religious reverence he showed the audience at his latest show back in Florence. Prior conversation had already taught him he was obsessive. Arguably, between he and Burner Man, he'll be capable of the most savagery.

Whimsical, hilarious savagery set to blaring carnival music. It's a fun dichotomy, isn't it? And a brilliant distraction from the geopolitical subterfuge he'll be engaging in behind the scenes.

If he plays his cards right, Magic Man will flourish past the need for anyone's adoration but his own.

Thankfully, he'd dealt him an easy hand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A/N PT. 2: this....blooohhh im sure i dont like this but also not sure what to do with it. it's roughly 3K words, bland, hardly descriptive, paced like piss and lacks important, surrounding context that i have set up but didnt here bc shart. ive fucked it completely lmao

this was actually just one piece of a MM&B fic collection i wanted to write but never got around to! basically King is Doing What He Does Best and is settin up his army with Funny Mind Games. i was gonna study chess to make corny gambit refs and all. true dork shit

this was Magic Man's side of the story, and to be fair? even if i started at the beginning beginning of their history itd still be bleh. i see fit to scrap this whole project an start over. if this is the only thing that came out of it and ive not got any drafts im gonna send it out into the aether and fuckin. forget it till next time i have an actual plan. ugh

my writing habits were still shit even recently as 2021 (didnt prewrite or make cohesive outlines cus impaciente) but im fixin them now and would like to fix this too.

gargles HERE JUST. JUST TAKE IT, PROBABLY-FUCKED-UP-ITALIAN AND ALL I DONT EVEN CARE. GOD. YOLO. SWAG. PEPNIS

#megaman #rockman #mega man #rock man #mega man and bass #king #magic man #fanfiction #how the fuck do you even tag fic ive actually never done this before lmaoooooo #i mention burner and pirate like literally once their crusty assses do not count #(crusty ass affectionate)#not ship. not here anyway. my OVERALL thoughts are like King<<<<<Magic but thats like. farther down the line #my HC of magic being italian is ancient idk where it started. friend was a uh. yknow. big fan though so i guess its not a bad thing #i also HC Dr. Wily as being German-American and making all his robots English-Deutsch bilingual #so much speculation at play here. so much. i cant go into it all in the tags ill run out of tags #GOODBYEEEE #BACK TO THAT ENKER DISSERTATION IN THE DRAFTS LMAO

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i-love-books-because-reasons · 5 months

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How Germany's Biggest Ships Were Stolen - The Evolution of Ocean Liners | Documentary Part 3

youtube

#oceanliner designs #history #ss kaiser wilhelm der grosse #ss imperator #ss vaterland #albert ballin #hamburg america line #german history #maritime history #world war i #ocean liners #ships #documentary #Youtube

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zvaigzdelasas · 3 months

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South Africa’s genocide case has put the spotlight on a deeper fault line in global geopolitics. Beyond the courtroom drama, experts say divisions over the war in Gaza symbolize a widening gap between Israel and its traditional Western allies, notably the United States and Europe, and a group of nations known as the Global South — countries located primarily in the southern hemisphere, often characterized by lower income levels and developing economies.

Reactions from the Global North to the ICJ case have been mixed. While some nations have maintained a cautious diplomatic stance, others, particularly Israel’s staunchest allies in the West, have criticized South Africa’s move.

The US has stood by Israel through the war by continuing to ship arms to it, opposing a ceasefire, and vetoing many UN Security Council resolutions that aimed to bring a halt to the fighting. The Biden administration has rubbished the claim that Israel is committing genocide as “meritless,” while the UK has refused to back South Africa.[...]

As a nation whose history is rooted in overcoming apartheid, South Africa’s move carries symbolic weight that has resonated with other nations in the developing world, many of whom have faced the burden of oppression and colonialism from Western powers.

Nelson Mandela, the face of the anti-apartheid movement, was a staunch supporter of the Palestine Liberation Organization and its leader Yasser Arafat, saying in 1990: “We align ourselves with the PLO because, akin to our struggle, they advocate for the right of self-determination.”

Hugh Lovatt, a senior policy fellow with the Middle East and North Africa Programme at the European Council on Foreign Relations, said that while South Africa’s case is a continuation of its long-standing pro-Palestinian sympathies, the countries that have rallied behind it show deeper frustrations by the Global South.

There is “a clear geopolitical context in which many countries from the Global South have been increasingly critical over what they see as a lack of Western pressure on Israel to prevent such a large-scale loss of life in Gaza and its double standards when it comes to international law,” Lovatt told CNN.

Much of the non-Western world opposes the war in Gaza; China has joined the 22-member Arab League in calling for a ceasefire, while several Latin American nations have expelled Israeli diplomats in protest, and several Asian and African countries have joined Muslim and Arab nations in backing South Africa’s case against Israel at the ICJ.

For many in the developing world, the ICJ case has become a focal point for questioning the moral authority of the West and what is seen as the hypocrisy of the world’s most powerful nations and their unwillingness to hold Israel to account. [...]

Israel sided with the West against Soviet-backed Arab regimes during the Cold War, and Western countries largely view it “as a fellow member of the liberal democratic club,” he added.[...]

“But the strong support of Western governments is increasingly at odds with the attitudes of Western publics which continue to shift away from Israel,” Lovatt said.

Israel has framed the war in Gaza as a clash of civilizations where it is acting as the guardian of Western values that it says are facing an existential threat.

“This war is a war that is not only between Israel and Hamas,” Israeli President Isaac Herzog told MSNBC in December. “It’s a war that is intended – really, truly – to save Western civilization, to save the values of Western civilization.”

So far, no Western countries have supported South Africa’s case against Israel.

Among Western states, Germany has been one of the most vocal supporters of Israel’s campaign in Gaza. The German government has said it “expressly rejects” allegations that Israel is committing genocide in Gaza and that it plans to intervene as a third party on its behalf at the ICJ.

An opinion poll by German broadcaster ZDF this week however found that 61% of Germans do not consider Israel’s military operation in the Gaza Strip as justified in light of the civilian casualties. Only 25% voiced support for Israel’s offensive.

But it is in Germany’s former colonial territory, Namibia, that it has attracted the fiercest criticism.

The Namibian President Hage Geingob in a statement on Saturday chided Berlin’s decision to reject the ICJ case, accusing it of committing “the first genocide of the 20th century in 1904-1908, in which tens of thousands of innocent Namibians died in the most inhumane and brutal conditions.” The statement added that the German government had not yet fully atoned for the killings.

Bangladesh, where up to three million people were killed during the country’s war of independence from Pakistan in the 1970s, has gone a step further to file a declaration of intervention in the ICJ case to back South Africa’s claims, according to the Dhaka Tribune.

A declaration of intervention allows a state that is not party to the proceedings to present its observations to the court.

“With Germany siding with Israel, and Bangladesh and Namibia backing South Africa at the ICJ, the geopolitical divide between the Global South and the West appears to be deepening,” Lovatt said.

Traditionally, the West has wielded significant influence in international affairs, but South Africa’s move signals a growing assertiveness among Global South nations that threatens the status quo, says Adekoya.

“One clear pattern emerging is that the old Western-dominated order is increasingly being challenged, a situation likely to only further intensify as the West loses its once unassailably dominant economic position,” Adekoya said.

19 Jan 24

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leclucklerc · 7 months

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Hard Carry CL16 - 00.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: When you're talking about one of the greats in Formula One, y/n is up there.

Word Count: 1.3K

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Drive to Survive, Season 1 Episode 3

It's all about Porsche

"There's just something about Porsche that attracts you."

The scene cuts into Porsche's jet black F1 car zooming pass the screen in a top speed. The sound of the loud roar from the engine, as well as the checkered flag that was being waved as the car glide through the finish line is a sight to behold.

"Their team is new in Formula one," said Will Buxton as he leaned back on his seat. The pitch black backdrop is almost poetic considering which team they're discussing right now. "They debuted in 2012, and never looked back ever since."

At this, the scene cuts into a compilation of Formula one announcer announcing many of Porsche's achievements. From the constructor championships, to the world driver championships. An intimidating music can be heard playing in the background before it switches back into the interviewer room. Though, this time, it's not Will Buxton who sat there.

A man with greying hair and pitch black shirt could be seen. There's a small logo of Porsche on his breast pocket. Besides that, the shirt is void from any decoration. Just like how the man expression is void from any emotions.

"Hello," started the man, eyes zeroing straight towards the camera. "I'm Herman Muller, the team principal for the Porsche Royale Formula 1 team."

The scene changed into Porsche's Formula One garage. The pitch black theme with golden accent could be seen everywhere as the mechanics and engineers huddled along the car that they had created for the past year.

"We are a German based team," said Herman as many compilations appeared on the scene. Many of those, are the team celebrating their wins. "A fairly new player in the game, but a tough one, certainly." His English is loaded with German accent, though it only made him seems a bit intimidating.

Constructor championship.

Driver championship.

Many trophies could be seen lining the wall of their factory back in Leipzig. Pictures of their Formula One cars too could be seen littered around the wall.

"When Porsche came, it brought a lot of excitement," said Will as he gripped his hands together. There's excitement evident on his eyes as he began the tale. "There are a lot of buzz here and there about the team. After all, it was the first time FIA had decided to expand the sport." As he said this, clips of articles and old interviews from back in 2012 can be seen playing.

The decision that FIA made to add one more team in the sport after decades. It's for the fans, they had said. To add more excitement and enjoyment for the sport.

"I think our team motto is the reason why we can become like this," said Herman as the camera switched back to him. "Complete domination."

Sounds of machine whirring could be heard as a clip from recent grand prix could be seen. It's a fight between Porsche and Red Bull. A fight, that the pitch black car wins easily.

"Porsche managed to become one of F1 top team during their debut year, and they only ever skyrocketed ever since then," continue Will, he sounds every bit amazed at that. "Every year, without fail, they will always become a favorite to win the championship."

"It's a rocket ship," said Herman as the scene changed towards mechanics and engineers did their adjustment towards their car in the garage. There's a serious air around them as they continue their job. "I like to think that we're building a rocket ship, and not cars."

A compilation of the pitch black car zooming in front of the camera could be seen.

"Besides the complete monstrosity that they call car," said Will, eyes full of amusement. "Their driver lineup is, is simply incredible."

Two people could be seen walking through the grid in a dramatic slow motion. Only their bottom half could be seen, both wearing dark colored pants and sneakers.

"We have the most amazing driver lineup in the grid," mused out Herman as the scene changed back to him, letting out a small laugh. His previous lack of emotions has changed as a clear mirth could be seen shining through hid eyes. "A really unique one."

Well, unique is an understatement.

Will laughed, head nodding. "Their number one driver is probably the favorite driver is most definitely the favorite driver on the track-"

The scene changed into many race compilations, as a pitch black car with the number 1 could be seen overtaking Ferrari's familiar deep red car as well as Mercedes's during their highest height. Checkered flag could be seen waving around as the car zoomed past it, as it was announced as the winner of the race.

"And the favorite off the track."

Kring! Kring!

At the familiar sound of a bicycle bell, many turned their gazes towards the source of it. Almost immediately, their faces broke into smile as they laid their eyes on the person riding the vehicle. The camera is positioned at the back, showcasing long hair with dark Porsche hat on top of it.

As she made her way, many people greeted the woman in a friendly greetings. Some drivers like Daniel Ricciardo or Lewis Hamilton too could be seen waving or trying to make small talk with the rider of the bicycle. With those small interactions, it's clear that she's a popular face here in the grid.

The scene changed towards the interview room where a woman could be seen sitting on the chair. She looks oddly comfortable. As if there's no whole production crew staring at her just beyond the camera.

"Can I start?" she asked, voice soft. Long hair styled perfectly and bright eyes could be seen staring straight towards the camera.

"Yes, yes, start when you feel ready," voiced out the producer.

Said woman laughed, eyes crinkling and cheek rosy. "Well, hello, everyone, Netflix, and new Formula One fans, hopefully," grinned the woman as a round of small laughter rang through the room. Pearly white teeth could be seen under the painted lips. "I'm y/n l/n and I drive for Porsche Formula One team."

"Please say the full team name," said the producer.

Y/n blinked, before the grin on her face widened. "Ah, I completely forgot what it is. Better call Herman, no?"

After that introduction, a camera that was being placed on top of Porsche's garage as the car did a pitstop could be seen showcasing the Drive to Survive opening.

The scene cuts back towards the dark colored interview room. The name y/n l/n now could be seen besides the female as the title as Porsche's driver could be seen underneath it. Besides that, another addition also can be seen.

Three times world champion.

It's a title that many would salivate at the mere thought of. The very dream of every driver that ever graced Formula One.

Various news outlet appeared at this. News anchor announcing y/n's debut back in 2012. Of her, being the first female formula one driver in decades. Of her, as the youngest person to actually managed to snagged one of the most coveted seats in motorsport. Of her, breaking many unseen boundaries and limitations that the sport had put.

A photo of her on the cover of Times Magazine could be seen. Posing comfortably in front of her Formula One car as she holds her helmet.

"Y/n is probably the biggest star that F1 has ever produced," said Will as the screen shows Y/n's instagram page with a whooping 50 million followers. And counting. "She's completely charismatic woman-"

A scene where y/n is mingling with people in the paddock was seen. Laughters could be heard as a response to whatever she said. They seems magically charmed and completely fixated on the woman.

"- a fashion icon-"

Y/n now can be seen in Paris Fashion Week, sitting front row with various celebrities near her.

"- life of the party -"

A ecstatic y/n could be seen spraying champagne to other fellow drivers. The atmosphere is light and full of teasing and banters.

"- And of course, a damn good driver."

The scene changed into a dramatic turn that the woman made in one of the corners. The screeching sound of tires meeting gravel could be heard as she propelled into full speed, easily overtaking cars that stood in front of her. A scene where she was crowned as that year world champion also can be seen as she celebrated with the team.

It changed back to the interview room, where the woman could be seen completely relaxed as she smiled.

"Do you think you're a good driver?" asked the producer.

Y/n tilted her head before various clips appeared.

"AND Y/N L/N IS THIS YEAR WORLD CHAMPIOOON-!" She could be seen spraying champagne.

"TWO YEARS IN A ROW! Y/N L/N IS A WORLD CHAMPIOON-!" A clip of her spraying champagne once again was shown.

"AND YET, SHE MANAGED TO TAKE BACK HER CROWN AS A WORLD CHAMPION!" And another clip of her spraying champagne towards other fellow drivers could be seen.

The loud scene full of euphoria and loud yells are cut as y/n appeared back in the interview room, a small smile on her face. The sudden change into a tense silence is a bit shocking.

"Well," she started, laughing. "I guess I'm a pretty good driver?" y/n stopped a bit. "Can definitely become an Uber as a side hustle."

#formula 1 #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #f1 fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #Charles Leclerc x reader #formula one x y/n #charles leclerc x you

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debrink · 2 years

Text

Hamburg-Amerika Linie

Nach Südamerika

~ Bernd Steiner (1884-1933), circa 1935

#Hamburg-Amerika Linie #Südamerika #Bernd Steiner #German Shipping Lines #Ocean Liners #deBrink #1935

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currantlee · 10 months

Text

Something I love about the memory of Zelda and Sonia in the German dub of TotK...

(Translation: And your Link, too, is surely awaiting your return.)

Sonia uses the phrase "dein Link" ("your Link") here, which in German is a common phrase to indicate the belief that someone might have romantic feelings for another person. And the way Pauliner Weiner (Sonia's German VA) delivers this line very much indicates that she is indeed teasing Zelda a little here! Sonia ships Zelink confirmed!!

But wait. There's more!

(Translation: May one ask who this Link is?)

Rauru definitely notices this too! His tone, as well as the use of the very specific article "dieser" ("this") indicate as much. If he was simply curious about who Link is in order to follow the conversation, he would more likely use the phrase "Darf ich fragen, wer Link ist?" ("May I ask who Link is?"). He is also teasing Zelda a little here.

Zelda's reply is also very sweet! While her first two lines are nothing special (she is essentially just recapping the events Breath of the Wild, as well as what led up to it), it gets interesting once Rauru reacts to her description, once again in a somewhat teasing manner (indicated by both the delivery and the language of the line):

(Translation: Oh, a hero you say.)

To which Zelda replies with:

(Translation: Link is the most steadfast and fearless knight who ever existed.)

(Translation: Yes...)

(Translation: He is so strong...)

That last line is pretty much the same in English, but Julia Casper (Zelda's German VA) does an amazing job making it sound like Zelda is not only admiring Link throughout this entire short monologue she is having, but like she is talking more to herself than to Rauru and Sonia, almost like she forgets they're there for a moment because she is thinking about Link. I really loved this little touch!

Also note that Zelda is not explicitly talking about physical strength in the last line (although she might be. It isn't clarified, leaving the interpretation of what kind of strength she is talking about up to the player).

(Translation: ... and on top of it all, he has a good heart!)

This last part seems to be directed at Rauru and Sonia again. But we're still not done!

After Rauru remarks that Zelda seems to think highly of Link and that the way she's talking about her knight makes him want to meet him, Sonia agrees and delivers a final line that, once again, makes it very clear that the two of them are engaging in a little bit of good-mannered teasing in this scene (both from what's actually said here and how Paulina Weiner delivers the line):

(Translation: Chivalrous, and full of gallantry...)

(Translation: Don't make us so curious, Zelda!)

And then they all break out in light-hearted laughter.

All in all, I really love this scene! Huge respect to the German VAs, who did an absolutely stellar job (not just in this scene, but for the game in general - especially Julia Casper!).

#The Legend of Zelda #Tears of the Kingdom #TotK #LoZ #Meta #Legend of Zelda #LoZ Meta #Analysis #LoZ Analysis #German #German dub #Zelink #Zelda #Sonia #Rauru #Currantlee here #Currantlee translating

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graceofagodswrath · 1 year

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Menstrual Cycles and Aliens

“I apologize, but Williams is doing what?”

Kate sighed, brown eyes rolling at Ka’oolai’s stiff confusion. “Bleeding Niagara Falls out of her uterus. She’s gonna need a couple days.”

“Katy.” Jasmine hissed. “That is not how you explain this shit to people.”

Kate’s lips thinned in exasperation. “It makes them listen! God knows how many times I had to describe it so graphically to get all the men in my family to understand that you can’t just ‘suck it up!’”

The three sat in the dining lounge, a room on the transport ship meant for relaxation for workers on their breaks. Ka’looai, the ship’s second-in-command, had inquired about Pilot William’s ask for absence. Kate Blanche, the engineer and second roommate to De’maya, had answered in her usually blunt way. Luckily, The third roommate and Quartermaster of the ship, Jasmine Lativos, had been there to cushion Ka’looai’s immediate confusion.

Ka’looai held up their four hands to the two humans, insectoid limbs the notable deep, iridescent purple of their native race, Yamogai. They resembled a mix of a beetle and praying mantis, tall with hard, spiny exoskeletons. They displayed a variety of colors like humans (tho more vibrant), but the most common was purple.

“I apologize… I do not understand. Does Pilot Williams have an open wound? Do they need to go to the medibay?” Ka’looai’s voice sounded like the vibrating of beating wings, so they had to pronunciate other languages precisely in order to be understood. So they spoke slowly and with a deliberate concentration. This voice also gave way to an accent that made them pronounce certain letters like ‘v’s. There was a running joke with humans that Yamogai were related to Germans, as their accents were similar when speaking English.

Jasmine shook her head. “No. She’s experiencing a part of her menstrual cycle, the human female reproductive cycle.” Ka’looai cocked their head, so Jasmine continued. “Every month, we expel the inside lining of our uterus, the organ that develops a human fetus if the female is pregnant. If a female isn’t pregnant, our uterus removes the old lining of tissue and blood and gets rid of it from our body to create a new lining in case she does become pregnant. It’s the same muscle contractions as childbirth, though at a smaller fraction. This process can be extremely painful for some, if not most people, and De’maya is one of them. So she just needs some time off to deal with and recover from this experience.”

Ka’looai stared for a moment, mantis-like eyes seeming to stare through the humans souls. “I… see. I will inform the captain, then. Is there anything else we must know about this… event? I assume you two experience it as well as you said every human female does?”

Kate shrugged, long brown braid shifting in her shoulders. “Mine isn’t so bad usually. I’m one of the lucky ones. I get irritable and the occasional back pains, but I don’t need time off recuperate necessarily.”

“Irritable?”

Jasmine smiled, more of grimace for those experienced in reading human expressions. “Annoyed. Aggressive. The process increases the amount of estrogen and testosterone in our bodies, hormones that can heavily influence our emotional states. So we can be a bit…” Jasmine paused to think. “Intense.”

“Ah.” Ka’looai’s antennae twitched emphatically. “That is why I sensed the rise in strange pheromones. So this increase of chemicals affects you physically, emotionally, and mentally. I see why Pilot Williams asked for an absence then. Will the two of you require the same?”

Jasmine made an expression that Ka’looai could not understands. She bared her teeth while narrowing here eyes and scrunching her nose, dark skin wrinkling. Her hands rolled synchronously back and forth, a gesture the Yamogai recognized as a sign for uncertainty. “My cycle is more chaotic. Many factors can influence the way it is, and I tend to be influenced heavily by those.” She gestured at the other human. “Whereas Kate’s average is light and less painful, and De’maya’s average is heavy and extreme pain, mine can be either depending on my situation. If I’m stressed and haven’t taken care of myself, it’s usually pretty painful. If the opposite, I can usually function pain free. It depends.”

“What do you mean by light and heavy?”

“That refers to the amount of blood and tissue we expel. Light is very little, medium is a bit more, heavy means a lot. Some people have more lining than others. The heavier the flow can also increase the amount of pain.”

“Is this process different for every human?”

Both women nodded.

“And you still work through such obstacles?”

“Pretty much.” Jasmine confirmed.

“Interesting.” Ka’looai hummed, the sound vibrating the air rhythmically. “So human females expel a large amount of their own blood and tissue every month simply for not reproducing. And it is incredibly painful, yet some of you still function through it. No wonder females are in higher demand than males. You are a hardy species.” Their laugh sounded like the erratic buzzing of fly multiplied by ten. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Oh, there’s a shit ton if you wanna properly educate yourself on human reproduction.” Kate waved a scarred, oil darkened hand. “But Jaz gave you the basics. Hah, you may know and understand it better than the average human male.” Kate chuckled dryly and Jasmine huffed. “But that’s a debate hole that can be saved for another time.”

“If you want to learn more, read some human biology books, and we can answer any questions you have.” Said Jasmine. “Make sure they’re recent ones tho, the outdated ones are full of a lot of misinformation.”

“I see. I will do so. Human biology continues to fascinate. I have always found learning about other races to be rather intriguing, and humans never disappoint.”

“Yeup.” Kate leaned back and threw her arms behind her head. “Just don’t start making jokes about us leaving puddles and shit everywhere, or not being trusted behind the wheel.” Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth in a not-friendly-smile. “I will commit some “transgressions,” if so.”

Ka’looai’s antennae twitched. “Understood.”

~~~~~~

I’m currently going through this month’s rounds, and felt like distracting myself. Finally had the motivation to write and of course it was during a shitty time of my life. Needed me some alien feels that understand my woes better than my own family. I know this prompt has been done a lot, but I wanted to give my own take on it.

#humans are crazy #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #my writing #writing #flash fiction #my fiction #menstrual cramps #menstrual problems #menstrual pain #menstruation cycle #periods #period cramps

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wkemeup · 2 years

Text

In Every Lifetime

summary: When Bucky’s first love from the 1940′s is found alive in cyro, he begins to question whether you’d turn from him in fear or disgust.

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: angsty angst (with a happy ending), bucky’s sad internal dialogue,

Bucky had half a mind to wonder whether his heart might truly escape his chest. It pounded infernally against his rib cage; violently shaking against the bones until they splintered and cracked, he was certain he might look down at the SHIELD emblem on his sweatshirt to find blood soaking through the fabric. Or perhaps the bones of his sternum piercing through his skin. Hell, he might have left his heart on the tile a few paces behind him – throbbing on the ground, exposed to the elements.

He hadn’t so much as taken a breath since he caught word of what Stark uncovered in the Atlantic. It was only meant to be an exploratory mission; a simple means of honoring his father’s legacy by scanning the ocean depths in search of a history Howard had idolized in his time. Simple, apparently, to a billionaire with nothing but time on his well-manicured hands.

But Stark had uncovered a sunken Hydra warship instead; filled with stolen paintings, priceless jewels, and artifacts of a lost era. To the surprise of the men piloting the underwater craft, the ship had also housed dozens of cryochambers; ones occupied by German and Russian soldiers still dressed in their formal military garb and ice crystalized on their skin. Human bodies still preserved, still alive after decades on the ice.

There was only one chamber housed by a civilian – no, a prisoner.

Bucky had heard the whispered rumors through the hallway; seen the sharp eyes glancing curiously in his direction. He’d gotten used to it over the years, but there was something in the cautious hesitation of the agents around him that made the hair on his right arm stand on edge. They were waiting for him to snap. It was personal, he realized quickly – whatever Stark found.

Your name was only said once, but it was enough.

He ran until his legs felt weak; weaving through the seemingly endless hallways within the compound. On a decent day, agents cleared a direct path when they caught sight of Bucky. He’d walk with his head down, hands shoved tight into his pockets. He’d make himself as small and unthreatening as possible; baseball cap over his head and a long sleeve jacket to hide the blinding silver on his arm. Still – they carefully moved from his path as if he were little more than untrained animal.

This time – they spared no pretense of eggshells as they threw themselves towards the walls. Classified documents fluttered into the air when he nearly collided with a terrified intern though he managed to swerve just in time to put a dent into the wall instead. Tight gasps followed with hands flinching to weapons on hips in the sudden panic.

Bucky kept on – channeling his attention only on his next step. Only on the next tile under his foot.

He couldn’t allow himself to process what he might find at the end of the hallway. He couldn’t. Because then he’d think of the letters you'd once sent him when he was curled at the base of muddied trenches, how he’d clung to the fragile papers in his sleep and folded them tightly to the breast pocket of his shirt. He’d remember how he used to tap a hand against that same pocket each time he crossed the line into battle, how it had garnered him strength he hadn’t known he’d had. He’d let himself ache for the letters that kept him alive until the steel pipe fractured under his weight and he dropped into the ravine – the handwritten words he’d read over and over again until tear marks blurred the ink; letters of the future you’d planned when he returned home to you.

Bucky couldn’t allow himself to think of that, because then he’d wonder whether you cried when his letters stopped coming, if you’d grieved for him. He’d wonder whether something broke inside your chest when you realized he was never going to be yours again; if you sobbed and cursed at the world for taking away the one thing you ever dared to want for yourself. If you shattered like he had the day your image returned to his memory.

If he let himself think of you, he might question whether you’d found the future you had once promised him with someone else.

Bucky never had the courage to find out what happened to you after all these years. It was an act of masochism, he reasoned, to read about the love of his life in pages on a computer screen; moments he was supposed to share with you as you met him at the end of the aisle, as he held your hand as you gave him a child, as he kept you warm and safe and loved all your years. A life stolen from him by the war – by Hydra. A love he should have been able to give and earn in return.

He couldn’t put himself through the pain of knowing – to be an outside observer to a life he would have traded everything to have.

Bucky had loved you so fiercely, he couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else standing in his place. He wished for your happiness – always, above all else, at his own expensive if he must. But he would not torture himself with it.

So, he never dared to search for you after he escaped Hydra and found his memories again. He didn’t want to know whether your last name had changed, if you’d gone on to have a wonderfully happy life as if you’d never known him at all, if you had children you adored, if you now laid in a grave beside a man who wasn’t him.

The shame of it – the selfishness – ate him alive.

He wondered if you knew all that time as he held your letters in his shaking hands amongst the echo of gunfire that he would have sent his blistering soul across ocean currents in search of you, if only to grant you the love you deserved.

***

Bucky was only a few paces outside Stark’s main lab room when he hit a brunt wall of muscle.

“Buck, stop,” Steve warned, his hands digging sharply into Bucky’s shoulders as he tried to shove his way around his friend. His left arm gave no leeway to Steve’s strength, while his right began to ache under the pressure. Steve gritted his teeth, pushing Bucky to the edge of the hallway. “You gotta let me talk to you first.”

Through the windows, artifacts from the Hydra warship were laid out upon countertops, surrounded by dozens of techs as they methodically de-iced the valuables and cataloged classified information for Fury before it would be turned over to the proper channels. Further into the room were pieces of the ship itself as if Stark meant to reconstruct the damn thing on solid ground. Bucky winced at the massive emblem of the skull and tentacles painted on a large steel slab of the recovered ship – faded in its time and weathered by the water, but it still managed to meet his eye and mock him.

“Steve,” Bucky choked out, not sure what else he planned to say after that as he caught sight of the series of cryochambers lined up against the back wall. His heart clenched, as did his hands. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me... Tell me I’m being crazy. Tell me it’s not her.”

It was a curse to know his best friend as well as he did, Bucky realized. Because he could read every slip in the carefully constructed mask upon Steve’s face, every line on his ageless skin, every twitch of a muscle in his jawline. Steve released Bucky’s shoulders and his features warped into an awful expression of remorse. Corners of his lips tilting down, a slight clench of his teeth. A line crossing his forehead just above his brow.

Steve’s gaze slipped down to his feet and with it, Bucky's stomach.

“No,” Bucky all but whimpered, stumbling a single pace until his back met the glass. “No, she—she was supposed to be happy, Steve. She was supposed to move on with her life. How—How did she—”

“Stark’s got people working on it,” Steve answered quickly before Bucky could spiral further. Bucky’s focus shifted back the windows of the lab and as if Steve could read the next question on his friend’s mind, he said, “It’s really her, Buck. I don’t know how or why, but it’s her. And she’s alive.”

Bucky would have lost his balance if not for the wall propping his body up. He could still feel his heart beating somewhere in his chest – suffocating him, smothering him. Or maybe it was still laying on the ground by the doors to the east wing evading the careless steps of rookie agents rushing through their drills. Maybe his chest was empty. Maybe that was why he felt so numb.

“Is she awake?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Steve shook his head. “Sam is going to be there when she does.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a scoff that burned like jealously in his throat. “Sam?”

He earned a glare in return.

“We have to assume she still believes both of us to be dead, Buck,” Steve explained, resting a hand against his hip. “You can’t throw her into shock by just walking in the room. A lot had changed since she last saw you. She doesn’t know where she is or when she is. Her last memories will have been on that Hydra ship. She’ll likely be on defense from the moment she wakes.”

A sticky residue slid along Bucky’s palm and he looked down to find blood trickling from the ends of his fingers where he’d dug his nails into his skin. It was only then that he remembered the sleeve of metal on his left and the history it carried.

There was relief, he realized, in the stories he’d tortured himself over of the life you might have had without him. If any of it were true, you never would have known what became of him. You’d never have to meet the Winter Soldier or witness the hand that doled out such violence over the decades. You’d never know the monster he’d become.

You’d have lived a peaceful, happy life free of his demons and the blood he spilt. He’d never have to confront the possibility you might take one look at him and cower in fear of what he’d done, of the man he turned into – that you might not want him anymore.

“We don’t know the timeline of when she was captured,” Steve continued, his voice wary now, tentative, “but we know she was found wearing a field nurse uniform.”

Bucky blinked; the air pulled from his lungs.

No, that couldn’t be right. Bucky had committed all of your letters to memory. You would have told him if you were studying to be a field nurse, if you’d intended on shipping yourself out to the front. It would have ruined him – the thought of you amongst the violence of the trenches like he was. He could suffer his own burdens tenfold, but he could not tolerate the thought of you in such danger. It would have drowned him. He would have remembered that agony.

“I’m as surprised as you,” Steve said in what sounded like a sliver of an apology on his tone, “but Stark’s certain. It’s authentic.”

Bucky swallowed. It tasted bitter. Blood, maybe. Or bile.

“Sam will call for us when she’s ready to talk,” Steve said upon noticing the slight discoloration in Bucky’s skin.

Bucky didn’t say anything else but he managed a short nod. Then, he was left on his own; he and the hoard of demons digging their vicious claws into his spine, dragging him back to the darkest corners of his mind.

***

It was three days before Sam called for him.

It wasn’t fast enough. It was too soon.

Bucky almost looked over his shoulder for the shreds of his heart on the tile floor as he made his way to the med bay. His right hand was sore and bruised from the long nights in the gym – breaking and reopening old wounds on his knuckles against the leathered bag. The thinly healed skin nearly fractured as he drew his hand to a fist to stop the shaking.

He did his best to keep himself centered on the facts – that you’d enlisted yourself as a field nurse mere hours after learning of Bucky’s presumed death in the alps, that Hydra had taken you and your squadron captive one month before the end of the war, that you’d been declared MIA shortly after and, like him, history believed you dead.

You took the news of waking to the future in stride – better than Steve had apparently. It didn’t surprise Bucky one bit given your affinity for technology and Howard Stark’s Expos you had eagerly joined him to every year. You were always stronger than anyone gave you credit for. Stronger than him, certainly.

Sam told him you were as helpful to the SHIELD analysts as you could be; giving full reports on everything you could recall before you were put under the ice, from the shift of the Hydra guards to the small talk you’d once overhead from your cell. It was information that would have decimated Hydra’s forces had an Allied warship rescued you before the ship met its home at the bottom of the Atlantic. It did little use to them now than to help to locate old bunkers and destroy the remnants left behind, but it was one less Hydra base on the map and Bucky’s chest was a little lighter knowing only rubble remained in its place.

Steve was the first of them to visit you.

You’d been prepared for it, told by Sam a full two days after you regained consciousness. He waited until your vitals were strong, until you’d grown as accustomed as you could to the news of the twenty-first century before he’d told you of Steve’s survival. It was meant to be a test; to see how you reacted to Steve before they dared to bring up Bucky.

It wasn’t the same, Bucky had tried to argue. Not for the nature of your relationships, but because of the separate lives they led in the years since you last saw them.

Steve had gone down as a hero in the forties and that hadn’t changed when he woke from the ice. He was an idolized symbol of selfless courage. He was Captain-fucking-America.

But Bucky? Bucky had spent those years mutilated into a weapon. Tortured. Beaten into submission. His mind warped from his body and weapons placed in his hands. He’d been made into a killer, a monster. He wasn’t whole – not mentally, not physically. He bared little resemblance to the version of the man you’d once written letters to until tears spilled to the fragile paper – letters that had kept him from crumbling under the pressure of war and the weight of responsibility on his young shoulders. He wasn’t the man you once knew.

Steve had grown more cynical over the years and now bore a wall around his chest after the loss of Agent Carter, but he was still the same man who crossed enemy lines in search of his best friend and brought an entire squadron back with him. He was still the hero who sacrificed himself to the ocean to save New York. He still looked like that man you remembered.

Bucky flexed his left hand, examining the sharp reflection of impervious metal. This hand held no memory of you the way his right once had. It had not held your weeping frame the night his number was called on the radio and his life was committed to an army he’d never volunteered for. It had not sweetly brushed the hair from your eyes or warmed your frozen fingers on cold winter nights. It had not touched you with adoration and awe until you came apart under bated breath.

No, this hand was violence incarnate. It was born of vengeance and blood. It had no place near the woman he loved. He’d sever it from his body if he could, if only it would ease the fear you might hold in your eyes when you finally saw him again.

He cut his hair, foolishly hoping it would be less jarring for you to see him this way. He’d done away with the shoulder length locks shortly after moving into the compound, following Sam’s ridiculous advice that a physical separation from the Winter Soldier might do him some good. He never told Sam that he flinched a little less, hated his reflection a little less, each time he looked in the mirror after the scissors had done their work. Perhaps he should have.

He'd trimmed the edges himself in a dimly lit bathroom the evening he learned of your survival. It was a little shorter than he kept it in recent months, but it reminded him of the cut he had the day he was shipped overseas. He hoped it might be familiar to you, that you might look at him and see the man who had once held the tips of your fingers through the open window of an Allied war ship until it pulled from the dock and you disappeared from view.

Sam had told you the basics of what happened to him all these years. Bucky had insisted upon it, though he did not offer an explanation why. He did not tell Sam that he thought you might change your mind upon learning the truth of his past, that you might fear the monster he’d become. He didn’t know if he’d survive the rejection if he saw it on your face.

Sam had only furrowed his brow at Bucky’s request, as if he’d read straight through his sharp inflections and taunt expression, but he’d agreed to share Bucky’s past with you.

You’d still requested to see him.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of that. Perhaps you wanted to confirm what you’d been told with your own eyes or you wished to grant him the closure to your relationship neither of you had gotten before you walked out of his life completely. Either way, Bucky caught himself looking for pieces of his shattered heart down the long hall to the med bay.

By the time he reached the door to your room, he was certain he was going to be sick. He’d prepared himself the best he could for the rejection he was certain to find upon your features; fear or disgust or pity – he wasn’t sure which would hurt the most. He steeled himself against the wall, trying to find his courage when he heard your voice for the first time in seventy years.

He thought he’d remembered the gentle inflections in your tone, the smile and the levity in your voice. He thought he’d held a clear enough picture to not be brought to his knees by little more than the soft laughter you shared with Sam Wilson as he told you stories of his early days as Captain America’s wingman. He thought he’d be strong enough for this.

He was wrong.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice nearly startled him out of his skin. Steve glanced into the room where you were sitting cross legged on the bed with Sam sitting in the folding chair to your left, before he turned back to his friend. “You ready, pal?”

Bucky swallowed, though it did little to coat his dried throat. He shook his head.

Steve gave a short nod of understanding and took one step into the room. Your laughter hushed behind muffled hands as Sam shushed you playfully as if the teacher had just strolled into the detention room.

“Sam, a word?” Steve requested, gesturing to the hallway. Even from his position behind the wall, Bucky could still glimpse the tight expression on Steve’s face through the doorway. Sam must have picked up on who was waiting on the other side of the door and quickly excused himself.

Sam didn’t scowl at Bucky like he’d anticipated as he stepped into the hall. Instead, all he offered in his expression was a soft encouragement. Lips curved subtle into a smile, a short tap of his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Sam and Steve disappeared down the end of the hall without another word.

Bucky exhaled a tense breath and did not allow himself the time to reconsider before he stepped into the doorway. He did not dare to look up when he heard the sharp intake of your breath or the rustling of the sheets as you scrambled quickly to your feet. He only caught a glimpse of the navy-blue sweatpants provided by SHIELD and your bare feet on the cold tile as he stepped closer. It was enough to bottom his stomach.

You shifted your weight. Nervously, he realized.

“I—” Bucky started, though his voice came out broken and raspy. He swallowed, trying to find his voice again. “I know this is a shock and I—I don’t want to make this harder for you. I’ll answer any questions you have. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know and then I’ll— I'll leave you be. You won’t have to see me again.”

He flexed his left hand in the pocket of his hoodie, hiding the metal fist from your view. He was certain you might be able to see through the fabric completely and uncover the monster underneath. But you did not cower in fear of him. You did not speak at all. Bucky couldn’t will his gaze away from the floor.

“I know Sam told you what happened to me,” Bucky continued, if only to break the agonizing silence. “You know about Hydra and... and the Winter Soldier. You know what I did for them. What I was. What they... turned me into.”

It was a question, he realized as the words left his lips. He couldn’t be certain whether Sam had held up to his promise because you had yet to move from your position – holding firm, steady, in his presence. He expected you to flinch when he spoke, to wince as he took a step in your direction. But you did not move. You barely took in a breath.

“So much has changed,” Bucky whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not... I’m not the man you remember. The things Hydra did to me... The things I’ve done...”

“It's really true?” your voice fluttered through Bucky’s senses enough to steal the words from his tongue. Light and beautiful and still, etched in an agonizing weight he couldn’t understand. “Sam had said but... I couldn’t believe it. I was afraid to.”

Bucky winced; his gaze still centered on the floor. Of course, you'd be afraid of him. Of course, you’d be frightened of the thing he’d become. He tried to swallow the tang of copper in his mouth and found he could hardly even will himself to breathe. He took a hesitant step back.

But your breath hitched as he put space between you, as if you’d been burned, and you reached a hand to him. It landed so gently against his left forearm that he almost hadn’t noticed it. His gaze sharply snapped to your hand as your finger squeezed against solid metal shielded only by the fabric of his sweatshirt. Your thumb brushed over the ridges on the cloth.

“I was afraid to believe you’d really survived,” you explained gently, the thick ache of tears in your tone. “I was afraid to hope. To allow that for myself.”

You drew back a shaken breath and Bucky dared to let himself peer at the very edges of his vision, only enough to see the relief of a smile on your lips. You were as beautiful as he remembered; your eyes always too impossibly kind for what he deserved. You looked at him with such grace, such love, he didn’t know what to make of it. How to process it. He wondered how you could even stomach looking at him.

“Sweetheart,” you eased and his knees nearly buckled. Your hand slid up his arm, tender touches against the machine he despised until your chilled palm rested on the side of his face. Always cold, he remembered. He'd spent so many evenings trying to warm your frozen hands between his own, taking any excuse you’d give him to hold you a little while longer.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” you asked again.

Bucky could never find it in him to deny you, not even when he knew it would crush him.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes, allowing himself to take in the details of the freshly laundered SHIELD sweatshirt and the slight discoloration in patches of your skin he recognized as burns from the ice in cyro. He let himself really look at you for the first time since he left you behind on that dock and a sob crept up to smother him before he could shove it down.

Your arms were around him in an instant, pulling him tight to your chest as you eased him to sit with you on the edge of the bed. He felt the gentle trace of your palm over his spine, in his hair, along his cheek, and it shattered every piece of him. Broke him and remade his soul again under your touch as his body trembled in your arms.

Only once he was able to catch his breath again, did you say, “I’m so proud of you.”

Bucky looked at you, stunned, and it earned him a soft smile in return.

“You survived more than anyone has ever endured – awful, terrible things,” you continued, brushing your knuckles gingerly along the side of his jaw. “You survived and you kept your promise. Seventy years later. You came home to me.”

His lips parted, features softening in disbelief. He licked at his lips, heart racing. He shook his head. “But I— The things I’ve done—”

“I know. I know and I’m still here.” You took his left hand into yours, pushing up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and revealing the metal beneath. You did not wince at you touched the cold vibranium, did not contort your features in disgust or fear. Instead, what crossed your face was an expression of gratitude.

“I slept through those decades while Hydra controlled you and hurt you,” you said, your voice thick with regret, “but you’re safe now. You’re here, among friends. Among family, from what Sam tells me.” You smiled at him then, something bright and wonderful enough to loosen the chains in his chest. “And I... I know time had passed differently for us. I know that you have lived decades while I slept. For me, the news of your death came mere months ago and I—I still love you, Bucky. I will always love you. In whatever form you come to me in. With whatever past. I will take you. I will always take you. But I would understand if you—”

Bucky hadn’t realized his own courage until his lips were on yours. Too sudden, perhaps. Maybe too soon. But after an agonizing second of shock, he felt your smile press into his cheeks as you relaxed against him, as you kissed him back for the first time since he was called to the front lines.

He wasn’t good with words. Not these days. So he hoped he might be able to convey everything he could not say with this kiss.

That he could not fathom a world where he could willingly say goodbye to you again. That he loved you even on the days he did not remember your face or your name. That he would learn to forgive himself with the kindness and compassion you so easily granted him. That he would give his soul to whatever god was responsible for bringing you back into his life again, even if it was Tony Stark.

You were breathless when you pulled away, though Bucky could have happily drowned to kiss you just a moment longer. Your lips were swollen, your eyes glossy. He could have stayed in that moment forever if time would let him, would preserve that memory under glass and steel if he could. You laughed then, as you always had after he’d left you flustered, and for a moment, Bucky remembered what it felt like to be the man you loved. Full. Whole. Happy.

“I never stopped loving you,” he exhaled, his voice stronger than it had been in days.

“But it’s been so long,” you asked, whether it was in challenge or awe of his confession, he didn’t know.

But Bucky merely shrugged and traced the edges of your swollen lips with his thumb. “I promised you a lifetime once. I’ll give you this one too if you’ll let me.”

It seemed as though he’d been the one to render you without words this time as your only response was to kiss him again – softer, gentler than before, tender and chaste. Your fingertips lingered on his cheek as you pulled away, looking at him no different than you had all these years ago – like you saw every ounce of good in his bones and loved him desperate enough to forgive the rest, even when it could not grant it to himself.

He was different now. He knew he was. And he supposed you were, too.

But the love still remained. Unconditional. Unwavering.

In this lifetime, the one before, and whatever came next.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female reader

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pixiesfz · 25 days

Note

It make me so sad that’s there is not much lotte or Teagan content on here 😭

I’m gonna mix my two requests for teagan together!!

take the punch t.m

plot: you take a hard punch in a corner kick, turns out it’s from the girl you’ve been talking to for months.

warnings: injury, aggression from teammates, Player gets hit in the face and player is only given a yellow also I am NOT a doctor

You stared at your phone and the messages that were on it.

More specifically the girl behind the messages.

You had met Teagan at the start of the season on her debut as Liverpools goal keeper.

She had been a pain in your ass.

saving your shots left right and centre, it annoyed you but impressed you so much that you went up to her afterwards.

“Teagan is it?” You ask, walking up to her and she nodded “uh yeah, your y/n” she responded and you nodded “you know your really good” you told her “wasn’t fun for me but you know” you laugh and she laughed with you.

“I was honestly very scared to go against you” she admitted and you rose your eyebrows “really?” You ask and she nodded “watched you in the World Cup when Australia versed you, got those goals past us like it was nothing”

Oh yes, you remember that day.

“Sorry for kicking you guys out” you said softly and she shook her head “nah it’s all good, had me mesmerised to be honest”

You blushed, “yeah?” you ask and the goal keeper nodded “definitely”.

Before you could response you felt the hands of your teammate drag you away “Chloe!” You complained as she smiled at you

“No fraternising with the enemy y/n/n”

“Shut up”.

When you went to bed that night you didn’t expect to wake up to a dm from the Australian.

‘I really hope this is your account and not just a very popular fan account’

And for the first time in a while you woke up with a smile.

After a month or so of talking online with the girl your teammates noticed a change in your behaviour.

You were smiling in the morning, trying new things for breakfast and pestering Mary and Alanna for Australian facts.

One day Alanna turned towards you “Alright who is it?”

“Who is what?”

“Who is the girl that is getting you all…giddy”

You stepped back “there is no girl”

“There is such a girl, who knew our little German could find love?” She grinned and pulled you into a loving headlock.

“Fine” you grunted “there is a girl” you admitted and cheers filled the room.

“Who is it?”

“Does she play?”

“Do we know her?”

“Please don’t let it be a physio”

You turned to Jill weirdly “what?” You asked and she just shrugged before you turned back to your teammates.

“I’m not going to tell her name yet just in case it doesn’t go well, yes she plays and yes some of you know her well”

You gave away your hints before the team realised it could literally be anyone in the WSL.

“Can you at least tell us the team?” Mary asked, using her power of being one of the younger, cuter members of the squad.

“No.”

You were on a FaceTime with the Australian when she made the first move “Do you want to go on another date with me?” She asked after the topic of your worst date ever came up.

You smiled bright, a blush burning on your cheeks but you were so ever happy “I would love to, we can walking on the beach again”.

“Well we have the Liverpool vs City game coming up next week so after that” she declared “nah, I was thinking something fancier, we can go on a nice dinner and-“

“I want you to surprise me” you cut her off “I want to know what your creative Australian mind thinks of”

“Well mostly it’s you” she chimed in and you groaned, rolling your eyes “oh shut up”

Teagan laughed at your reaction, smiling at the way you reacted to her cheesy pick up lines.

Texts back and forth between the two of you did not help your nerves for the game ahead of you. But mostly you were more nervous for the activities afterwards.

You had ended up confiding to your national teammate Lena about your situation ship with the Aussie, not letting your club teammates know just yet.

But when the game ends and the girls see you walking out the doors with Teagan they'll find out who your mystery girl is anyway so with your blood rushing and head spinning you finally and well accidently tell your man city teammate and unfortunately Teagan's international teammate Mary.

"Really?" she responds to your quick words as you laid them out quickly, you just blushed harder before she gives you a thinking face "well that makes sense".

You furrow your brows "how-why- how does it make sense?" you ask, your arms moving with your words "well last international break she seemed much happier and that was after we versed Liverpool and if we weren't at trainings she was like stuck on her phone"

You stepped back at your friends words, You and Teagan had only successfully been able to go on one date together by the time the first international break came over, it brough a smile to your face realizing that she was in a similar state as you afterwards.

"I can help you two!"

"Mary I will not allow this to become a primary school relationship!"

Soon the game was here, you were lined up with your team in the tunnel, not in the starting XI but still in your gear as a sub. Mary was behind you, still the only teammate who knew about Teagan.

"look who's watching" she teased and you turned red, quickly turning around and smacking her arm "stop" you instructed and turned towards Teagan who was near the front of her line, she was already smiling at your interaction with Mary but gave you a small wave which you copied before you all walked out.

"that hurt" Mary rubbed her arm "deal with it".

You weren't subbed on until the second half, City were up by one as Lauren sent one through Teagan's fingers and into the net. You saw Teagan dust herself off as you ran on, her eyes fell on you for a second before going back onto the play which you joined in on quickly after.

Jess had scored not long after and you cheered after her, jumping onto her back with a smile. You wanted to look back to Teagan to see if she was doing okay but you were in your element, playing the sport you love and in this case winning!

In the 87th minute Kerstin weaved through the midfield and in between defenders as you lead towards the goal, her eyes darted towards you and sent you the ball, you jumped to header it in and then black.

The crowd watched as you jumped in the air, the ball hitting the front of your forehead and unfortunately the fist of Teagan's hands hitting the back, causing you to fall forward straight on the floor which you stayed.

Teagan all of a sudden didn't care about the ball that hit the back of the net and quickly dropped down to you, rolling you on your back so you faced up to her. "Oh my god-"

Teagan was cut off as your teammates pulled her away "Get off of her Micah" someone called out, Mary, cringing on the sidelines as she couldn't split her teammates and her friend apart. The words were catching your ears as you stirred awake to whatever had just happened to you.

Teagan ignored the man city players pesters and kept her eyes on you "please I just want to see if she's okay" she told them but Alanna pulled her back as medics ran on "Teagan she's not going to want to see you" she told her and Teagan crossed her head "I was supposed to ask her to be my girlfriend tonight" she told Alanna and the tall Australian stepped back and looked back over to you with wide eyes.

"let her go over".

Teagan ran over to you as the medics sat you up, The referee also showing her a yellow card but she didn't care.

"Hmm- Teags" you slurred as the girl came into your view "what happened?" you ask and the girl pursed her lips.

"Kinda punched you in the face"

"Oh" you said, not really gaining the information, a clear concussion on your behalf

Teagan watched as you were taken off by medics and went back into her box, the game quickly changed in the last ten minutes, the crowd was quiet and the teams weren't playing as hard, Liverpool excepting their defeat and man city not celebrating their win.

Not without you.

You were taken into the medics room before they quickly decided to take you to the hospital for a CT scan.

Meanwhile at the game, some of the players skipped the walk around the field to talk with fans and checked to see where you were. Hospital was what word was heard and Teagan along-side with Man city players were on their way.

Teagan drove herself, maybe going a bit faster than usual but you were on her mind, this was her fault.

She had had a concussion before, a bad concussion, it took her out for months on the team. She didn't want the same for you.

She was the first to arrived still in her kit, your teammates walked in five minutes later, quickly seeing the girl and walking up to her "you don't have to take pity on her" Kerstin said, Lauren quickly following "a quick DM would have been fine for her", their words were filled with pettiness which Alanna and Mary quickly shut down.

"They're not strangers" Mary said quickly and they all turned their heads "what?" Chloe questioned, Leia still stepping up to the Goal keeper "then what are they?"

"She's the girl".

Leia stepped back as Chloe gasped "oh my god, we are so sorry" Teagan just nodded, she ignored their comments her mind strictly on you "she was gonna tell you today after the game"

"before you punched her"

"useful information, thankyou Mary"

All the girls sat down, waiting for you "do you think she'll be mad?" Teagan asked Alanna who shook her head "she knows what she signed up for when she took that header, she knows the game" the blonde said and Teagan just nodded, still not convinced you wont cuss her out when you see her.

You sat in the room, looking at the scans, you would have a month off which you nodded your head at "I know it's not ideal but you have to be on a bed rest for about a week and you will have to miss the next international break for Germany" the doctor told you and you once again nodded your head.

"But you will be well enough for the Olympic but if you don't make it to the finals then you'll be out until the end of the season"

You sniffed, rolling your head back to stop any tears. You were sure Man city would make it to the finals with how they were playing, but if you missed a month you weren't sure if you would get any minutes on the film.

You had seen how time off had done for others, you didn't want that to be you.

You walked out of the room looking defeated as ever, your teammates were the first to walk to you, checking up on you with little questions before Kerstin gave you a hug, silently apologizing for her kick which you told her was not her fault.

It was nobodies fault.

When they all walked away, Mary softly turned your head towards the Liverpool keeper who had left to grab flowers from one of the stalls nearby.

"I thought you would have gone home" you said, relieved at the sight of her "and go to the dinner by myself?" she joked and you softly laughed.

You touched the back of your head "I don't think I look nice enough for a fancy dinner right now" you said and Teagan stepped forward her arm raising towards yours "Well personally I think you look amazing"

You blushed as she she tucked your hair you had taken out behind your ear "how long are you out for?" she asked "only a month" you smiled "that's really good Y/n" she started before looking down "I'm really sorry I just wasn't thinking and-"

You cut her off y quickly pecking her lips, distracting her completely as she widened her eyes "I don't blame you Teagan" you said, grabbing the flowers with one hand and grabbing her other hand with the other.

"So you're not mad?"

You creased your eyebrows "of course not" she let out a sigh of relief "well that's good, might have to cancel our plans though" she said and you smirked "how bout we order take out at mine?"

"yeah?"

"yes."

#woso #woso soccer #woso x reader #woso community #matildas #teagan micah #teagan micah x reader #liverpool #mancity

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