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sabraeal · 3 years

Note

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #this request has been sitting in my box since 2017 #when i FIRST started joking about this au #and i always meant to get around to it #but obviously my last few years have been filled with some things that have perhaps kept me #from being able to do all the things I meant to 🤣#but once Anne brought this up again #I knew i had a very good excuse to finally get this thing out in the world #AND HERE IT IS #it takes place some amount of time after the current arc

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peachsayshi · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3 - Call

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Solo & Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex

Summary: With Gojo away on a mission, you decide to take the initiative by calling him for a little bit of fun.

A/N: ~

- - -

Two months into your little arrangement with Gojo, you began noticing how certain aspects of your friendship started changing.

For one thing, Gojo could barely keep his hands off you. When you would sit next to each other, he would drape his arm lazily around your shoulder as if it belonged there. When having idle conversations with him talking about work or gossip, he would stare at you attentively while stroking your thigh. Most recently, while you were hanging out at his place, you were caught off guard when you felt him brush your hair away before delicately planting a kiss on your forehead.

At first you thought about telling him to stop, figuring his actions might be overstepping the boundaries you both set up. However, you changed your mind when you realised how nonchalant his behavior was. You figured his intentions were purely based on the fact that he could touch you in ways that he wasn’t allowed to before. Besides, Gojo was really good about ensuring not to make a serious move when the two of you decided to hang out instead of “drink” together.

You were surprised with how easily he switched from his fun, lovable self to the insatiable beast that would have you submit to his every word. Initially, you couldn’t bring yourself to make the first move around him, using a simple manipulation tactic of distraction that would ultimately force Gojo to take action.

Then the night at his apartment happened, where he had you flat across his kitchen counter while his tongue was working magic between your legs until you were unraveling in front of him over and over again. You were calling out his name in desperation, begging him to give you a break from the overstimulation but he refused. In the end, he left your body trembling from the final orgasm he gave you before lifting you up slowly and holding you close to him. He kissed your swollen lips, all before reaching for your hand and guiding it down to his pants.

“ Learn to use me like how I’m using you…” he whispered, “...stop holding yourself back. Otherwise, I won’t fuck you.”

“I am using you,” you insisted with a pout, your hands motioning over his hardened member as you began rubbing him over his pants.

A soft groan escaped him and he eloquently replied, “if you won’t even kiss me when you want to, then you sure as hell won’t be comfortable with my dick inside you…”

He was forcing your hand and your resistance was waning. He was becoming your favorite distraction, especially on the nights when you were feeling lonely.

Gojo was away on a mission and you had no idea when he would be back. He didn’t exactly live by a normal schedule but it’s been over a week since you last saw him and you really needed to relieve some of this sexual frustration that’s been running rampant in your mind.

You texted him while on your way home from work, asking him to call you if he was free later in the evening.

Once you arrived at your one-bedroom apartment, you gave yourself some much needed time for self-care. You cooked dinner then followed up with a long shower to relax from your own tiresome work week. After applying your face routine, you changed from your towel to a pretty light blue underwear set, opting for some luxury wear instead of your usual comfort clothes of sweatpants and an oversized tee.

You took a second to admire yourself before slipping on your silk robe. You haven’t felt this beautiful in your own skin in a while, and while you would never admit it to Gojo, you found that being desired by him made you feel good.

You’ve been in a limbo of grey since breaking up with your ex, who spent the last six months of your relationship cheating on you before leaving you for the very same person he was fucking on the side. You gave him your heart and soul, allowing yourself to fall in love with him only to be shattered in the end. He left you picking up the pieces, to slowly glue yourself back together but managed to leave an irreparable wound in your heart.

Of course, you never told Gojo the real reason why you broke up when it happened. When the announcement came, it caught your friend totally off guard.

“ What do you mean it’s over? I was planning on ordering a custom suit for your wedding!”

Gojo had no clue that your boyfriend’s unfaithfulness left you with a sense of deep rooted shame.You weren’t used to keeping secrets from him but you did not want to show how weak you were. Three years of wondering what went wrong, of trying to puzzle together why you weren’t good enough for your ex, of stopping yourself from calling him when you were alone, of suffering from your own misery...

You made your way over to your bedroom, stepping over the mess of laundry on your floor that you were choosing to ignore and falling back onto your mattress. You reached for your device to check your notifications, hovering over the chat you had with Gojo before locking your screen and placing your phone by your side.

There was still no reply.

You were growing impatient and decided to take matters into your own hands until he responded.

You tangled your fingers around the belt of your robe, thinking about Gojo’s lips on yours. You weren’t shocked to learn that he was an exceptionally good kisser. The act itself was sinfully addictive and you realised that you could kiss him forever and never get bored.

When Gojo got naked in front of you for the first time, you were surprised to find that despite his tall and somewhat lanky frame, underneath all that clothing was a sculpted being. He had muscular legs which you loved grinding against, the broadest shoulders that you desperately clung on to for support as you reached your peak and a strong torso that your body easily melted into after you climaxed. The man was physically flawless and he knew it , which made it worse for you because he played on his attractiveness to get exactly what he wanted out of you.

You loosened the robe, spreading your legs and noticing the heat building from your lower abdomen as your mind raced at the thought of him. You brought your fingers to your folds, massaging them over the lace fabric but picturing his hands instead. You were thinking of the way he would purr in that low, sexy voice of his, praising you while you were down on your knees for him.

“Mmmm, that’s my girl…”

“You’re doing so fucking well, angel…”

“Keep going, baby, I’m almost there...”

You loved that he used these pet names on you when you were intimate with him. Even more, it was the gratified reaction from his own lips as a result of your actions that sent a chill throughout your body. You couldn’t wait to finally feel him inside you and listen to the kind of filthy words he would spill while fucking you.

Your hand slipped underneath your underwear, two fingers deep in you pumping furiously while your other hand gripped onto the bedsheet. You allowed yourself to be as loud as you wanted, putting on a performance that Gojo would surely regret missing. Even if your neighbors heard you next door, they would not be able to tell that you were on your own climaxing yourself to a fiery orgasm.

“ God , I needed that…” you sighed, your eyes falling heavy as you slowly came down from your solo session.

Feeling significantly better, you stretched your arms overhead before glancing over at your phone and laying by your side. A little disappointed but not surprised that Gojo still hasn’t responded.

***

You sat up, dazed and unaware of when you fell asleep. You were surrounded by darkness except for the luminous glow that flashed from your phone. You glanced over your shoulders to find it ringing, squinting for a second to try and see who was calling you at this extremely late hour.

“Hello?” you finally answered, realizing that your throat was dry from your deep sleep.

Gojo sang your name on the receving line, his tone surprisingly energetic. “I got back to the hotel a little while ago and saw your text. Did I wake you?”

You checked the time before replying, “it’s three o’clock in the morning what do you think?”

“ I’m sorry, ” he cooed. “I can let you go back to sleep if you like...”

“No, it’s fine, I’m awake...” you replied, adjusting your position so you were sitting against the frame of your bed. “Late night?”

“Yeah…”

“All okay?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over...”

You swallowed hard at his comment. Of course you were concerned for his safety but Gojo never revealed what he dealt with and sometimes you felt irrational for being scared about something you knew so little about. Yes, he loved bragging about his victories against curses he deemed as weak but ones that posed an actual challenge to the sorcerer?

Those ones he refrained from talking about.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely text?” Gojo asked, changing the subject upon hearing your silence.

“It’s been stressful at work this week. We have a new project coming up and our boss is up in arms about ensuring it all goes well, which means I’ve been working late most nights…” you paused before continuing your explanation, “I feel kind of silly complaining about it now but I just thought I would call for a fun chat. You know? Get my mind off some things?”

“What kind of fun are we talking about here?”

You smiled to yourself, “we never actually figured out how to grab drinks while you were away…”

“ Ahhhh …” Gojo teased, a hint of amusement in his tone as he perked up at your words. “I should have known. You don’t usually ask me to call you while I’m gone. Not going to lie, you had me a little concerned...”

You blushed at the thought of him worrying about you, “I don’t want to keep you up though, it’s late anyway. You must be exhausted…”

He cut you off with a chuckle, “...same rules still apply even if I’m away. If you just texted me with our usual message, I would have called with a much better hello. Let me guess, I already missed out on some of the fun ?”

“ Maybe… ” you seductively replied.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment, “that’s a shame…”

“I know and I’m wearing the lace set you like so much…” you added, coaxing him with your teasing words.

“Mmmm, I do love how you look in blue.” he stated. “Tell me, what exactly were you thinking of when you decided to have “fun” by yourself?”

“Before I answer that, I just need to know something…”

“What is it?”

“Do you have your blindfold on?”

“No…” Gojo replied, slightly confused.

You tapped the back of your phone lightly, “well, well...looks like I’ll just have to wait then...”

“Are you serious? I can’t even see you!”

“It doesn’t matter! If you won’t take it off when we are together then you have to wear it at all times...that’s what you said…”

You could feel Gojo rolling his eyes at you. “Fine, fine! Give me a minute…” he huffed.

You giggled to yourself, humming as you waited.

“ Smart ass,” he teased, letting you know that he was back on the line.

“Hey, I’m just playing by the rules!”

“And I’m ready to play with you ... ”

Before you knew it, Gojo had ordered you to get naked. You were tangled up in your sheets, your body writhing from his dirty talk as you masturbated. Gojo kept saying how much he missed being buried between your legs, how much he wanted to taste that sweet cunt and how desperate he was to fuck you.

“Mmm, you’re such a fucking tease, doing this to me while I’m away...you best believe that once I’m back I will fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight...”

You mewled in response, feeling yourself so close to your release that you could not speak.

“ Say it, ” Gojo directed, knowing that he can barely hold on himself due to the sounds of your pleasure. “I want to hear you say it…”

Gojo went silent, his breath growing heavier as he was losing himself to the moment. You could hear him pumping his cock, finally pushing himself to his own release. A moan escaped you, your back arching off the bed as you parted your lips to speak. Your voice pitched as you whimpered into the phone and telling Gojo the exact words he has been dying to hear.

"I want you to fuck me, Satoru..." you begged. "Please, fuck me ...”

- CHAPTER 4: DOMAIN -

#Gojo Satoru x female reader #Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo Satoru x you #Gojo Satoru #Gojo fluff #Gojo smut #Gojo angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #Gojo Satoru fan fiction

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dragonblobz · 3 years

Text

I'm on my bullshit again. No lemons. Just Shinigami goodness. Wrote this to In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth 3 by Coheed and Cambria.

Ryuk has been around for such a long time. Ever since she had found that notebook sitting on that tree stump years ago. Cover soft looking and beaded with dew. It had looked as if it had been there some time. And, although the pages looked weathered and yellow, there was no mold or outward damage.

Surprising given its location in the middle of the woods. She’d only even seen it because she’d stopped and knelt to retie her shoe. Just an alien black square looking sharp and unreal sitting on that stump just off the jogging trail.

She can remember how the thing had felt when she’d picked it up. Soft in texture. Like careworn leather.

The words “Death Note" emblazoned on the cover had made her feel a little unsettled. Eerie out here in the predawn misty quiet.

A silent voice inside her mind had whispered that maybe she should put it right back down on that stump and keep running. As far and as fast as she could.

Another voice, vapid and cunning, had laughed at the absurdity of such a book, with such a title, being left out here in the middle of nowhere.

She hadn’t left it there. Without opening it, she’d tucked it under her arm and continued on her morning run.

She performed all the menial tasks of her daily life, forgetting all about that Death Note leaving dew marks on her dining room table.

Breakfast was bland. Work was tedious. No different than any other day. Even when she’d reentered her home and plopped her work bag next to the thing, her eyes really didn’t focus on it.

It was the tall bony Shinigami standing in her kitchen that finally arrested her fuzzy mind from the blandness of living.

He hadn’t even been looking at her. Instead, the spinous processes of his vertebrae pressed onto the dark material upon his long back as he leaned over her counter. Observing a bowl of fruit as if it were a still life masterpiece.

She hadn’t moved. Was utterly frozen. Just watching this creature as it looked at her food.

“What’s all this junk? Taking up room that could be used for perfectly good apples.” It’s voice, low and yet raspy, grated on her eardrums as it lifted a hand and poked a claw into the ripe flesh of an orange. The movement causing several pieces of fruit to fall out of the over filled bowl entirely.

With a deft movement, the creature caught the only apple which had exited the bowl. Rubbed it with the pad of it’s thumb as it finally lifted it’s face to look at her.

It’s face………

Cadaverous. Eyes beady and large and yellow. Nose squashed. Like a mummy who’d decided to affix it’s hair for a punk rock concert. It was even sporting a dangling silver earring on one of it’s little ears.

At her gawping expression, it had smiled. Wide thin dark mouth sporting a row of razor teeth appearing aged and yellow.

“No screaming, eh? Hiya, Y/N.”

She hadn’t bothered to question how this thing knew her name.

“Um…….. hi?” Her own voice sounded dry and distant in her ears. “And you are?”

It bit into that apple, it’s eyes closing. As if savoring the fruit. A stray drop of the juice dribbled down onto it’s chin.

It said a word. But muffled thru a mouthful of apple, it nearly sounded like a retch.

“Ex….Excuse me? I didn’t…… I didn’t quite understand that.”

“Not a good listener tho. Ah well. Nobody is perfect.” It’s long tongue snaked out to swipe at that bead of juice as the creature had studied her.

Raising it’s free hand, it extended a long bony finger. She noticed now the rings glinting on his hands.

“I. Am. Ryuk.” He said it very slowly. As if she might have been a child who might not understand. But there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or ill temper in it’s behavior.

“So….. Ryuk…… why…… um…. What……. What do you want?”

At this, it’s smile had widened.

“I’m just here Y/N. YOU are the one that picked up the Death Note.”

Imagery of that notebook popped up in her head.

“I….. I did……”

“Yes. You did. And I’ll be with you until you die now. Or I do.” It was leering now. “Whichever comes first.”

“I see….” She didn’t really see. Turned from him and went into the dining room to pick up that notebook. Opening it. Reading the first thing written on the inside of the cover out loud.

“The human whose name is written in this note shall die.”

It had been frightening in retrospect. Not those words. Not that Death Note. Not even the monster standing in the doorway happily crunching it’s way thru a second apple and watching her.

What had been utterly terrifying was that she had not blanched. Had not set this note down and backed away. Had not told that creature to take it and go.

Instead, she’d stood there. Continuing to read. A name and face already coming to mind.

A face belonging to a monster who’d put that apple eating shark mouthed monster to utter shame. The man who’d killed someone she had loved.

Without looking away from the Death Note, she’d reached over and started rummaging thru her work bag. Fingers shaking and fumbling at keys and change.

“Never can find what you’re looking for if your bag is too full, Y/N.” Ryuk looked vastly amused. “You’re not even going to question the validity of the Note? That’s what you humans usually do.”

She hadn’t answered. Simply gasped as her fingers had clutched onto a great fistful of bullshit in her bag. Lifting the whole mess out to drop carelessly on the table. Chapstick and a tampon scattering across the surface.

And there, rolling and coming to rest against an old broken key chain, had been a blue ink pen.

She’d looked up at Ryuk. Eyes wide, almost manic.

“Any person?”

He smiled again. Repeated her words.

“Any living person.”

There had been no eloquence. No artfulness nor ritualistic care taken in that first death. She had scratched the name onto the paper. And a way to die. Almost stabbing it in. Breathing coming out in ragged desperate gasping.

After the deed had been done, the pen clattered to the floor as she’d wept. Fingers numb.

It hadn’t occurred to her that there would be no way to instantly verify this death. Not until that moment. And so, with a frustrated cry, she’d slapped the Death Note onto the table and fled into her bedroom. Right over to the dark corner to collapse, wrap her arms around her knees, stuff her face into her knees, and cry as a child. Ryuk following her, tilting his head quizzically at this suffering.

“Why are you crying? You couldn’t have liked that human if you wanted them to die.”

“Please…… please go.”

But he didn’t. Simply had sank down. Knobby knees on either side of his ghastly face as he sat across from her.

“I told you. I’m here till you die, Y/N.” There was no camaraderie or sympathy in his voice. It had been matter of fact. “But this surely will get boring very soon, won’t it?”

“When will I know if he died?”

Ryuk smiled again. Leering.

“My my. Impatient aren’t you. Actually that’s a quality I like about you humans. As for your question, I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.” His eyes glint as his smile turns wicked. “You could always write a name belonging to someone closer. If you’re seeking validation, of course.”

“There isn’t anyone else I wanna kill.”

“Then this is going to get very boring very quickly, Y/N.”

She hadn’t had to wait long. Two days later, she’d received correspondence that her presence would no longer be required at a hearing. The defendant was dead.

A quick Google search verified that the person had died just as she’d written.

Setting the phone down, fingers numb, she'd simply looked up at her Shinigami.

She knew that’s what he was now. She’d been peppering him with questions about himself and his kind. And about the Death Note. He hadn’t answered many of them. At least, not until she’d given him an angelic grin and revealed a bag of bright green apples.

“Your apples can be green???” He'd looked absolutely delighted. And had been far more forthcoming.

“He’s dead. He’s really……. Gone…….”

Ryuk merely grunted in visceral enjoyment as he popped the core of that Granny Smith into his maw.

Without warning, she’d reached forward, patting at another errant drop of juice on his chin with a Kleenex she’d just snatched from the box. The action was mainly impulsive. And she’d laughed.

“You’re so messy.”

The Shinigami had frozen. Utterly motionless. He didn’t breathe himself. Statue still. Simply looking at her.

The years passed by like this. The shock and relief provided by this first killing soon giving way to an almost comfortable routine. She didn’t go on a wholesale slaughter. And often targeted those who hurt children. The pain of such cases resonating with the events of her own life.

And there were so. Many. Apples. Loads of them. Ryuk loved all kinds. Although he did seem preferential to Honey Crisp. She never once could get him to try another fruit. And she DID try. Not even a damn orange.

“It’s yummy. Ya know, for somebody that says he gets bored easily, you sure are picky.” She waggled the bright fruit.

“I’ve watched you peel one of those things. What sort of food makes you work so hard? Now THIS……” He'd held up his half eaten apple. “THIS is the pinnacle of crisp and juicy. Now leave that orange wherever you found it, if you please.”

Time was littered with conversations as simple as these, intermingled with serious discussions in which he was as non informative as ever.

It was one of these more serious conversations which followed an observation on her part.

She’d noticed changes in him. Very slight. But she was simply around him so much that she could see them. His movements had become slower. More careful. His speech slowed as well. As if he might be thinking more carefully. Or even forgetting things. She never once pointed this out.

Not until, one day, after clearing 6 entire apples, he’d actually groaned as he’d flopped upon her couch. Long booted feet hanging over one of the arms.

She plops next to him. Poking at one of the skulls on his belt. He’d long since stopped being surprised by her impulsive touches and nearness. Her humanness. Simply tolerating it.

“Are you hurting, Ryuk?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Oh. No reason.”

“I’m dying, Y/N.”

For once, it is she who freezes.

“I thought Shinigami lived a long time.”

“We do. My time is simply running out.” He’s just watching her.

“You’d said….. you’d said that you guys get more years by taking ours.”

“We do.”

She stops toying with that skull entirely. Turns her body so that she’s facing him directly.

“Is it time, then?” She’s oddly unafraid.

“Time for what?”

“For you to….. ya know…… write my name in YOUR Death Note?”

At this, he chuckles.

“I’m not going to write your name.”

She looks confused.

“But….. why not?”

Now he’s actually laughing.

“Do you WANT me to write your name in my Death Note?”

She chews on her bottom lip. Reaching out to pat his chest. Once again, he doesn’t react.

“I don’t want you to die.”

He laughs again. But there is no more true mirth in the sound.

“Why?”

She counters.

“Why won’t you write my name?”

“I am not entirely sure, Y/N.” The slight confusion in his voice gives credence to this answer.

“Well. I am sure.” She’s staring intently at him. “Everything ends, Ryuk. Nobody ever stays. Nothing is constant. I’ve never had a single person ever remain in my life. Except….. except you.”

He sighs. Patiently repeating himself.

“I will be with you until you die.”

“I don’t care if it’s because you have to be here. You’re still HERE……. Will it be soon?”

That same, toothy leer.

“You know I won’t tell you your lifespan, Y/N.”

“I don’t mean me.”

He just looks at her. She’s never seen his face so expressionless. Then repeats yet again.

“I will be with you until you die. Or until I do.”

“I will write my own name then. Will that do it?”

“Stop being foolish. Be a dear and get me another apple won’t you?”

“Yeah….. I will. But I’m not done.”

“I’m sure you’re not.” He chuckles.

It is as if this conversation opens a chasm in this inevitable process. Everything about Ryuk is changing. And so quickly.

Already emaciated and pale, even his dark lips turn papery and light grey. His hair grays too. Yellow eyes growing filmy where they had been so keen before. As if, when the aging process actually begins in a Shinigami, it is accelerated.

It is barely 2 weeks after this conversation that he gives a defeated grunt, sprawled on her bed as she’s on her laptop.

“I can’t get up.” He barks out a laugh. As if this is genuinely funny to him.

She closes her laptop and rises from her chair. Turning and walking over to the bed to flop next to him. Staring at the ceiling just as he is.

“You want another apple?”

“Thank you, Y/N. But I do not.”

“That close, huh.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Will the Death Note still work? When you’re gone I mean.”

“Yes.”

Her voice is oddly cold.

“Do death gods go to hell? I cant go to heaven or hell. What about you?”

He doesn’t answer for several minutes. She doesn’t speak either. Finally…

“I suppose we will end up in the same place, Y/N.”

“I'm glad.” She turns her face to look at him. “I’ll need something before you go.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“The Shinigami eyes.”

At this, Ryuk turns his face as well. And they just stare at each other.

“Clever greedy impatient girl.” The insult is almost affectionate. “Are you truly that afraid to die alone?”

“Nobody should die alone. And this way, neither of us will half to. Half my lifespan for the Shinigami eyes. We’ll die at the same time.” She looks back up at the ceiling. He does too.

When he feels her fingers intertwining with his, as always, he doesn’t react.

“I never actually made that offer to you. Merely spoke of it.”

“I don’t care. I want the Shinigami eyes.”

He turns his face to her.

“Who am I to turn down such a lucrative deal?”

She sees his hand coming towards her face. Closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, the picture of her and some old friends on the wall is noticeably different. One face, the face of the friend who’d committed suicide years before, is clear and unblemished. The other faces each have a name and numbers above them.

And when she looks back at Ryuk, she sees that his hair is once again jet black. Eyes just as clear and sharp as she remembers. He leers at her. Squeezes her hand as she’s squeezing his.

“I’ll take that apple as well. If the offer is still there.”

She grins.

“You got a new lease on life and you STILL won’t try an orange?”

He scoffs.

#death note #ryuk #fem reader #ryuk x reader #tw suicide reference #my writing

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felixfelicisfics · 3 years

Text

More Than An After Thought (James X Reader)

Summary: James and the Reader have been friends for years. After years of the Reader silently pining, James asks the Reader on a date. However the Reader can’t get over the years James spent chasing after Lily. What changed? Why now?

Requested By: @msmb

Word Count: 1,998

TW: None

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first fic on this account! Remember requests are always open! Thanks for reading! <3

---

The patchy noise of a playing record fills the room. You bob about while tidying up your hair and putting the final details on your outfit. You step in front of the mirror and take a look at yourself. You smear a bit of rouge on your cheeks and the tip of your nose and gingerly to your lips. You catch yourself humming along to the old jazz record James had gifted you.

James had been your friend of many years. The two of you knew the very worst and best parts of each other and it was a rare sight to catch one of you walking about the halls of Hogwarts without the other. “Potter and L/N are entirely inseparable” your classmates would say “They practically share a mind”. And you did. That is, besides one thing. You had been pining over James since your second year. He, however, did not reciprocate those feelings until recently. For as long as you, and well everyone in your year, could remember James only had eyes for Lily Potter. Damn that Lily. She was nice enough but you couldn’t help but be jealous of her, and more particularly how James looked at her.

You shake the thought of Lily from your mind and continue touching up your final ensemble, for James was to be at your dorm any minute to pick you up. He had, rather surprisingly, asked you out to dinner last friday in Potions specifying that it was “a date kid of dinner”. You were completely overjoyed when first invited. However, with time to think you’ve become suspicious of James’s true intentions. Right as the clock hit seven o’clock a knock came at your dormitory door. A knock that was surely James.

“One moment!”

You run to slip on your shoes and grab your bag. James’s slight chuckle can be heard on the other side of the door.

“C’mon Y/N! We said seven. You’re usually more punctual than this.” There's an air of teasing in his voice that your nerves mask.

You throw the door open and apologetically smile. James is dressed far more formal than usual in a button up tucked into a pair of plaid slacks. He holds a modest bouquet of delicate flowers. He stops and looks at you like a deer in the headlights.

“You look great Y/N. Absolutely stunning.” He smiles nervously.

“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself”

There’s a silence, which is uncommon between you two. Finally, James clears his throat and hands the bouquet to you.

“Here, these are for you. I overheard you telling Remus you like the ones that grow outside the Quidditch field.”

You take the flowers and smile, your worries fleeing, and look back up to James.

“These are wonderful, thank you.”

You set the flowers inside your dorm before meeting James at the door once again.

“So where are we off to?” you ask.

“That’s a surprise.” James grins and holds out his hand for you to take.

Your heart pitter patters every so slightly as you take his. It’s warm and strong yet his grip is delicate and gentle. The two of you descend the dorm stairs and weave through the passages of Hogwarts until James opens a door and the sun pours over your face. There, on the grounds near the Black Lake sits an extravagant, candlelit picnic near the edge of the Black Lake. A gasp escapes you and you look excitedly at James. When your eyes meet his lit up face you see the wide smile plastered on his face. The joy and excitement practically drips from him when he notices how content you look. You both walk out towards the picnic blanket.

“James. This is so sweet. Did you do all this?”

“I had a little help. I bribed the house elfs to let me use the kitchen. It wasn’t easy but I finally promised them that Sirius and I would stop taking eggs from the kitchen to throw at Snape.”

“You really ought to stop that y’know. You’ll get expelled soon enough”.”

“Nah ol’ Sniffleous Snape wouldn't go to Slughorn and tell.”

“If you say so.” You roll your eyes at James’s mischievous nature. “So what all do we have here?”

You gaze at the quilt topped with a half a dozen mini platters and small containers of delectable food. And lying in the middle, the crown jewel of it all, lyes a pitiful cake decorated with strawberries and sprinkles. The both of you sit opposite to each other and look at the feast James had put together.

“Well let’s see we have apple tarts and some sandwiches here. A couple of boxes of chocolate frogs, and a couple of ciders. Oh! And then some chips. Yeah. Ah and the cake. You like strawberries, yeah?”

“Yeah. Strawberry cake is wonderful.”

“Well don’t wait on my account go ahead.” James chuckles and hands you a plate.

You take it and begin to fill your plate with the delectable foods before you. James serves himself as well and while doing so you catch each other’s glance on and off, which would make both of your cheeks ever so slightly hot. The slight breeze tickles your skin. The sun has nearly set and the floating candles illuminate your romantic picnic. You glance up to catch James eye. His skin and eyes glow in the firelight. Somehow he looked even more handsome in this light. His eyes travel over you, as if climbing your body to reach your eyes. You feel the steady, strong rhythm of your heart. He draws closer to you, leaning in.

Your heart begins to race. You have waited so very long for this. It feels as though his lips are miles away and so very close all at the same time. Your mind races through all the times you’ve thought of how this would go. All the scenarios, the daydreams, the what ifs. How have you known your feelings for James this long and not have shown him. And then it hits you.

Lily.

For years James has fancied Lily. You watched him flirt and gaze and fawn over her. You gave him advice, you listened to him go on and on about how ‘It’s finally it Y/N! I think I know how to win Lily over’. You watched him buy her flowers, and call her beautiful, and plan her picnics… just like this one.

You pull yourself away and pick at your cake, avoiding James’s confused look. There’s a moment of silence before you hear James clear his throat.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?” James asks.

Before you can begin to think to stop yourself you ask,”Why me?”

“What?”

This time you look up to meet his eyes. Not missing a beat you ask once again,

“Why me, James?”

“I don’t understand what you-”

“What did Lily turn you down so you figured you might as well not waste the food?”

James furrows his brow and sets down his plate.

“What? Where is this coming from Y/N?”

“Why me James? What’s with the sudden interest? What, you need a rebound because I’m not here for that okay. So just tell me what’s actually going on.”

“Y/N I don’t-”

Tears well up ever so slightly. A weight in your chest sinks down to your stomach. You should’ve known. Why would he chase Lily so long and suddenly magically have an interest in you. It’s impossible, childish even to consider it true. You’re simply nothing more than a rebound, leftovers, a second choice.

“I’m sorry. This was a mistake I gotta go.” you sniffle before standing up.

“Y/N wait! You don’t understand.”

James stands and grabs your hand, gently but firm. You face away from him so he can’t see the singular tear running down your hot face. You freeze in your spot. A chill of embarrassment washes over your body as you feel his eyes on you.

“Now damn Y/N will you just wait a second!” He says.

You want so badly to be anywhere but here. With anyone but him. But a part of you clings to the pleading in his voice.

“James just get it over with. Stop fucking with me.”

James takes a deep breath and takes a step closer to you.

“What I was going to say, before you decided to run off, was that I don’t want to mess this up. You and I, we’ve always had this connection. And I know you feel it too. Everytime we’re together and our hands brush or you meet my gaze a little longer than usual my heart flutters. But I cast it aside because I didn’t want to ruin our relationship as well as I assumed you didn’t feel the same way. Y/N, you’re my best friend; but recently I’ve come to realise it’s always been a little more than that.”

“But James, what about Lily?”, you ask.

“Lily and I will never happen. She has no interest in me and quite honestly the more I chased the more I lost interest in her and… fell more in love with you.”

You can feel James’s gaze grow stronger on you. You whip your head to face him, releasing your hand from his grasp in the process.

“Oh I gotcha, so Lily’s off the table now so you’ll just have to have the leftovers. Is that what I am to you? An afterthought?”

“No, Y/N, of course not! You’re just there for me! I’ve been so stupid, flailing myself about at someone who doesn’t give a damn about me when right in front of me is you, Y/N. You make me smile and laugh so hard my throat hurts. You come to everyone of my Quidditch games and cheer with all your might. You call me out and keep me in check when I go too far. Your eyes make me feel like you can read me like an open book which terrifies me but in a strange sense makes me feel seen and loved. I love you Y/N. You’re not a second choice. There’s no bloody competition when it comes to you.”

It’s silent for a moment as James looks to you for a response. You’re stunned by his burst of eloquence. You take a step towards him and a fear grows in his eyes. As you finally reach him you wrap your hand to the back of his neck and pull him in for a passionate kiss.

He kisses you back immediately. The kiss felt desperate and yearning; as both of you run your hands tenderly to cup each other’s faces. Everything in your body feels like static. Excitement flows throughout you. It’s exactly as you imagined, quite better actually. James’s lips are soft and his kiss is warm and smooth. You feel years of pining and frustration melt away in the kiss.

James pulls away softly, “Now, I believe there’s a very romantic and tasty picnic waiting for us. If you’d like to join me?”

You smile, your worries dead and gone, “Absolutely.”

James takes a step back and holds out his hand for you to take. You take it and the both of you step back onto the quilt and resume your date, now giggling and recalling all the times you wanted to tell one another about your hidden feelings. The stories flow back and forth til the sun sets right over the Black Lake. And with the sunset the both of you blew out the candles and lied on the quilt, full from the meal, and gazed at the stars in a comfortable silence. Completely content. And still utterly overjoyed by your first kiss. James intertwines your hand in his, drawing circles with his thumb on the back of your hand.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah James?”

“This is so much better than being friends.”

“I think so too, James.”

#james potter x reader #x reader #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter fluff #james potter #aaron taylor johnson #james potter fanfiction #fanfiction #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders era

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writing-gifts · 3 years

Text

Finding Home (merman!Elliott x gn!reader)

A/N: Me and a friend, @hideyoosh, worked on this stardew valley reader insert fic together. There should be more chapters in the future hopefully.

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The tree branches sway as the fallen leaves are carried in the gentle wind.

Today was a perfect day for fishing. You had been so caught up in tending to your autumn crops that you hadn't taken the time to focus on your hobbies. It wasn’t like you didn't enjoy farming though, it was just nice to take a break every once in a while.

Unfortunately, the lake in the forest south of your farm seemed to be quiet today. Nothing was biting, even with the bait you had hooked on. This was extremely peculiar since every time you came here multiple fish would bite throughout the day. You'd even throw some back. But now it was well into the afternoon and you hadn't caught a single thing.

You sigh and lean back in your seat you placed on the dock. Good thing you brought one with you.

While you contemplate whether you should call it day or not, your rod jerks forward. You finally had hooked something!

You scramble to try to reel it in hoping, praying, that it wasn't trash that got caught. However you cross that off quickly. Whatever you had at the end of the line was fighting back hard.

You put up your best fight, set on making this fish yours and it seems like neither of you will let up. But then your line suddenly snaps.

The release of tension sends you and your chair falling backwards. Your mouth gawks at the destroyed line on your iridium fishing rod. This wasn’t any cheap rod either. In fact, it was brand new!

What could have been strong enough to do this?

You pout at the loss of an incredible catch and your line that you would now have to fix.

"Dammit…"

Suddenly, you hear splashing from the lake and look up to see a man in the water not too far away from you. You had never seen this man in town before so you're immediately alarmed.

How long had he even been in the water?

"I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" he called out.

Your mouth hangs open and you’re at a loss for words.

The man had long ginger hair, and deep green eyes. Along with his defined cheekbones and sharp jawline, he might as well be physically flawless. Part of you couldn't believe he was even human.

He holds out your hook, the broken off piece of your line hanging from it, and begins making his way closer to the dock.

"I apologize for breaking it, but I couldn't get it out otherwise so…."

You finally manage to somewhat collect yourself back onto your chair and try to make sense of what was happening. Surely you would have noticed someone out in the lake before you cast out your line, so how did he get hooked?

He stares at you, and you stare right back. His gaze was warm and honest, almost naive.

Breaking the momentary silence, you utter a very eloquent, "What?"

"This hook. I believe it belongs to you seeing as we’re the only ones here. Thought I would return it since my arm has no better use for it."

You give a breathy laugh and reach for the outstretched hook. “Yeah I suppose you’ve got a good point there. Thanks.”

You take the hook from his hand, your fingers just brushing up against his. The small bit of contact has your face heating up unexpectedly and you look away.

What's wrong with you?Just an ounce of human contact and you're on fire! Touch starved much?

The other equally reasonable part of you argues otherwise though.

The man is a living, breathing deity of grace and beauty! Anyone with eyes can argue that. How am I still conscious?

And somehow you agree with both.

Once you take the hook, you notice the blood on his left arm.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hook you. I’d be a sorry excuse for a fisherman if I could only fish men."

He offers a short laugh and replies, "That's quite alright. You were just trying to catch a meal.”

Oh, I caught a meal alright...

“I assure you it appears much more garish than it actually is." He pokes around the wound to demonstrate no reaction. “See?”

"Please, it's my fault you’re hurt so I can at least help you clean the wound. My farm’s not too far, I’ll grab a first aid kit and be back.”

You get up from your chair quickly and give him no time to argue. If you were fast enough you could be back within an hour, so you half-sprint the trip back to your farm.

As you look through your medicine cabinet for anything else you might need, you remember the times you hurt yourself with fishing hooks. Sure, they can be annoying to deal with, but that’s really all. You can't really say much for experiencing getting hooked and reeled though.

Catching yourself zoning out, you quickly gather what you need before heading to the dock once more.

You run down the old wooden planks to your chair and pole, but you don’t find the injured stranger there with them.

Confused, you look around in the distance to see if he got out of the water somewhere. As soon as you turn to look behind yourself, you feel something grip your ankle. You shriek and frantically try to kick it off.

“WHAT THE F-”

"Shh! Please don’t scream! It’s me!"

Your ankle is released and you fall backwards onto the dock. Again. You scoot closer to the edge and meet an apologetic gaze. The man was still in the water after all. You give a sigh of utter relief.

“I’m so glad it’s you and not a murderous mythical fish monster...Where did you go?”

“I was diving a bit while you were gone. I’m sorry. It was ill mannered of me to grab you so suddenly,” he said earnestly.

Part of you wonders why he didn't just call out to you but you shrug.

“All is forgiven.”

You place a towel and first aid kit on your fish cooler and motion to the chair next to it.

"Can you get out of the water for me? You can sit on this seat so I can clean you up."

"Um…"

"What’s up?"

He visibly tenses at the question and musters out, "I just don't think I can get up into that seat."

He moves closer to the pier and places his hands on the worn wood before trying to lift himself up and falling back in the water.

“Not a problem man! I’ll help you up.”

“Wait!”

You take a good grip on his arm, muster all the strength you used trying to reel him in the first time, and heave him onto the dock. Your eyes widen when you see that his bottom half isn't human at all. His hips were completely covered in burgundy scales and as he sits himself on the edge of the pier, you realize that his lower body tapers off into a giant tail.

For the second time today you find yourself struggling to find words.

The man--no merman realizes your shock and gives an empty chuckle. "I've scared you again…"

Immediately, you blink and shake your head. "I--I'm just a little surprised, but not scared. You’d be surprised yourself that this doesn’t even top the list!"

Supernatural beings in this town aren’t exactly few and far between, are they?

“Anyways, tail or not, your arm still needs attention. Lift it up for me?”

The man gapes back at you but does as you say. It seems he’s the one left speechless this time.

You grab the disinfectant spray off the cooler and move the bandages to the seat before approaching him.

"This might sting a little."

You spray where the hook had got him and you realize that the gash goes down further than you thought originally. It begins near his shoulder and fades out around the middle of his bicep due to you trying to reel him in. The guilt starts to set in pretty fast as you inspect the wound.

As you try to take your mind off the damage you caused you notice the merman seems lost in thought.

"What's your name?" you ask.

He seems surprised yet relieved by the break in the silence. He slips into a relaxed and elegant smile and says, “Elliott. Might I ask you yours?"

"I’m ____, but most people just call me the farmer around here."

"Then it's very nice to meet you, farmer."

You grab the bandages but then remember that the Elliott would eventually have to go back in the water. So you fiddle with the packaged roll in your hands instead.

"Well, I think I'm done. I can't wrap the wound cause it would be bad if the bandages got wet. Will you be okay?"

"You needn’t worry! It will heal in no time at all and even more so since you helped me." He gives you a very charming smile and you can't help returning it.

He’s really different from everyone else in town, you think to yourself, and not just because of the whole merman situation. Elliott had a mature and sophisticated manner of speaking which was a welcome change of pace. And speaking with him was effortless as it was enchanting. You hoped it wouldn’t be the last time.

"Do you live here?"

The merman frowns slightly before shaking his head. "Unfortunately, I appear to be stuck between a rock and a hard place in terms of my home.”

"Oh, are you lost?"

"Not necessarily. I ended up here because I had nowhere else to go. The humans in blue along the coast have closed off any underwater entrance back into the ocean from here."

You tilt your head wondering what he means before it hits you.

Joja.

"The dam--They must have shut it off completely. But they said that they wouldn't!"

Your brow furrows as you try to figure out how this happened. Earlier in the year, Joja had finished the construction of their dam running along the outlet of the river bank to the sea. All you knew about it was bits of information you overheard in the saloon, really, and that helped you remember two things. That the dam was unfortunately an energy powerhouse in Stardew Valley and Joja was only allowed to build the dam under the condition that they could not mess with the river bank’s environment.

Cutting off the sea from the river is a huge interjection! They couldn't even do it without the proper authorization! What could they possibly be hoping to gain from a severed connection between the river and ocean?

Your thoughts come to a halt when you see Elliott giving you a concerned look. The last thing you want to do is give him more reason to worry, so instead you inhale deeply and do your best to comfort him.

"I'm sorry that happened to you. I wish I could help you get back."

He smiles weakly, "Your kindness and concern are enough."

The sentiment was nice but you shake your head. "No, I'm going to help you get back home. I've just decided."

The merman's eyes widen. "But how?"

"...That is a good question." You think for a moment but nothing is really coming to mind.

"I don't know yet but I'm sure we can come up with something eventually!"

Fortunately, that's enough to raise Elliott's spirits. "Perhaps you're right. They do say two heads are better than one."

You smile, but maybe you need to recruit some assistance though.

#stardew valley #stardew elliott #elliott x farmer #elliott x reader #reader insert #stardew valley x reader #dabbling a little out of jojo lol #sdv elliott

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alirhi · 3 years

Text

Loki ranting

Okay. I had this thought in my head of like just compiling links of all the Loki shit I've posted/reblogged so far so that when I get into a conversation about the show and how it fucking disgusted me, I can just be like "here. here's this masterlist post, go read all this shit. This is my entire argument, and not only mine, but a lot of stuff posted by people far more intelligent and level-headed and eloquent than I am, whom I happen to agree with." Because the alternative is constantly getting fired up all over again, and that is exhausting.

BUT! I'm stupid and don't know how tumblr works. Apparently I can't just be like "give me all the Loki-tagged shit I've got" I can only search all the Loki-tagged shit on all of tumblr. And I'm not scrolling back through all of my posts. I talk too fucking much for that shit 😂

So, I'll try to remember all of my grievances with how the MCU has treated Loki, and all of the excellent posts made by other, equally upset fans, and put it all together here under this nice, neat little cut for everyone else's sanity and scrolling convenience...

For people who actually read my shit fairly regularly - bless you, you crazy, patient people. I love you! - this is going to be a lot of repetition of shit you've already read. Probably at least twice. I'm passionate and I have a terrible memory lol. Sorry.

Anyway, first, for those who don't know me and haven't been following my explosions of rage for the past couple of months, some quick background: I do not read comic books, so Loki's Marvel comic canon means nothing to me. I know almost nothing about it. The reason I'm so in love with the character in the MCU is because I am an eclectic witch and the deity I've actively loved and worshiped the longest in my life (literally for as long as I can remember) is Loki. So when he was mentioned in The Mask, I squeed. When they named Matt Damon's character after him in Dogma, I cheered.

When Thor came out in 2011, I just about died from happiness. I was hungry for any representation of this underappreciated god, no matter what it was. I didn't even bitch about how underpowered he was, because at least he was there. But I'm getting slightly ahead of myself.

I can hear anyone reading this going "Why Loki? Isn't he, like, evil? Like basically the Norse version of The Devil?" Because I heard all this shit irl all the fucking time. And no. So let me give you a quick rundown of who Loki actually is.

Loki is a Trickster God. He's often referred to as the God of Mischief. He is not and never was evil, simply chaotic and hedonistic. Loki Laufeyjarson was the son of Laufey (that's mama; they changed her to a man for some reason in the movie) and Fárbauti. Right from the start, from his name, we get a sign of how Loki goes against traditional norms of the time, because in Norse culture, families were patrilineal, and surnames were "son/daughter of father" (which would have made him Loki Fárbautitason), not the mother. But Loki's surname is matrilineal. Feminist icon woo! lol

Though he's a Jotunn, Loki is counted among the Gods (Aesir) in Norse tradition. Depending on his mood, he is alternately helpful or disruptive to the other Gods. I'm not gonna sit and teach a whole text class on him lol but I'll use my favorite example of Misunderstood Loki - the conception of Sleipnir!

So, get this shit. This is also part of why I DO NOT follow Odin and never fucking will (a very small part, but still part of the reason). So, the other Norse Gods are petty motherfuckers, and they wanted some shit built but didn't want to pay the dude doing the building. So they were like "okay, if you can get it done in X amount of time, we'll pay you, but if you can't manage it NO MATTER WHAT, this whole thing is free." And they made sure he had NO help, nothing but him, his materials, and his Very Good Horsey. And this guy and his horse were fucking BAMFs. So it was looking like he was definitely gonna get it done in time, and Odin was like "nah, fuck that shit. I'm cheap." and so he sent Loki to distract the work horse. Loki transformed into a mare and lured the horse away, got fucked, got pregnant, gave birth to the 8-legged (for some reason) horse Sleipnir. Odin rides Loki's son into battle. Um. Kay.

So Loki helped Odin be a petty mf, and Odin got himself a new pet out of the deal.

Oh, also, because he's smart af and a shapeshifter and a master magician and genderfluid, Loki "fails" to fit the super fucking toxic and narrow Norse/Aesir view of "a real man". He prefers intelligence and manipulation to solve problems rather than violence, he's not afraid to behave like a clown if it gets shit done, and that grosses the Aesir out, so they constantly ridicule him for being "less than a man".

Loki is the God of the outcast and the misunderstood. The marginalized people from all walks of life. He is the God of the LGBT community. In modern terms, he's pansexual, polyamorous (married to Sigyn and they are deeply in love, but boy gets around and I've never seen any indication that Sigyn gives a shit) and genderfluid.

Okay. Focus, Ali. This is part of why I usually post multiple rants instead of one big long one XD The longer I ramble, the more I get sidetracked and forget the original point.

So. Loki's awesome, and being a Trickster, is powerful as all fucking hell. There's not much he can't do.

And now we come to Thor (the movie, not the deity). Loki's there! 24-year-old Ali is spazzing! All is right with the world!

Oh lord, they've actually done him justice?! Amazing! He's complex and nuanced and emotional, just like the real Loki! I loved this movie. Loved. It. The climactic thing with trying to blow up Jotunheim never really made much sense to me until someone made an excellent point the other day about Loki being raised in a racist society that was racist against his own race, he just didn't know it yet, poor child. Baby Thor was never corrected when he pledged to commit mass genocide, so Baby Loki probably absorbed the lesson then that Jotunns=evil and killing them all will win his father's love. Anyway, 2011 Loki was a beautiful, heartbreaking portrayal of the God I've loved all my life and spent 24 years longing to see depicted on the big screen.

Then The Avengers happened. And I saw another Loki very close to Norse mythology - mainly, how he's treated. In the beginning of the movie, he's sick, exhausted, and in pain. He can hardly stand, he stumbles and needs help when he walks. He was very obviously tortured, and the sickly blue light of the scepter's control is in his eyes. That gets less and less pronounced as the movie goes on, showing Loki working his way free of it, but in the beginning, he's a mess. Because he was tortured and used by Thanos. Marvel directly confirmed this, and that he was under the scepter's/Mind Stone's control. Loki's actions are not his own in The Avengers. He's under both threat and Thanos' direct control. The movie actually shows The Other directly threatening him to keep him on task, because this is not Loki's plan. It is not what he wants. He's being used and villainized... Just like in real life. It hurt to see this done to him, but the accuracy was too beautiful to ignore.

Thor: The Dark World comes out. I've heard people complain that this movie is the weak link in the Thor trilogy. I disagree. I think that's Ragnarok, for a bunch of reasons, but we'll get there. (And for the record, I loved Ragnarok, too. It was a funny movie. Infinity War and the Disney+ series are the only portrayals of Loki in the MCU that I truly fucking hated.) Anyway, good, fun movie. Had its faults, as all movies do, but it still followed Loki's real-life arc in a way. How? By having Loki dragged back to Asgard in chains and imprisoned underground. Again, not super happy that this happened to my love, and having to see it on screen was painful, but at least in the MCU he's not chained to a rock with venom dripping on his face for eternity, so there's that. (poor Sigyn. how tired do her arms get, holding up that bowl? best wife ever, amirite?)

In TDW, we're shown Loki's love for Frigga, who favored him and taught him magic as a child. We see his bravado; his attempts to mask his true feelings, especially grief. We see him slowly coming back to himself after the events of The Avengers, and slowly mending his relationship with his brother. He accepts that Odin will likely never love him, but Thor just might, because they were close when they were young. "I didn't do it for him." No, no my sweet, you did it for your brother, and a little out of guilt for what happened to your mother.

At the end, Loki fakes his death and escapes, taking the throne, and I have mixed feelings about this. Not the writer's choices here; I love that completely! A natural progression in Loki's story. But my joy is tainted by how closely they're following the Eddas now. Because Loki's escape from his prison heralds the beginning of Ragnarok. And Loki will die in Ragnarok. I don't want to see that play out in front of my face. I won't be able to handle the grief (spoiler alert! IW broke me. I almost walked out of the theater. Loki's death was legitimately fucking traumatic for me. I don't even care how pathetic that is. That grief was real, it was intense, and I still shake and cry when I think about it.)

Marvel announces that Thor 3 will be called Ragnarok. The internet treats this as a shocking revelation. I roll my eyes and mumble "duh" to myself and move on XD

Then they say Ragnarok will be a buddy comedy. I throw up a little in my mouth and no longer want to live on this planet. If they're going to make something called Ragnarok, could they at least treat it with even a fraction of the respect they've shown these characters thusfar? Jfc. I mean, I'll see it anyway, because I'm a whore for Tom Hiddleston lol. But come on, people!

I hated that they made Hel the long-lost older sister and Fenrir her fucking pet/attack dog. Those are my favorites of Loki's children! Hel is such an incredible badass that the early Christians named their dimension of eternal torture after her! They were terrified of her, to the point of naming the place that terrified them most after her. That's awesome! And Fenrir's just the best. I love wolves. Those two details, and Odin's retcon of "we're not Gods! ...lol, except your sister. she's totally a Goddess. and def gonna kill literally everything, so... good luck! byyyeeeee" pissed me off royally.

The rest was great. I genuinely liked this movie. Still do. And they finally used The Immigrant Song! That was pretty cool. If they'd thrown in Bring the Hammer Down and Thunderstruck, I might've called this movie perfect. XD

I wasn't totally in love with their portrayal of Loki in Ragnarok. Yes, the falling for 30 minutes line was funny, as was "I have to get off this planet" and "YES! That's how it feels!" And "Get Help" was funny as hell. But also, like... There is no way Loki would have been the dumb one in that first encounter with Hela. Also, he can teleport and project copies of himself and shit, so... He would not have been that desperate to go straight back to Asgard and bring her right along with them. Loki's not stupid. But whatever. Movie's gotta movie.

What I did love was seeing the slow mending of his relationship with Thor continuing, and the badass fighting on the bridge. I also loved that, like Real Loki, Movie Loki helped when help was needed, was quick and clever, and while he was carrying out the main plan, he was also planning ahead and grabbing the Tesseract. Yes, that drew Thanos right to them, but that's a whole other thing. Loki never would have left that thing on Asgard to be destroyed or lost.

And now Infinity War. Hooooly fucking shit. You know what? No. I'm not going into this. He was killed, years of character growth were erased forever, my heart fucking shattered. The end.

Endgame. IW hurt me so bad I didn't see Endgame until this year. I actually watched Civil War first (for context: I had actively avoided all Cap movies until this year because I fucking hate Steve Rogers. I find him insufferable. Did not realize what I was denying myself until I watched CW and finally saw the charms of Bucky. When he appeared in IW, I was so lost. XD I was like "...who dis? Murder Jesus?" also I just... didn't care. I was numb by then from crying through most of the movie over Loki)

So, anyway. Endgame. Loki picks up the Tesseract in alternate 2012, escapes, fans go "yay! he didn't actually die!" I go "yes he fucking did. Five years of his life, gone. Five years of growth and change, erased. Loki is dead. This will not be the same."

I was more right than I could have predicted. Now we come to the point of this rant. Sorry it took so long, but you were warned lol.

The Loki series makes me so angry I actually get sick to my stomach. It was fucking TRASH. When I praised Marvel for following Norse mythology so faithfully earlier? Yeah. I DID NOT MEAN TREAT HIM THE WAY THE OTHER GODS DID. I did not mean paint him as a pitiful clown, a joke, a caricature of who he truly was, with his pain and suffering played for LAUGHS.

This is supposed to be 2012 Loki, newly freed from Thanos' control. The Loki we saw in the beginning of TDW - snarky, exhausted, nihilistic. The Loki who rolled his eyes and said "get on with it" expecting to be killed.

The bumbling clown flipping on a dime from posturing to calling himself weak is not 2012 Loki. That is not ANY Loki. That is Tom Hiddleston in a black wig doing what he's told by a shitty writer who had no fucking idea what he was doing and was salty about his (bad) original script (for something totally fucking unrelated) getting killed.

In Episode 1, Loki is mocked, imprisoned, stripped against his will, tormented, belittled, and given a flippant summary of all the trauma Actual MCU Loki suffered that this one skipped out on, with no context, no acknowledgement of the trauma he's already lived quite fucking recently, and with the narrative twisted to not only erase all the abuse he's suffered, but to make it all his fault. And this is supposed to make him want to help these people?

And worse, IT FUCKING WORKS. WHAT?! I CAN'T- FUCKING WHAT?! Remember when I said LOKI IS NOT FUCKING STUPID?! So why is he STUPID?

Episode 2, he's a child. Mentally, this Loki is a fucking child. Now we've erased all the growth and development of his entire adult life. He's dopey, impatient, impulsive, desperate for a pat on the back and actually shows it. Yes, abused and neglected children crave the positive attention we never received, and we often grow up to be a bit emotionally stunted. But not all of us, and not Loki. Not as we've seen him EVER in the rest of the MCU. Playful and a bit callous at times? Absolutely! But not a big dumb fucking puppy.

Episode 3, a ray of hope, despite Sylvie! (I hate Sylvie) Loki casually admits he's pan/bi; labels never come up, but he admits to being with both men and women! He sings! Not really relevant to whether I approve of his portrayal or not lol but Tom has a beautiful voice, Norwegian ("Asgardian" lol) is a gorgeous, entrancing language, and I could watch that one bit on loop for eternity and never get bored. And then, finally, we see a glimpse - a glimpse - of Loki's power! He stops a falling building and pushes it right back up! Are we finally getting to see what he can really do? Will the next episode bring us Loki in all his glory?

Nope. 4 and 5 we see him mocked and pushed around and utterly irrelevant. Again. We see tiny reflections of what he could maybe theoretically do in other random Loki variants, but the "main" (lawl. main. it was the Sylvie and Mobius show. Loki was never the main anything.) Loki? Nothing. He wears his heart on his sleeve for no reason, bonds with the man who imprisoned, taunted, and gaslit him, is killed, and continues to be a moron and a joke. Always the clown. Always the dumb one. The one with the bad ideas. The inferior Loki.

Don't even get me started on that finale. I can't. This already took so much out of me. Fuck Marvel. Fuck this fucking show. I just... I'm done.

#loki #loki spoilers #loki series #loki negativity #loki hate #thor 2011 #the dark world #ragnarok #the avengers #infinity war #endgame #fuck sylvie #fuck marvel #fuck disney #this show sucked #ragepost #rant #long post #ali is angry

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

dear... whoever | b.b.

summary: a mandated series of long and short diary entries from the new head of R&D for Stark Industries.

WARNINGS: swearing, LOTS of fluff, mentions of drinking and sex and hospitals and guns, general fun and witty attitude, small angst, big jealousy, obviously au after civil war. everything after does not exist. pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 9.5k

a/n: written for @softbiker and 100% inspired by @sunmoonandbucky with the format. my prompt was let me love you by rita ora and i wrote it from the perspective the singer is singing it to rather than the actual singer. this was super fun to write. enjoy!

July 31/20

Dear…

Whoever is going to read this. So… me, in the future probably. So, it should be dear WHOMever, I think, but it sounds wrong.

Is it too cliché to say dear diary? I don’t know. After all, I don’t WANT to be writing this but unfortunately I am because it’s mandated. Apparently, the psychiatrist that works for Stark Industries thinks it’s necessary that I write down my feelings and show that I’ve adjusted to working part-time superhero, full-time head of Tony’s stupid R&D department.

Something about how that much stress can cause psychotic fractures in the worst case scenario.

Cute.

Anyway, I don’t know what to write. Currently, it’s 4:23AM. The only reason I’m awake is because I have trouble sleeping on the best night. I heard Barnes messing about and because I am the Hermit of the Rec Room Couch (catchy, I know), I can hear him just walking about.

What the hell is he even doing?

To be honest, I’ve never talked to Barnes besides the occasional greetings because he’s the sort to keep to himself, I guess, and, valid. I’m not saying it’s not, considering his history, but you know.

I think I’m a friendly person, and I’m bored. He’s eventually going to hear me writing noisily because of super-soldier hearing or whatever, so I might just get up and introduce myself.

Not that I’ve been working here for years, but whatever.

I’m really bored and hungry, honestly, so a trip to the kitchen would be considered normal (and warranted) in such circumstances.

Fuck it.

Time to make a new friend or die trying. If you never hear from me again, you’ll know why.

Aug. 1/20

Dear Jane,

I finally got the time to write in here and you may be wondering why I have named you. Well, after the conversation at roughly 4:30 AM, here are things that’ve changed in a disorganized list. None is more important than the other. I'm just writing what comes to my head.

One: Barnes said he doesn’t really let anyone call him James. I called him James once because I forgot. Profuse apologies followed. He said it was okay and didn’t mind me calling him that. Now, in my mind, I think he’s just saying this to be polite and really just wants me to call him Bucky but he seemed sincere. We’ll see how it goes.

Two: Barnes was awake because his cat woke him up. I didn’t even know he had a cat but it’s a gorgeous white cat named Alpine that Barnes carries around in his half-zipped up hoodies sometimes. It’s adorable. He’s super soft and friendly and I love him already. He showed me all the tricks Alpine could do. Amazing.

Three: Barnes’ favourite movie is the Godfather. Totally surprising there. Please tell me you understand sarcasm.

Four: He said he liked the name Jane when I told him what I was doing up and also in the rec room (couldn’t sleep, writing in my diary) and that I didn’t want to say “Dear diary”

“Why don’t you just give it a name?” he eloquently suggested and Jane was his answer to my question of “Which name?”

Five: Barnes, or James, I guess he is now, is my friend.

Six: We said we’d meet up at 4:30AM or earlier again because I told him I wanted to show him my s’mores dip recipe.

Seven: Wish me luck. Hope I don’t get murdered.

Eight: I think I might be in love with him.

Bye.

Aug. 5/20

Dear Jane,

In an effort to summarize what has happened in the past four days, I will open with the fact that James Buchana Barnes is the cutest motherfucker on the planet. He’s super old fashioned, but that’s a given. He opens the doors for me, offers to take my bags up, and in the past four days, we’ve met up at around midnight to just eat and chat. Then he walks me back to my room with a glass of water and I’m left fanning myself because it’s so sweet and he’s so sweet and OH, MY GOD, I am a child.

This feels like a crush. Like, butterflies in my stomach, self-conscious every time he looks at me, can’t stop staring, and wanting to impress him at every turn sort of crush.

AKA, a middle-school crush and I feel completely ridiculous but that is besides the point because he’s just the loveliest person.

Someone should tell him chivalry is dead. Steve thinks he’s just being sweet on me, and Sam says I should flash some ass just to get a rise out of him which would be funny. He’d look absolutely adorable blushing his head off.

We’ll see. I am considering it.

What else happened? I’m drawing a huge blank.

As explained in a previous entry, I was to show Barnes my s’mores dip recipe. Huge success. Crowd loved it. That’s how I learned he has a huge sweet tooth like me. Got an email from Pep about a board meeting which I ignored. If it’s really important, she’ll see me in person. Went swimming with Sam. We started planning Tony’s big Christmas party even though that’s MONTHS away.

But, you know. We’re so busy all the time, it might be worth it planning ahead.

As head of R&D, it’s vital to me that this goes well because they’re fun when they do go well, and a chaotic disaster when they don’t. Also, I have to find a date but details will follow.

I think that’s it.

If there’s more to follow, then I’ll just come back but there really isn’t.

Oh, Alpine found my room. He’s in here right now and he snores. It’s cute, just like his owner.

Okay, goodnight.

Aug. 7/20

Dear Jane,

Sam, James, and I went swimming.

Pro of the day: James is ripped and that man was GLISTENING.

Con of the day: I AM STUPID in front of hot ripped men.

Pro of the day: We got ice cream together. Strawberry for me, mango for James because he wants to try new flavours, and Sam ordered some monstrosity with vanilla ice cream, chocolate and raspberry syrups, and a bunch of banana slices. A swirl of whipped cream to finish it off. It looked like diabetes in a cup and that’s coming from me.

Con of the day: James used his thumb to wipe the ice cream off my lip and my brain short-circuited. Sam teased us about it, but James very stubbornly and convincingly said we’re just friends.

Con of the day x2: We are just friends and that is NOT going to change. I cannot explain how much my heart literally fell out of my body in disappointment.

God, and James and I are meeting up at 2AM tonight so he can show me this new stupid stuffed celerey recipe he learned.

It’s not stupid.

It’s really, REALLY cute he researched it.

This sucks.

Aug. 11/20

The worst day ever. I don’t want to talk about it but might as well make a note on it. More on it later, I guess.

Aug. 15/20

Dear Jane,

Sorry, I’m dramatic. Must get it from working with Tony for so many years.

Let’s just review what occurred on August 11, 2020, at approximately 3:23 in the afternoon.

I learned that James went out on a date. A DATE. From SAM. When James had ample opportunity to tell me at our regular meeting at witching hour over celery sticks.

EXCUSE ME? WHO IS THIS WOMAN?

I’m not even mad. I’m just angry that the man I became friends with only 2 weeks ago and caught feelings immediately for is seeing other people.

I sound like a raging bitch. I promise you, Jane, that I am not. I’m just the insanely jealous type.

No, I’m not.

God, what is happening to me and why does it have to be James.

I never get crushes and the instant I do, it’s for the most emotionally and physically unavailable person ON EARTH.

Also, work was work. I was distracted, drank soup from the canteen, and generally accomplished nothing. Alpine came for some snuggles while James was out. That’s the only good thing.

Thanks, universe.

Aug. 16/20

Dear Jane,

So, I brought up this mystery lady over homemade sundaes.

James seems pretty serious about her because he a) apologized for not telling because he wanted to keep it private and asked me not to tell anyone and b) has a second date with her later today.

Oh, GOD. There is no point to this.

Aug. 19/20

Dear Jane,

What’s the point of asking someone intimate, personal questions if not because you guys are best friends?

James called me his best friend today. He says he knows me, but if he did, he’d know I feel like throwing up whenever he’s around and that his stare burns through every layer of clothing until I feel like he just knows my secret.

I told him we’ve known each other less than a month, but he said something stupidly charming about “intuition” and feeling and that this feels right and how he knows he can tell me anything and that I was an easy person to talk to.

I should’ve been a shrink.

At least, my trip to Wakanda is going to give me distance. A solid two months of no one else but me, tech, and new faces. Going there to collaborate with Shuri is definitely exciting and taking up more space in my brain than James these days.

Maybe I’ll fall in love with some soldier over there because apparently, I’m catching feelings willy-nilly these days.

See you on the plane, Jane.

Aug. 23/20

Dear Jane,

On the quinjet, it’s fairly quiet. It’s one of the things I love about it. The silent yet soft engines that can lull me to sleep. We should be arriving in a few hours so I thought I’d write. I’m getting the hang of this, I think.

There's a press conference later, too, in the trip with the UN and it’s not that I can’t handle it, but that I could’ve done this in my sleep and wished Tony sent someone else. I hate the press, not gonna lie.

Anyway, this gives me time to be introspective.

Is it just me or James always Okay, is it just my imagination that whenever I try to get close to James, he just kinda pulls away? Not in a romantic way. I’m not stealing anyone’s man because girl code, but he won’t even let me just stand near him anymore. It’s like I have an infectious disease only transmitted through physical contact and it’s just weird.

I don’t know.

Before I left, he said he’d miss me and that we should keep in touch through calls (Obviously, I would) and that he hopes I won’t forget him.

So, you say those things but you won’t even let me even hug you?

You’re a manipulative asshole, Barnes.

Oct. 20/20

Dear Jane,

I am so sorry that it has taken so long for us to reunite.

In hindsight, I’m a fucking idiot.

I left you on the quinjet which went back to New York and a different quinjet came to pick me up. I came back like two days ago so these past few days have been spent searching for you.

James offered to help, and he seems normal again.

Weird. Guess he was just in a mood with the new girlfriend and adjusting to having me as a friend, too. Guys go through that, I guess.

In Wakanda, I did not, in fact, fall in love with a soldier or anything. I curse every day that I didn’t, trust me. I’m just as disappointed as you are because I just want to get over this stupid crush. For the two months I was gone, it was like I didn’t like James at all like that. Even during calls, I could pretend we were just two teammates keeping each other in the loop. He talked about his girlfriend, I listened, I explained science because he’s a nerd, and he asked questions like he was interested.

It was FINE.

Then, he was waiting for me when I came back to NYC and it slammed into me like Bruce in Hulk-mode.

James asked if I wanted to meet his girlfriend because she’d be coming around for the Halloween party anyway, and he thinks we’ll get along swimmingly.

He really said swimmingly. He is stuck in the wrong era, but we all knew that.

I said yes, to be polite.

Here’s to hoping she’s a vindictive bitch and I am justified in hating her entire being.

Oct. 22/20

Dear Jane,

I met her. She’s small and pretty and mature and normal.

If I wasn’t stupidly in my feelings about James, I’d love her, too.

She’d treat him right, give him a good home to come back to.

Best not to notice the people fighting beside you in that way, I guess.

Oct. 25/20

Dear Jane,

God is dead and NO ONE has eyes on the road.

Jesus isn’t even taking the wheel on this one.

It’s a fucking disaster.

I do not want to describe in every little detail the intricacies of dreaming about James Buchanan Barnes fucking my brains out, so I won’t, but this is for the record that it happened and how the fuck am I supposed to come back and see him in his probably gorgeous attempt at his recreation of Brendan Fraser from the Mummy AKA my favourite movie (which HE KNOWS THAT IT IS?? GOD, the audacity.)

Girlfriend (his girlfriend. “Girlfriend” is the name which she shall be henceforth known as in these entries because petty wins are all I have right now) is dressing as Rachel Weisz. Because “couples goals” or whatever.

I wouldn’t know. Sam and I are dressed up as sexy salt and pepper shakers (his idea, not mine) and he made me take the salt stick because I think he knows. Steve’s not dressing up because he’s more focused on handing out candy as Captain America.

Tony is… Tony. Iron Man and all that.

Anyway, I’m out of town in DC for a meeting with the Secretary of State for a few days, but I’ll be back in New York on the 30th so I’ll have a few hours to adjust to being around James again before he dons on that outfit that I know will be totally hot.

He called me his best friend again in his latest email.

Made me smile like an idiot, but I digress.

Nov. 1/20

Dear Jane,

Halloween was killer. Sam and I won best duo for costumes because we’re that good. Ate a lot of candy and it seems to be looking up.

I dunno. I didn’t mind James and Girlfriend on the couch that much in the after-party. Mostly stuck by Nat and Sharon and Tony. An ood trio, but a fun one nonetheless.

It was fun, but I still have to go to work no matter how many jello shots and vodka gummy bears consumed.

Wish me luck, not that I need it.

Why do you think Tony hired me?

Nov. 4/20

Dear Jane.

Natasha said I smile at James in a way that utterly betrays every emotion I want to hide in my chest.

Note to self: Don’t smile at James, or at his jokes, or at anything he ever does again. Avoid him. Put a stopper on this friendship.

Note to note to self: I can’t. He just makes me smile whenever he’s around and he’s always around. There’s no simpler way to put it.

I’m gonna try this hiatus thing, though. Distance myself a bit. We’ll see how it goes.

Nov. 13/20

Dear Jane,

Day nine of this hiatus business and it sucks. I miss my best friend.

We’re scheduled for a mission together, and we’re leaving tomorrow so I was going to have to talk to him during the briefing and the op either way.

Well, glad to know this didn’t work.

Nov. 15/20

Dear Jane,

Guess who just got fucking shot!

ME!

Guess even scumbags can’t take a holiday because some stupid arms dealer got a cheap shot on me while I was downloading their whole computer system and other tech mumbo-jumbo I am too high to write about.

James left a few hours ago with the rest of the team, but not before he got me a bunch of ice chips and said he was worried and that he hopes I get better soon. He even promised to get me some flowers to spruce up the room and to say my HEART went CRAZY is an understatement.

He came to my rescue, essentially, as soon as he heard I got pinned. He carried me to the quinjet the instant he cleared the area and stayed by my side the whole time even though the bleeding stopped and I was in good hands. He was just so protective, barking at doctors and nurses. It was embarrassing but also really, really sweet.

Is it weird of me to say that I want him to stay by my side forever?

I’ve never fallen in love before.

Is it always this fast and this hard? I feel like I’m crashing instead of gently and wonderfully falling. Everything is dumb and awful.

Is this what love is like? Because it hurts worse than getting shot because I think I’m going to vomit flowers or butterflies or something.

God, he’d never love me. We’re just friends and even though we have a lot in common, he’d never. It’s just too much of the past in the present or whatever.

Also, he has a girlfriend but it seems very surface-level. God, that makes me sound like a “one of the boys” type of girl who’s a bitch to one of the boy’s new girlfriends, but I don’t know. James told me they don’t really talk about the deep stuff like we do. But she makes him happy, I think.

In hindsight, one may ask what the deep stuff is.

More on that later. I’m tired.

God, why him?

I HATE THIS.

goodnight.

Nov. 16/20

Dear Jane,

James visited again today. He sat beside me and we talked until the nurses had to kick him out. He also brought the flowers.

I asked about Girlfriend casually. I said I liked her.

He said he did, too.

I don’t know why I think he’s lying. No, I do.

It’s because jealousy is the green-eyed bitch from highschool who still shows up in my life because she thinks she’s relevant to society.

That was mean. Unrequited love makes you mean. Side effect noted.

P.S. The deep stuff includes his past, his arm, his memory, his favourite colour. I dunno why that matters. It just does.

Nov. 17/20

Dear Jane,

Got out of the hospital today because of advanced technology and all that. Nothing’s left but a scar and residual soreness. James helped me to my room and said to call him if I had a problem.

I joked that he has a girlfriend and for some reason, he got really weird about it. It’s hard to describe. I dunno. Nat dropped by for popcorn and movies.

It’s 2:32AM. I’m wondering if he’s in the kitchen but I’m confined to bed rest so I don’t know. Also, Nat is asleep beside me and I don’t want to bother her.

Hopefully I can get up and move in a few days. Life is boring.

Nov. 24/20

Dear Jane,

Sorry we haven’t caught up in a moment. Work’s been hectic and I’ve been working overtime trying to make ends meet. Most days I’m in the office or lab, just trying to get enough things done so I can take time off come Christmas.

James stopped by tonight with Chinese takeout and some sweet buns.

He broke up with his girlfriend, too.

Guess that’s why he was being weird about it.

I tried being as casual as I could asking why, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so I asked why he came by. Couldn’t be for the company because when I’m in work mode, I just don’t talk and he knows that.

He said something about his arm feeling funny so I gave it a quick diagnostics check.

I think both of us knew his arm was feeling fine.

Everything is stupid, life is meaningless, and James’ lips are the prettiest shade of pink in the ugly lights of the lab.

I would very much like to have kissed him, but I didn’t.

Girl code.

It’ll probably be a while before I get another chance to actually have time and energy to write another diary entry. Christmas season’s coming close and Pepper is gonna need help with the party.

Yay, me.

Dec. 4/20

Dear Jane,

Morgan asked me in less eloquent words if I had a boyfriend (it was more like “You boyfriend?” But whatever. Who even taught her that word?) and I swear to GOD Nat could not make it anymore obvious looking at James.

Remind me to absolutely throttle her. I don’t care if she’s the infamous Black Widow. She has clearly never seen me hopped up on nothing but a negative amount of sleep and rage/embarrassment/spite/all of the above.

On another note, Pep asked if I was bringing a plus one for the party. I said I’d think about it. Normally I’d just take Sam but he has his eyes on someone at the VA and I like my friends getting laid so no go there.

Might just go alone. I don’t know.

Pep said I should take James, but I don’t really think she knows the truth about that situation. Luckily, Tony instantly rejected the idea and said he’d find me a date if I couldn’t.

Thank the universe for at least placing me in the close circle of the most well-known and richest man in the world because he also gave me his card and said go wild.

He knows me so well. I’m thinking about Christmas shopping when I have another free day, and I’ll pay for that with my own money, of course, but clothes shopping is a free market.

I cannot wait.

Dec. 12/20

Dear Jane,

I wish I could show you my haul, but I got so much stuff Happy had to drive to help me. Besides obvious gifts, I also managed to snag a gorgeous dress for the party.

Thoughts on black and gold?

I think it’s beautiful. Hopefully Nat and Sharon think so. We’re having a girls night tonight and showing off outfits, so that’s exciting.

James asked if we could meet up tonight.

I told him I had plans and he looked so downcast.

I dunno. Everything feels weird between us. Like we’re fine, we’re best friends still, but something’s changed when no one was looking. He’s single now. I guess that energy is different because I had gotten used to his energy with ex-Girlfriend.

I don’t exactly mind but it’s not ideal either. I miss summer. It’s much less complicated than winter. Winter, one has to worry about wind and chills and snows blocking roads, black ice, dry skin, freezing fingers.

Summer: there’s just a lot of sun, wind, bugs, and the vaguest notion of being bored.

Look, I love winter. It’s my favourite season. It’s quiet and gorgeous and dreamy, even though it gets dreary in New York. The snow falls slowly sometimes, Christmas is gorgeous here, and I’d rather be cold than sweating buckets, and there are no bugs to bother me. Also, it gives me a good reason to stay in the labs or in my room where it’s warm and toasty.

I just miss the relative simplicity when James and I were just strangers on the edge of being friends, which is, in retrospect, a selfish reason to like one season and hate another.

Well, some philosopher somewhere probably said something about humanity being selfish.

Dec. 16/20

Dear Jane,

T-minus nine days until the party.

No date in sight.

Maybe I’ll ask Anderson from HR. We had coffee together a few times and he’s nice. Good catch: smart, not too bad looking, and really nice. I’ll head down tomorrow and ask.

Alpine had purred when I told him my plan and headbutted my hand, so I guess I got the Alpine-Seal-of-Approval.

Dec. 17/20

Dear Jane,

Operation: Ask Anderson from HR to Tony’s Christmas Party failed. Granted, it could’ve been because that was a god awful title and that that name, in itself, prophesied catastrophic failure, but also because I was accosted by my best friend.

I wish I meant Sam.

Nope. James caught me in the elevator and we made small talk. Sounds fine, right? Then we turned the topic to the party. Talked about clothes and prospective celebrity appearances and drinks and food. Just about everything, so might as well turn to talks about dates, which meant I had to explain why I was in the elevator in the first place.

Going down to ask Anderson ended in James revealing that he didn’t have a date either.

He doesn’t know who Anderson is, which I thought would be the case, and he popped the question before the doors opened.

Notice how I said “didn't” have a date.

Guess who’s going to the party with James, clearly stated as friends, platonic soulmates, etc.?

Me.

Yippee.

Dec. 18/20

Dear Jane,

It’s 3:42AM and I’m in the rec room as usual. I was gonna not write here today but it normally helps me sleep to just write a bit, get what little thoughts are in my head out. Yeah.

I hear James in the kitchen talking to Alpine and it’s making me smile like an idiot.

Oh, shit, he knows I’m in here. He’s making milkshakes.

I am morally obligated by best friend duties to join him.

Goodnight, Jane.

Dec. 24/20

Dear Jane,

I’m not sleeping with James Buchanan Barnes tomorrow night.

This is a resolute promise. An early New Year’s resolution.

Dec. 25/20

Dear Jane,

Merry Christmas!

In between jovial festivities, I’ve finally found a little nook that’s quiet enough to write in. We opened presents, had a big family breakfast, went skating and just lounged around, and frankly, I’m exhausted. Need to recharge the old social battery.

Among the assortment of gifts is one that stands out to me. James got me a gift that said “Open When Alone” and I did before I started this entry and it was a fucking necklace. Like, a gorgeous one. It’s gold and thin and it feels wonderful. There’s a little cat paw charm on it and it’s so pretty because he has a matching bracelet for himself and I have still not yet recovered.

It’s just so sweet and it reminds me why I love him.

Yes, love has made me unbelievably sappy. I just heaved the biggest sigh in history.

Unfortunately, I have to go earlier tonight. To the party, as written in previous entries. I remember my oath of one-night celibacy and I intend on keeping it, despite how fucking endearing this gift was, because he said it best: we’re just friends. I’m not about to coerce my best friend into sleeping with me out of a piteous, unrequited love. That’s just gross.

You will either see me hungover tomorrow, or very drunk later tonight. It’s all very depending on how this night turns out.

Dec. 26/20

Dear Jane,

Fuck.

P.S. He REALLY does not mind me calling him James. Take that as dirtily or as clandestinely as you wish.

Dec. 27/20

Dear Jane,

I spent the entire day in bed with very pleasurable company.

I am SO GLAD we haven’t gotten called in because James doesn’t leave unless to go to sleep in his own bed or to eat, and I do NOT want to explain to the team that James fucked my brains out for two days straight because my heart is bursting.

He’s a good kisser. His lips are soft.

Intimate knowledge of that is now burned into my memory for future reference.

God, this is a dream come true. He doesn’t even question it, he just

It’s like I’m a goddess to him. He treats me like one, at least, and it’s like he’ll do anything I ask. And we act like it’s normal, too. Midnight trips to the kitchen included.

Best Christmas ever.

Dec. 28/20

Dear Jane,

I feel like I’m ignoring you but I’m also having the best sex of my life. He’s just… so fucking good and it’s a holiday and holy shit my mind is blown.

Love at first meeting isn’t real.

Well, maybe this one time, it was destiny.

Dec. 29/20

Dear Jane,

It isn’t just the sex, you know? It’s the pillowtalk, too. He just makes me laugh so much and everything is so easy between us and it feels real. Popcorn and chips in bed, some mojitos, just each other’s presence. It’s enough like that, you know?

Some quote about how the one you love should be both your lover and your best friend is in my head but I’m too lazy to look it up. James’ head is in my lap and he’s just reading while I’m writing and everything seems perfect.

He doesn’t ask what I’m writing because he knows it’s private and I trust him.

This is perfect.

I think I really am IN love with him.

Jan. 1/21

You know that cliché/tradition of New Year’s kisses?

WELL THEN.

Best (and worst) New Year’s ever. I’ll explain more later. I’m too tired and too angry and also sore and bruised.

See you when I’m not hungover.

Jan. 5/21

Dear Jane,

I’m finally stable enough to write.

In a crazy turn of events, Barnes and I got into a fight because of what happened after New Year’s Day’s events: I caught him leaving before I woke up and at first, curious questions ensued, and it wasn’t a fight but then it became one and I don’t even know how it happened. I wasn’t even mad. He just started being weird and I got annoyed and we tried and failed to keep our voices down. Luckily, my room is pretty soundproof.

Things just got out of hand and I feel like tearing my hair out. I wanna storm up to him and just yell some more.

Tony came into my room and didn’t say shit about my hickies and the fact that James is avoiding me like the plague. He gave me a really good hug, though and then gave me a few weeks off extra. I don’t know how he knows, but then again, it’s Tony.

He just said love’s tough sometimes.

Yeah, tell me about it.

I’m thinking about just taking a long vacation and disappearing. It seems like a good route to take at this point.

Jan. 6/21

Dear Jane,

James is looking at me right now as I write this. I wonder if I should look back or if he’s going to come up to me. We’ll see.

I’m only writing this so it seems like I’m busy. I’m running out of things to say, honestly. Can he just go? What’s the point in staring like that? What’s the point?

I could ask myself the same question. What’s the point in loving someone who’ll never love you? Yeah, he’s sleeping with me but he pulls away every time I try to do something more. Outside the bubble of my room and the small time frame of post-11PM to around 4:45AM, he acts like he’s allergic to intimacy.

It was never like that with ex-Girlfriend.

Maybe it’s something to do with me.

I don’t know, but he keeps looking and I want to get up and leave, but I won’t. I’m not gonna let him win.

Jan. 6/21

He didn’t. He just went out. Sam and Steve asked if I was okay because as soon as he left, I got up for the bathroom and screamed into a towel.

I don’t think either of them knows what’s going on, but they have a notion.

Jan. 9/21

Dear Jane,

He apologized. Still no explanation as to why, but it feels weird.

I told him I’m going on a vacation to Switzerland. Go skiing or something and asked if he wanted to come.

It was stupid to ask, but he said yes.

Shit.

Jan. 14/21

Dear Jane,

Switzerland is lovely.

No work is relaxing. Awkwardness between me and the other traveller on this vacation. Weather’s supposed to be nice when we get there. Sunny snow days, pretty mountains, other Swiss things.

No other comment.

Jan. 21/21

Dear Jane,

I lasted all of a week.

Yep, I slept with him again, and yes, he was back in his hotel bed come sunrise.

I dunno. I’m over it. We don’t apologize and hope everything gets back to normal because neither of us want to say anything to ruin it any further and we both have a major fear of the complicated. To be fair, he said he didn’t want to sleep with me if I was completely against it.

Also, I tried calling him Bucky at dinner like ex-Girlfriend (and everyone else) does and he made the most disgusted face.

He said, and I quote, “Bucky? When did I stop being James?”

I told him I was trying something out and he said it failed. Snarky bastard.

I guess if he’s still James, that must mean I’m still special.

That’s the Tony-inherited ego talking.

But it does make me exceptionally happy to play with the idea that I’m special to him. Best friend with convoluted benefits. Sounds like the title of a very long-winded self-help book that doesn’t really help much but that does sound like the story of my life so I can’t complain too much.

We’re going home in a few days.

I’ll probably sleep with him again. Bet Steve’s shield that I do.

Jan. 24/21

Dear Jane,

I get three Steve’s shields because I was right every single fucking day.

He’s like a habit I can’t quite kick and don’t really want to.

We snuggled afterwards last night. His arm was around my shoulders, we were naked, I was resting my head on his chest. For a moment, it felt like something couples do and then I fell asleep and woke up alone.

Quantum physics is easier to understand than this but I think we’re being mutually exclusive right now, so it’s almost dating.

I dunno. I don’t mind it anymore. It’s better than nothing.

Feb. 2/21

Dear Jane,

I’m absolutely miserable.

I’m still getting laid, but that’s not related. Correlation and causation or something.

Why is New York so dreary and when can everything just stop?

I don’t know. Winter is ending and now it’s in that awful transition phase between seasons and it’s mucky and rainy and disgusting. Tony got these limited edition ice cream flavours though so I’m gonna ask James if we can make milkshakes out of them or something.

He doesn’t like the muck either. That’s not really relevant, I guess.

Feb. 14/21

Dear Jane,

I got flowers and chocolate from the department because I think they can sense I’ve been in a bad mood since forever. Then, there was an anonymous delivery and inside was this gorgeous chain bracelet that matches the necklace sort of. I lied and told the department it was from Pepper.

What a wretched holiday.

Yours truly.

Feb. 18/21

Dear Jane,

Normally, when boys get their haircut, they look ugly for a day or two after.

Not James.

He got his hair cut shorter and he looks really good. Like unbelievably good. Short hair fits him just as much as long hair does.

No other observations.

Feb. 25/21

Dear Jane,

It was Morgan’s birthday party today. James came in one of those brown jackets with the sheepskin wool inside and he looked so good. We mainly stayed apart to prevent any dalliance because one does not disappear from the Madame Secretary’s birthday party and the team doesn’t really know what’s happening behind the scenes except for Nat and Tony, really.

I really wanted to kiss him in front of our friends. I caught him staring a few times, and every time, the smile seemed to vanish off his face.

I’m lying in bed and it feels pretty empty.

It occurs to me that I’ve been in love for a pretty long time and I’m not even in a relationship with the guy.

Energy could’ve been devoted to so many other things and I’d hate being in love if it weren’t for the fact that it’s James.

Again, love making me sappy and all that.

Feb. 28/21

Dear Jane,

Jane is such a common name. Some would call it plain yet it means gift from God.

I wonder if James knew that.

Mar. 10/21

Dear Jane,

It’s James’ birthday. Birthday sex is a requirement and a desire. I also got him a gift which is a pair of new black Timbs. I hope he likes them. I’m excited for cake, I guess. Morgan did my makeup but I’m gonna have to wipe it off for the small little party tonight.

I think, ordinarily, I’d be in knots because it’s James’ birthday and I love him and he’s my best friend, but I just don’t know. March is fairly boring and contemplative and rainy. Work is work. Helen Cho did a presentation on her Cradle technology. Very cool.

Mar. 20/21

Dear Jane,

It’s raining and doesn’t feel like spring. Alpine vomited on my bed a few days ago because he’s not feeling well. James and I took him to the vet and he’s on antibiotics. Poor boy. He’s sleeping in the corner of my room right now while James is away on a mission. I think I’ll just work from my room for a bit until he’s feeling better.

Nothing much to report, which is why I didn’t write anything. The month passed by too quickly. James should be back by the end of the month. I miss him and not because of the sex. No one else who doesn’t work for me or pays me listens to me ramble on their own free will. Talking to screens just isn’t the same.

April 1/21

James got back really early this morning and I, by tradition, was awake. I sort of wish I wasn’t though. In true April Fool’s tradition, I made fun of him for being a day late to which he genuinely apologized. I told him to shower and get to sleep but he was in that mood where you’re so exhausted you’re wide awake.

James suggested we make really strong cocktails for each other as a celebration for an extraction mission completed successfully.

Who am I to say no to celebrating?

He really likes grapefruit juice so I made a REALLY strong Grapefruit Paloma. He made this really interesting drink that was purple and tasted like oranges and cranberries. A lot of blue curacao was in it so it was pretty bitter but it hit like a fucking truck which is probably why I didn’t understand anything he said at first.

He told me he loved me.

I think, somehow, he managed to get drunk after the Grapefruit Paloma and two more bottles of vodka. Don’t ask me how because Steve NEVER gets drunk. Maybe HYDRA-brand serum is faulty? I don’t know.

I asked if he knew what date it was. He laughed really loudly, said no, realized, stuttered apologies and then said it again.

It was the most perfect sound in the world and it was the best moment in recent history.

Or, the sickest practical joke.

Consensus not yet reached.

April 2/21

Dear Jane,

I asked if he remembered what happened yesterday morning.

He did not.

Sickest practical joke confirmed.

April 9/21

Dear Jane,

I’ve been avoiding writing because I’ve felt a whole lot of nothing. Everything is abysmal and James’ confession is all I can think about. Tony’s on my ass about slipping and he has half the mind to put me on paid leave until I get my shit together, both as the head of the department and as an agent.

Drunk words are sober thoughts, all that garbage.

I wish I could live my whole life drunk and honest. Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this situation where I’m stuck in eternal limbo with my best friend whom I’m in love with. Minus the drunk part.

Duty demands I return to this weathered journal until it’s finished so we’ll see. I might be back this month. Maybe not.

May 1/21

Dear Jane,

It rained a lot in April so now the flowers are blooming early. April showers bring May flowers. Guess it has some merit to it.

Limbo sucks. Its inescapable nature, its terrible facade of everything seeming fine when it really isn’t.

Of course, James still makes me smile, but nothing seems really okay when I let myself stop for a second.

I’m going out with Steve to a charity thing tomorrow. Should be a few hours worth of not thinking and free booze. Oh, and James and I made out in one of the quinjets after dinner today.

Felt weird considering we aren’t a couple, but it happened spontaneously as that is the nature of our relationship, it appears.

The cause also happens to be the cure of melancholy. Weird.

May 6/21

Dear Jane,

For context, it’s 5:23AM.

Went for a walk in Madison Square and then Central Park with James yesterday, although in my head it’s still today. We met up with Nat for some training at the gym. Got a bit mobbed by fans and the paps who asked if we were dating like we’re the tabloid’s biggest scoop.

We weren’t even holding hands, but I guess it’s just another reason why we shouldn’t be TOGETHER together in public.

We had another deep stuff talk again in bed after the usual business. I wanted to ask what this is between us and if he’s pursuing other options, because I’m not and I wanted to know if I should, but I also didn’t want to ruin the vibe.

He was in a good mood today, and seeing as sometimes he has nightmares, I thought it was best I don’t ruin it. He thinks I don’t notice but how do I not notice? He’s my best friend.

I kissed his cheek when he got up to leave and he kissed me goodbye on the lips.

I guess that means something.

May 17/21

Dear Jane,

In a moment of complete boredom, I listened to Imagine Dragons’ new album. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest, but Sharon thought it could’ve been better. Whatever.

May 22/21

Dear Jane,

Ran into ex-Girlfriend today. She still has that whole sunshine thing going on still. We had coffee and she asked if I got together with James yet.

I choked on my coffee and nearly died on the spot.

That’s how I learned that James apparently broke it off softly and ex-Girlfriend had, very wisely and knowingly, said that he should chase the apple of his eye before I (the apple) rotted alone and forgotten at the trunk of the tree. Or, as any sane person would say (and ex-Girlfriend DID say), get picked from the tree by another hand.

She said it was quite obvious that I was in love with James even months ago. She also thanked me for being so nice, anyway, and that it must’ve been difficult. What a fucking SAINT.

I set her up with a date with Steve because they have the same energy, honestly, and that’s going down on the 26th barring any emergencies.

Call me Cupid, but I think I just constructed the perfect match made in heaven.

Mentioned this meeting to James minus the apple detail. He asked if she was doing okay, which she was, and seemed glad for that. Between kisses and his sneaking hand beneath the covers, he also asked if there was anything else. Not really much to say on that front.

June 3/21

Dear Jane,

It’s starting to dry up consistently, now. It’s getting warmer, too. Sam brought me flowers and told me to at least turn the air-con on if I was gonna be stuck in the lab all day. Oh, the simplicities of summer are hopefully returning. Got out early and hung out with Morgan at the park in the evening.

It’s nice to hang out with someone so blissfully unaware with the stupidity of love. All Morgan cares about is grass and buttercups she grabs from the ground. She doesn’t have to worry about how to tell the guy she’s in love with that she loves him.

Oh, didn’t you hear? Nat said I should just buck the fuck up and tell him.

And Nat is scary when not listened to.

Much to brainstorm about.

June 14/21

Dear Jane,

Just here to brainstorm some ideas for future Stark Industries projects and thought I’d preface it with a small diary entry. Nothing really happened. Work’s catching up for some reason and bad guys are acting up. I’ve pulled a few all nighters, not gonna lie.

Really tired, but in a good, productive way. Haven’t thought much on the James front. Gonna have to focus on that after everything calms down.

June 20/21

Dear Jane,

It’s officially summer and yet today was awful with only subtle hints of being okay.

So much for simplicity.

In the evening, I read on the hammock on the balcony. No one really bothered me except James, but he’s never a bother.

Steve and ex-Girlfriend (who will now be reidentified as Girlfriend) are pretty cute, and she meshes well with the group. There’s nothing really awkward between her, James, or me, so I guess two people’s summers are going well. Bully for them.

Didn’t really eat. Was too busy working. James got me dinner. Didn’t feel right and just kept working. This whole agreement between us has been very flexible but we really need to fit in a session soon.

I’ll make it work somehow.

June 22/21

Dear Jane,

I got my wish and didn’t at the same time. We spent the whole day in the sheets (very blissfully relaxing) and I, stupidly and with very little sleep, let it slip.

In less elegant terms, I told him I loved him. It felt very real and genuine and very-out-of-a-movie, but his reaction was less so.

What did I say? Allergic to intimacy.

He tried to play it off as best friends and even that was uncomfortable, but I, very seriously and very foolishly, corrected him that “no, James Buchanan Barnes, I am IN LOVE with you.”

He left a few minutes ago, saying something about heading down to the gym, but I know he’s just trying to avoid me.

God, how am I so stupid?

June 25/21

Dear Jane,

I haven’t seen James in a few days. I thought he was avoiding me but turns out he’s out of the country. Something about protection for whatever dignitary is travelling at the end of the month. I don’t know.

I wasn’t assigned to that op so the details weren’t shared liberally. Sam just said it’d be a while during the ambassador’s entire stay. High threat level which is why the Avengers were contracted.

I just hope he stays safe. I know he probably took off to take his mind off things, but I don’t know how he’s focusing when all I can think of is those three little words.

I love you.

Seems so fake the more I hear it in my head, but his reaction was so real that I think I might’ve just irreversibly messed things up.

July 12/21

Dear Jane,

It’s been a hectic couple of weeks. If future me finds this with blotted words, it’s because I am indeed crying while writing this.

James was medically evac’ed last night and transferred back to New York. Helen Cho was flown in from her medical conference in Minnesota where she was showcasing the newest version of the Cradle.

There was an assasination attempt and James is fucked up bad.

Holy shit, I’m so scared. I’ve never been so scared in my life. It’s like an invisible demon has my heart in his claw-like hands and he’s squeezing with all his might. I think my heart might explode.

I just want to hold his hand but he’s so high risk no one’s allowed to see him right now.

The waiting room is too quiet. Steve’s holding on to Girlfriend’s hand so hard I think her bones are broken but she’s taking it like a champ. Nat’s pacing, slowly patting a sleeping Morgan who she’s carrying. Sam and Tony are talking about stuff.

It’s too quiet.

I’m so scared.

July 13/21

They got him into the Cradle. Thank God. I think I might cry some more out of relief, but he was conscious for a few minutes earlier and he’s stable now.

It’s really late at night but they extended privileges to me to stay with him so I’m just sitting here, writing. Listening to the Cradle do its thing and the monitors do theirs.

When he was conscious, I was with him. He said some stuff under his breath but the one thing I could make out was “I’m an idiot.”

Granted, he’s right. It was supposed to be Steve or Tony on that mission. You know, people with more defense op experience, but he had to go out and volunteer himself.

I feel sort of guilty.

It’s partially my fault, isn’t it?

I think I’ll try to tuck in for tonight. I wanna be awake when he wakes up, too.

July 14/21

Dear Jane,

James woke up today. He’s still in the Cradle (lots of internal damage spread throughout the body) but he’s conscious. He saw me and immediately tried to sit up which was sweet, but when he couldn’t, he just told me to come closer and then told me that he loved me.

I called him an idiot for running away. I told him he really scared me. I told him that I loved him so fucking much. I told him that I feel so guilty and he just held my face and said that it will never be my fault.

He’s so fucking romantic, even when he’s lying down with a wound being stitched closed live in front of my eyes.

Oh, and he kissed me. I don’t think I noticed how much I actually missed him until that moment.

I don’t know how to describe the feeling in my chest. It’s a mixture between super happy and super scared and super, super warm inside. Summer might be looking up.

July 18/21

Dear Jane,

We got home today. James is staying in my room. The team doesn’t say anything about it. We’re best friends, after all, but I think they’ve known for a long time that there’s something more. Some of them are just too polite to say so.

I won’t have much time to write over the next couple of days. James has to be kept on a strict, extremely healthy diet and medicine regime.

I don’t care. I’m just glad he’s home.

He’s kissing me a lot more, now. Alpine likes the fact that his two humans are now in the same room. He purrs so loudly, I can hear him from where he’s dozing, curled up underneath James’ chin. He (James) is resting after his second round of antibiotics for the day while I work from my room, and sometimes I catch myself looking back just to make sure he’s okay.

I’m going to go kiss him now.

Be right back.

July 21/21

Dear Jane,

It’s almost Nat’s birthday (the 26th). Super exciting. James is back on solids and I’m helping him around with walking. Even with the Cradle and the healing factor, he’s still super banged up, so it’s better safe than sorry.

We had a really long talk about love and stuff. It’s good to finally have it out in the open. It was mostly me talking about my side of things and he just nodded a lot. I know he was listening though.

We also kissed a lot, like seventeen year old couples who are heavy on the PDA, but within the privacy of my room. I dunno. I like the heat of his arms and the way he kisses the shell of my ear when he’s bored or it’s a commercial break.

It feels very natural.

I am very much in love with him.

I tell him that and he always looks skeptical, but whatever. He doesn’t have to say it back (I tell him that there’s no pressure) and he’ll get it through his thick skull eventually that he’s now stuck with me.

July 25/21

Dear Jane,

We made cookies in the early AM as tradition for the party tomorrow and I told him that I love him (again, but this time he didn’t run, nor has he the past few times. Fantastic).

While the cookies were baking, he explained everything on his side of the story: how he was scared to be vulnerable, how opening up to me is just different and new and scary and I get it. I really do. I know how it feels to think you don’t deserve good things and sabotage feels like the only way to save everyone from hurt.

He smiled a lot more after that. I guess he’s just glad I get it.

One day, I’ll successfully convince James that he deserves everything good this world has to offer.

Until then, I’ll just keep trying.

P.S. He said, with less hesitation than the first time, that he loves me, too. Best. Day. Ever.

P.P.S. The cookies are so good and I want to devour them all. I could barely stop James from eating all of them. Again: Best. Day. Ever.

July 26/21

Dear Jane,

In summary of today:

Happy birthday, Natasha.

James has been given the clear bill of health which is exciting. Also, I asked him about the Jane and gift of God thing.

He knew. “Intuition” and all that. He also said I looked “like a royal dame” in my swimsuit. Smug idiot just trying to be charming.

I love him and that’s the only reason it works.

Back to the festivities.

July 27/21

Dear Jane,

Good morning to you and to James who’s still in my bed at a ripe 6:23AM, fast asleep.

Progress. Now, back to sleep.

July 27/21

Dear Jane,

It’s now 9:49AM and James greeted me with orange juice and waffles. He said I was cute when I slept. Creep.

He also said he tried so many times to stay in my bed after, before we were like we are now, but he never could, and now he’s upset that he missed out on my cute sleeping/waking up for the day face every time he did so.

He is exceptionally cute when he’s pouting.

I think we’re officially boyfriend-girlfriend, but we’ll work out the semantics on that later. For now, it’s another summer day together. He suggested Chinese takeout for dinner because I have to go dip back into the lab later today to check on some samples.

I agreed and he kissed me in promise like it was our “thing.” I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.

Massive progress.

July 28/21

Dear Jane,

He told me I was the only one for him.

Also, he kissed me in front of our friends for the first time. Natasha yelled “FINALLY” and pushed us into the pool. Sam laughed and then I grabbed him and threw him into the pool. Ensuing: a water fight for the ages.

For a day: 10/10

July 31/21

Hey Jane,

I think I’m happy.

I’m sorry I ever doubted the effects of writing down my feelings.

James has a romantic trip to uptown planned for our first date and he said it’ll take the whole day so I thought I’d get this entry in the morning. I dunno. It’s really early and the happy thought was the first thing that came to my head.

Weird, but it’s a good weird.

See you in a bit.

517 notes · View notes

takuyakistall · 3 years

Text

I recently re-read his Dorm SSR personal story here! A few questions and thoughts lingered inside my head as I read it and it collectively got worse when @poisonepel started questioning things too. Which ultimately led to me writing this down while running on half a brain cell and a spoonful of rice for lunch. This isn’t necessarily an analysis but more of just me questioning a lot of stuff. I already pointed out things that are already obvious so it might get repetitive. Placed under the cut since it’s a bit lengthy! I tried my best to be coherent in the very least.

Rook’s Nickname for Jade - Rook calls Jade “Monsieur Mastermind” and perhaps you’re already telling me right now that I shouldn’t look deeper into this since it doesn’t look like it matters anyway but let me tell you right now that I tend to overanalyze things when it comes to Jade. I find it a bit odd how Rook calls Jade the mastermind, presuming that we’re talking about the Octavinelle trio, when it’s often Azul that’s shown to be as such. Of course, it’s been revealed that Rook analyzes or stalks nearly everything that happens to catch his interest (Jade’s Gym Personal). So it’s safe to presume that his judgement is, if not entirely correct, accurate. “Your staple food, your habits, your walking speed, when you sleep, your heart rate, how many times you blink… those and many others I have recorded perfectly.” Just by reading this line alone I became pretty sure that he observed something deeper than that--which is his personality.

The question is, why is Jade the mastermind instead of Azul? Why is Azul’s nickname “Roi du Fort” instead of being the mastermind? Well, it might be common knowledge but Jade, in a way, controls Azul despite what it looks like to the public which is Azul controlling Jade since he, as the higher authority, has power over him. I read a popular post explaining why Jade probably undertakes the role of a servant rather than taking the position for himself knowing that he has the full capabilities to do so. This will be explained further later in a different note.

What I’m trying to imply is that behind the scenes, Azul isn’t really the mastermind behind everything despite what it seems. It’s Jade who’s really in control of things, by picking up the act of a servant or butler.

“If the entire hierarchy collapses just due to the absence of a single person, then that proves that they aren’t all as great as they seem.” - I just had the need to point this particular line out since it just seemed so… Jade. Everything about this line just screams out the same vibes he radiates, cold and severe. I know he’s faking the whole thing about having a falling out with Azul and wanting to join Pomefiore but I think it is true that without him, Octavinelle won’t nearly be as great from when he was still there.

First of all, He’s Octavinelle’s vice-dorm leader. Surely, being in such a high position, he carries a lot of duties that only he can do as the acting vice leader. There’s also the fact that he does it superbly than other people which is why Octavinelle is the way it is right now, it would be hard to replace him. They would have to look for someone who’s on par with Jade, in the very least.

Secondly, he’s somewhat an emotional pillar to Azul. Judging from their childhood and current relationship as of now, I like to think that a big reason why Azul is the way he is right now, is because of Jade and Floyd acting as his emotional support or whatever even though they insist that their relationship is purely just for business and will drop it if it’s no longer beneficiary to them. The main reason why I think that way is because of the Octavinelle CM which has a scene of Azul holding a bubble in between his hands. Inside the bubble were the twins in their eel forms. The next thing that happened--the bubble popped and disappeared, along with the tweels inside it. We could see the horror on Azul’s face when it happened in that scene and slowly led to the overblot scene which says a lot about how Azul views the twins. Have a more detailed explanation regarding their relationship here! Summary, Azul will lose his shit if Jade were to disappear. Now, where is Octavinelle in all of this? Probably a mess in the corner right there with their dorm leader not in his right state of mind. In short, Octavinelle will probably crumble under the absence of Jade. The reason why Octavinelle is still functioning under Azul’s command during this whole stunt Jade is making is precisely because Azul knew that it was all an act.

"Jade’s excellence in everything he does is renowned even among the Dorm Leaders. He might be a super secretary or something to be able to answer Azul's difficult requests." - Vil's words to Rook during their little talk about letting Jade into Pomefiore. This stuck out to me because back then I didn't really give this much thought but now that I'm re-reading this, it makes me wonder how good is Jade at his job as a Vice Dorm Leader? These words coming from Vil hold a certain weight I can't describe, for him to say that his excellence is renowned even among the Dorm Leaders and to be described as a Super Secretary.

For Jade to have earned this kind of reputation despite being in the land for only two years so far is quite a feat! I would've expected less from someone else but this is Jade we're talking about so, ignoring his terrible weakness in flying, I can assume that Jade worked hard for him to have reached this kind of performance level in such a short time. To be recognized by almost all of the Dorm Leaders isn't an easy feat.

Jade as an attendant - During his first day as Vil's attendant, Vil mentioned how off-putting he is from the fact that Jade was almost too good for someone on their first day. "You managed to get on such friendly terms with the stuffy and straight-laced people of the industry in such little time; and you were also perfect when it came to helping out with the shooting. You've worked much harder than I thought you would." His words. I think this is due to the nature of Jade's silver tongue, which is being able to speak in a way that makes other people do or believe what you want them to do or believe. It seems very fitting for a character like Jade.

Because of the recent personals that got released for Jade, namely the Birthday SSR, they talked about family there and it got me thinking quite a bit as to how Jade can speak so eloquently especially now that I've read that he managed to get on the good side of people who are probably way older than he is and straight-laced, no less. He vaguely mentioned their family background when he was telling a story from his childhood and said how different people would come over to their party and offer them presents. I'm assuming that these people are possibly older than he is, judging from the fact that one of them attempted to give the twins liquor despite them being at a young age, and I thought that maybe Jade grew up used to being surrounded by adults to the point where he picks up a lot of speech patterns and habits. Which inevitably leads to what he is right now. Nothing is confirmed yet, this is a mere thought I had.

Jade's past with Azul - It's briefly mentioned here in the story. Jade mentioned how there weren't as many mer-folk as there are humans so they were all basically put in the same class together during elementary school. Azul didn't catch his interest back then, it seems. He mentioned not being able to remember the very reason why the three of them—Jade, Floyd, and Azul—ended up together currently in Night Raven College.

I am genuinely curious as to what actually made the twins interested in someone like Azul. Correct me if I'm wrong but they did mention it in Chapter 3, right? Was it the growing interest when they finally took notice of Azul using his unique magic on basically everyone who fell into his trap? Someone tell me the details if it was ever mentioned, my memory is failing me.

“Tenebres” - The shoe brand Vil wanted to get his hands on but unfortunately did not obtain, particularly, the Mirror Shoe. "Tenebres" apparently only sells their products to people who they deem worthy for designs, even the designer themselves has yet to make a public appearance as they are shrouded in mystery. Vil didn't have enough time to acquire it but, surprise! Jade Leech has somehow managed to get his perfect hands on the pair of red shoes Vil wanted so much. Frankly enough, Vil was impressed he managed to obtain something he could not—alone, no less.

This is just me pondering but this particular line made me wonder, "Heh, they did some at the cost of a bit of trouble. No matter, how about you try these on instead of dwelling on the matter?", to what lengths did he actually have to go through to obtain just a pair of shoes? Or rather, what connections does he have to be able to obtain this so easily and brush it off with a mere, "cost of a bit of trouble" when clearly Vil already expressed the difficulty in obtaining these?

Another note I have to make but not completely sure if it's relevant is his family. As I've said before, they mentioned that they deal with a lot of people due to the nature of their business and that made me wonder if the designer/owner of this certain shoe brand is one of them? Perhaps Jade was able to easily contact them because of connections his family has although Floyd's wish in the event Stars & Wishes contradicts this possibility.

In Floyd's wish, he mentioned wanting a pair of shoes and Idia immediately asked him why he couldn't just buy them. Floyd answered with a simple, "I can't usually get them." Because of the price. Which, again, contradicts my theory about the Leech family being connected to the shoe brand. Although! Vil did mention how the shoe brand only sells it to people they deem worthy. Perhaps, Floyd isn't…? No—it still wouldn't explain how easily Jade got the shoes and had the brand get Vil a job there as an ambassador. Surely, that isn't due to just any normal connections anymore. Definitely shady, I want to know more.

Jade is in control - As I've said earlier, Jade is somewhat in control despite playing the role of a servant. Prime example is when Vil told him his throat was parched, Jade immediately acted upon it fully knowing what his original intentions were. He gave Vil a drink that the Mostro Lounge was apparently serving without having Vil question it further and even went as far as to let Jade take a picture and post it—even he decided the caption for the post! With a simple flow of events just like that, Jade has managed to manipulate Vil without him knowing. He did it all while taking in the role of a servant and that in itself says a lot about how he does things

I think it's worth it to take note of the fact that Jade does not like bringing attention to himself and merely brushes it off as mere shyness of some sorts when really, all he wants to do is lay low and draw as little attention to himself. It makes his job easier that way—perhaps that's the reason why he lets Azul take the spotlight all the damn time.

Another thing to take note of is something I saw from a post in Tumblr which basically sums up the whole reason why Jade is always adopting the butler persona wherever he goes. It's because he likes to be in control that way—you'd let down your guard around him and let him serve you. You want a drink? He'll serve you a drink but-! He is in control over what you will get. That's exactly what happened in this exact scene, Vil waltzed right into the center of Jade's palms.

Vil never noticed - I'm not saying Vil is dumb, because he is most definitely not. Although through the very end, I don't know if it's just because Vil got carried away with the feeling of achievement taking over him due to recent events but he did just brush away the reason why Jade was in Pomefiore in the first place and let him go away peacefully, "So long as he doesn't bare his fangs at us." In other words, Jade managed to outsmart Vil and possibly, Rook.

This is probably one of the reasons why I am confident enough to say that Jade truly is one of the most cunning bitches in the entire game because this whole ordeal just pretty much proved it.

Aftermath - There we go! We got an explanation about how Jade managed to manipulate and use Vil for his own gains err, in this context, probably Azul's. When Jade took a picture of Vil with the drink and posted it, he did it with the intention of taking advantage of Vil's popularity and viewer reach. Jade expressed his thankfulness when he mentioned how Vil saw him as "useful" perhaps his reputation prior helped him reach his goal?

Azul praised Jade with something along the lines of "As expected of you, Jade. You're the best Night Raven's College has to offer when it comes to sneaking into another's pockets after all." Which really just backs up some of the statements I made earlier about how Jade manipulates people by letting people let their guard down around him while thinking they're the ones who have power over Jade when clearly it's not as simple as it seems. Azul mentioning that only Jade could pull off something like this just puts me off for some reason but I'll leave it be for the time being.

After that, Jade and Azul had a conversation that started with Azul asking him if he had any difficulties during his stay in Pomefiore and if he had any troubles keeping up with Vil. Jade, jokingly(?), responded that it was nothing compared to Azul's demands and orders and his time at Pomefiore was actually a vacation of some sorts for him. Which really makes me wonder what jobs does Azul usually give him if this one was somewhat of a break for Jade? A task that seemed impossible to Floyd, Jade said it was a vacation. It's a bit frightening but I guess that's his charm? Hard-working is one way to put it.

That's the end of my Dorm SSR mini-analysis, I guess! Thank you for sticking with me till the end even though a lot of these might be repetitive. I'll probably add more depending on future brainrot but for now, this is fine. Feel free to tell me what you think about this!

#twst #twisted wonderland #jade #twst jade #jade leech #twisted wonderland jade #vil schoenheight #i mean #he appears in the story #twst theory #not really a theory but eh. . ..

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supertunanana · 3 years

Note

Saw this in the Jikook tag and thought I'd add what I have seen. What I've seen isn't that people think they're fighting or broken up even though I'm sure there's a lot of that going on but for some they now believe Jikook were never a couple and are just close friends and they feel foolish for buying into blogs that have their own theories that Jimin and Jungkook are an actual romantic couple. Not entirely sure why this NY trip and middle half of 2021 in general have people changing their minds but I guess only they know. It happens every so often but this time I've seen people make permanent changes to their accounts whether it's on here or another sm platform. I just know some are comparing those blogs to the one who shall not be named in the other toxic shipper base. It's not that they see Jikooker blogs as toxic and horrible as that other person but that these Jikook blogs offer their own brand of manipulation only this time using facts instead of lies. No idea if that made any sense lmao How do I put it? Like taking events that have happened and making them out to be a bigger deal than they actually are which in turn gets other people to go "Really? I didn't see it that way but these people are older and wiser and maybe see things clearer than I do" then gifs or clips are usually provided and it all becomes pretty convincing. The thing is no one knows if they're a couple. Could they be? Yeah sure. Could they just be close friends with their own set of personal boundaries? Absolutely. When someone tries to offer up that suggestion to many Jikook blogs, they don't want to discuss that most of the time. Personally I've seen anons suggest a close friendship and are met with comments that that anon must not be experienced enough or anyone who can't see that Jimin and Jungkook are in a relationship must be blind or are choosing to ignore what's right in front of them. That's messed up. That's acting as if the opinion that they're dating is no longer just an opinion. I can see how that can be a mild form of toxicity in itself. Nobody has the right to belittle somebody because they share a different opinion. Even after this NY trip, I've seen many Jikook blogs erupt in anger, calling anons stupid and ridiculous for having doubts or changing their minds and coming to their own conclusions that Jikook aren't a couple but close friends. It's odd to see "Why does no longer car sharing convince you they're not dating?" When actually we've never known if they are to begin with so someone changing their minds over something that's never been confirmed in the first place isn't a problem or "stupid". Maybe the reasons for changing their minds might seem a bit hasty but they're still allowed to change their minds. So yeah I see people are feeling foolish for believing these blogs who hold the opinion they're dating and I think in time the negative feelings will fade away and I have already seen some move on from those types of Jikook blogs and make changes. Perhaps they'll be able to enjoy BTS content without worrying about Jikook's status? As for me, I've never believed they were a romantic couple to begin with but their relationship whatever it is in reality has me aww'ing so that's why I follow Jikook tag. Their interactions are very cute. Sorry for rambling on so much!

You're good, Anon. And I agree with most everything you've said! However, I'm not so convinced they aren't a romantic couple, but then again, I'm not convinced they are. As I told a friend, I'm pretty agnostic about this (and as an actual Agnostic in the religious sense, that's on brand, lol). I'm pretty bad about seeing things in black and white. I used to, but then law school happened, and I've mellowed out a lot (which is ironic, because I think most of my fellows only got stronger in their opinions, lol! IDK I think my ENTJ is slowly dying into an ENTP; the world has beaten me down into seeing the gray). But I don't really worry too much about it. I did at one point, simply because I think it's human nature to want absolutes, to want labels and definitions especially when something is "other" or "unusual", but I got over it. Do I think they do some suspicious things that make me raise an eyebrow and question them? Yes. Does this definitively make them a couple? No. Will my world fall apart if they are just friends with weird boundaries? No. I understand those blogs that are CONVINCED seem a bit dismissive of doubts, and I envy their conviction. I think they feel they are seeing a truth and supporting/defending a truth that is screaming to break free. That Jikook ARE IN FACT a couple, desperate to be seen as such, but muted by their careers and the socio-political climate of where they live. And I am sympathetic to that. It's why I cannot simply dismiss Jikook as NOT being a couple or forcing heteronormative expectations on them. If they are, I do indeed see signs, and I support them if it's true. BUT, that often leads to looking at a lot of what they do with confirmation bias. That is, you believe your hypothesis "they are a couple hiding in plain sight", so everything they do or say supports this hypothesis, and I find that equally faulty. I see some Jikookers who get just as silly about Jimin and JK being near each other or looking at each other as Taekookers. Sure, they'll spin a more eloquent web using those odd and unusual things that make me side-eye ("SE") to support this, but it often boils down to the same thing. Not everything Jimin and Jungkook do equates to some magical, romantic relationship! I get that they are often trying to cite patterns of behavior (eg JK gravitates towards Jimin) which could be seen as innocuous and BFF stuff and then couple it with "SE" stuff (eg JK sucks on Jimin's ear) to give more meaning to the former as being more romantic and legit than a Taekooker possibly citing similar, but it's not. Not fully. I know the BEST romantic relationships have partners who are BFFs, but that doesn't mean that BFF behavior equates to a romantic relationship. Or even the "SE" behavior equates to a romantic relationship (as you said, it could be BFF's with weird boundaries - I've made out with a few of my friends and I was in no way attracted to them physically or romantically). It's not the transitive property of relationships here. So, that's where I see more wiggle room, that's where I think a lot of people question or have doubts, but that's where these blogs are so convinced. I don't necessarily think they're trying to be rude (but they can be and that sucks), but I think they're just stuck in their confirmation bias loop. They are convinced and they use the strength of that conviction to put emphasis on a lot of things. I don't think they're trying to manipulate anyone, because they genuinely believe it, and that's where they can be dismissive when questioned. And again, I don't think they're inherently wrong, but I also don't think they're inherently right, either. I will say, that if ANY pairing in BTS were to be legit, Jikook have the strongest argument, but it doesn't mean they are (but it also doesn't mean they aren't). And that's ok, to me at least. I'm fine living in the gray and seeing Jikook as each other's person, regardless of what that fully entails. They have a beautiful relationship, they make each other better people, and as my double biases (Jin is my bias wrecker - my chaos trio!), that makes me happy.

#ask #this is me #jikook

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frogtanii · 3 years

Note

Wind anon’s reaction to “xxiii. exiled” in PF! Two days late; but here! Okay, I’m just gonna dive right into it

Iwaizumi starting off strong with a “anyone mind telling me what the (fudge) just happened” (yes, wind anon tries not to curse. It’s a thing). The irony is that he was there the entire time. So he may have saw YN barge into Meiko’s room. He may have heard YN call Meiko a female dog. But he also heard and saw Meiko slap YN first. So it’s honestly amusing that he’s the one asking what happened. I guess he’s in disbelief sure... but is it rude for wind anon to like him not knowing what’s going on? Because this means he has to know what happened before YN got slapped. What caused her to be so angry at Meiko? What did she whisper to Meiko? Iwaizumi is in the best place to get on YN squad right now and that is the most ironic thing I’ve seen so far. But moving on...

Meiko... you made it physical first... YN’s been carrying the entire house so hard that there is no way she isn’t strong as heck. Suga’s POV was indeed simping for YN but I might write another poem just on YN’s eyes. Every day we are reminded of YN Supremacy. But back on track, Meiko’s text really does match the fact she had mascara running down her face and she is a mess. I’m impressed by her usage of the emoji actually, because I didn’t think she would be able to see well enough to type up messages in her state. Oh wait, is that too mean? Wind anon always has underlying salt...

YN!! Our queen, angel, love of our lives, you make us so so happy— her messages...from “funny you would bring up that word” to “it’s a promise”—YN is so hot. So cool. As a villain, she would steal the show. YN as a villain would be millions of times more attractive than Meiko— YN with smoky eyeshadow, sleek eyeliner, and mascara, with reddened lips—please, she would be too dangerous for our hearts I cannot—

Okay, I could go in forever with YN appreciation but I already wrote... what is this, 3 paragraphs on just the first image so wind anon has to move forward haha. Osamu telling Atsumu to “put yer girl on a leash” and I’m like, eyebrow raise and scoff, because Meiko has leashes on all of you and you shouldn’t have leashes in a mutual healthy relationship because you should have equal power, agency, and rights— cough cough, but Osamu did say YN was Atsumu’s girl so that’s amusing to me. I think it would be interesting to see his reaction when the whole truth comes out. He will feel inadequate compared to Atsumu surely. How...heartbreaking it would be...

Atsumu is number 1 YN supporter and it really shows. First, defending her autonomy and ability to do what she wishes, while also mentioning he is behind her, supporting her, and defending her. The back is an important place because if someone is behind you, it’s hard to see and defend. Atsumu being at YN’s back shows trust and reliability. YN believes that Atsumu will protect her and have her back.

Kenma’s snark with “u have eyes don’t you”. This connects back to the beginning with Kenma telling Sakusa about how he thought he was cool that way—really shows how they have grown from interacting with each other, you’re absolutely brilliant fr0ggy, imagine being able to convey this much character development from 5 words—you’re so cool!

Okay, Meiko being suspicious part... 21 or something. She is so obvious I cannot. She bring up calling the cops first, and now she is like “nope, no can do, let’s just keep it all quiet, nothing, no cops” I am baffled. She is...not slick. Not smooth. But I give her the benefit of doubt and just say that she was too beat up after YN because I cannot believe her idiocy and I need this for my own sanity.

But I see Oikawa...I see him looking for logic. That’s good, very good, I’m excited. And Meiko’s response... how brash.

YN’s crew being all chill. Feeling myself be quenched. YN chooses violence and walks away beautiful. I bask in her glory. And Meiko trying to defend herself but YN really did hit her a lot so I don’t know how she can say that when there is evidence (her face) of her getting hit multiple times.

Daichi being “I’d love to see if YN’s reasoning for attacking you has merit” and I am like, tilting my shades down to be like “do you even see this?” I am... okay, moving on—

Sakusa! Omi! Sakkun—I love him so so much. I wanna trace all his moles and see if they can make constellations. Just imagine him tenderly holding your fingers in his hand while he dabs at your bruised knuckles.

Okay, I don’t want to get into the BS that is them deciding to exile YN to her room. There are ways to schedule for them not interact. Just give them different blocks for kitchen/living room or whatever. Meiko has a consistent schedule for her YouTube. YN has a decently flexible schedule. Iwaizumi is a hecking manager, there is no way he cannot plan this, and if needed Meiko or YN could get someone else to get them food or something so they don’t interact with each other. Oh well.

Meiko is like TNT...she blows everything up...kaboom. Her existence causes her own destruction... I am almost...awed? I also might make a poem involving YN’s past with Meiko and the psychology of Meiko because it is fascinating how she operates.

Blowing up at Iwaizumi and Oikawa who are part of your greatest supporters...she amuses me. Like a clown. A fool. But even jesters and fools require brains for jokes. I like seeing her get kicked off her thrown by YN.

Okay, this is it for my reaction to exiled, moving on to the next one rn!

wowie!! i gotta say, i now ship wind nonnie x yn, ur so v eloquent when u talk abt her it makes me so happy hehe <333

#MY BRAIN ISNT WORKING LMFAO #BUT I LIKED THIS REACTION A LOT #j’s asks #anons babey #℗ poker face #wind anon

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stubbychaos · 4 years

Text

Mind Over Matter

Part 1

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A particularly rough day at the infirmary leaves you exhausted and dead on your feet, but a familiar blue Mandalorian decides to make it a habit to walk you home--a habit that you think you can get used to.

Rated: M for darker themes. Please read with caution if you have any past experiences with abusive relationships or grew up in a toxic environment.

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: Descriptions of abuse, injuries and broken bones, though I tried to keep it pretty non-detailed. Extremely brief mention of drug use. Other than that, this is mostly heavy angst/hurt/comfort, with a dash of tooth-rotting fluff and tenderness.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

You see the blue Mandalorian four weeks and five days after your initial meeting.

Not that you’re counting or anything.

The heavy-infantry warrior is waiting for you after a particularly rough day where you don’t leave the infirmary until almost three in the morning, though he seems unfazed by being awake at such an ungodly hour, lazily leaning against the side of the building with thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Your wild mane must be an absolute mess after a sixteen hour shift, long locks fighting against the elegant braids you styled your hair into over half a day ago and your vision is borderline blurry as you almost walk past the Mandalorian without noticing him.

You’re not even aware of the way his visor slowly follows you as you tiredly stumble out of the infirmary, hellbent on getting home in one piece so you can get a couple hours of sleep before your next grueling shift.

You’re only a few steps past the massive warrior when he clears his throat loudly and you finally register his presence as you slowly turn around on your heels with narrowed eyes. You’re blinking owlishly at him to confirm he’s actually there and not some figment of your wild imagination, or some fatigue-induced hallucination, and you perk up a little when you realize that he’s really there. The vivid moonlight seems to emphasize the lighter blue in the hollows of his steel cheeks and you think his armor looks far more polished and less dingy than the last time you had seen him.

“You uh, hey--you--”

‘Way to speak so eloquently,’ You chastise yourself, realizing you’re making a fool of yourself when he cocks his helmet to the side as he seems to notice how fatigued and incoherent you are. Perhaps a cock of the helmet is the equivalent of a raised brow and you think he must be amused by your delirious state, though he doesn’t point it out and allows you to be a bit of a mess without making you feel bad about it.

“Saviin’ika,” He greets you with a polite nod, hands falling limply to his sides as he slowly approaches you, seeming completely docile and passive while he observes you through the guise of his shiny visor.

“Mandalorian,” You mumble blearily through a mighty yawn and you hear him sigh a little when you rub your burning eyes, though you remain as diligent as ever and force yourself to focus on any new wounds he might have obtained, “You’re not injured again, are you? I can go get my supplies if you need stitches again? I might even have some bacta pa--”

“No, saviin’ika, I’m not hurt,” He chuckles and you notice the way his visor seems to scan your face closely, making you feel self-conscious of the deep bruise on your flushed cheek and your sore bottom lip that is split in the middle and currently healing, “Had some business to take care of in the village. Thought I would check up on you.”

“Ch-Check up? On me?” You raise your brows at him and tiredly rub your eyes, suppressing another yawn before speaking, “At three in the morning?”

“It is only safe for me to come out when it’s dark and there are less people wandering these streets at this time,” He informs you, offering you his elbow, just as he had a month ago after your initial meeting, and you take it this time without any hesitation, “Because of the Empire, our kind are now nearly extinct and we have been forced into hiding; because I am the strongest in the tribe, I am usually the one chosen to go on hunts or provide supplies. When I come out of the enclave, it is solely to provide for my people and protect them.”

“And walk me home?” You add inquisitively, wincing when your little smile tugs at your sore bottom lip, “Which you really don’t have to do by the way. I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to have to feel obligated to check up on me. I know you may not think so, but I’m tougher than I look.”

“I never believed you to be weak, saviin’ika, and I do not feel obligated to do anything,” The huge warrior observes closely as you struggle to keep your heavy eyelids open and you think they must weigh as much as his armor; you wonder if the metal ever weighs down his body after an exhausting day and you can’t even begin to imagine how heavy that cannon must feel on his back, “I heard talk earlier of raiders wreaking havoc on shop owners and villagers. Wanted to make sure they didn’t steal shit from the infirmary again; you were already low enough on supplies as it was.”

You shudder when you think of the robbery from a couple months ago and you hate the feeling of helplessness that washes over you when you remember how overpowered you had been at the time.

Of course you still had the vibroblade that the Mandalorian had let you borrow, but you weren't exactly skilled when it came to wielding any kind of weapon and the raiders probably would have laughed at any feeble attempt to protect yourself. Still, it didn't stop you from carrying the weapon inside of the pouch you normally kept your credits in and you hoped that if the situation ever called for it, you wouldn’t hesitate to use the beautifully crafted weapon.

“You...” Your cheeks are burning at the way his tone softens a little when he confesses his worry, “You were thinking about me? About the infirmary? But you’re...”

“I’m what?” He huffs, stepping a little closer and towering over you in a way that you think is supposed to be intimidating, though you have to force your giggles away as he tilts his helmet downwards to regard you properly. For some reason, you find it difficult to find him imposing when he had once offered to let you stab him if you had simply felt threatened by his presence. You think that any hopes the Mandalorian had of intimidating you flew out the window the moment he surrendered and gave you one of his weapons, something so incredibly rare for the fearless warriors.

“Grouchy? Stubborn? Kinda cold and rough around the edges?” Your answers come out as more of a rapid fire of questions and when he cocks his helmet further, you quirk a brow up at him in a challenging way, “Besides, you were the one that said after you walked me home, I would never have to see you again.”

"Were you hoping for that?"

"No," You reply earnestly, still gazing up at him with a fond expression, "I'm glad you're here. Especially since I just got off from a sixteen hour shift and can’t even see straight," His helmet jolts to the side a little to get a better look at your face and you know he sees your newest injuries, along with the glossiness that shines in your unfocused eyes. His modulator picks up a strange noise that seems to get caught in his throat and you wonder what must be going through his head as he closely observes you, his helmet dropping a little bit.

You knowingly smile.

“You do care, don’t you?”

He huffs a little as you latch onto his elbow with both of your hands instead of just one and you’re surprised that he seems to miraculously remember the way back to your shoddy hut, easily guiding you through the bleak village where very few linger in the deserted streets. You’re grateful for the way his body is built like a brick wall, easily supporting your weight whenever you sway or sag from exhaustion. The blue warrior doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest by your vulnerable state, remaining diligent and cautious as he gently tugs you past a shady looking group of five or six men that barely spare you a glance, most of them glaring at the heavy-infantry warrior with disdain.

After working fifteen hour days--sometimes longer--every single day for the last three weeks, you find that your grueling job is catching up to you and you wonder if he had somehow sensed your extreme fatigue from wherever he had been working, though you don’t entertain the silly thought.

He had informed you that his main priority upon leaving the enclave had been to provide for his tribe; you had been nothing more than a lingering thought scratching at the back of his mind. Either way, you’re grateful that he had waited for your shift to end, knowing that tonight was probably the most you had ever been exhausted in your life. You can’t even see clearly or think about anything other than your uncomfortable bed and you’re certain that you’re in no condition to be walking home alone at such a dark hour where only the cruel emerged from their hiding places to prey on the innocent.

“I wanted to make sure those lowlife criminals didn’t steal medical supplies,” He insistently repeats, though something about the terseness laced in his deep, softer baritone makes you think he’s lying, “Besides, you don’t make for bad company, saviin’ika. Probably the only one I’ve met in this village that I don’t want to kill.”

The way he rushes through the last sentence has you grinning tiredly up at him, his visor barely glancing at your soft features before taking in your surroundings and scanning for any threats that linger in the sparsely populated village “So you were thinking about me, Mandalorian.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, little nurse,” He scoffs and you try to imagine the huge man underneath all the metal blushing or sweating from nerves, though you highly doubt there’s much that gets under his armor, let alone his skin, “Like I said, I already had business to take care of and happened to be in the area. Wanted to make sure you haven’t gotten yourself killed or accidentally stabbed yourself with my vibroblade.”

You roll your eyes, “If I recall correctly, you were the one that got stabbed, not once, but twice, in the same day. Besides, even if I was a fool that managed to stab herself, at least I have the mental capacity to fix my own wounds.”

He shakes his helm at the sass that suddenly fills your quiet voice, “For someone your size, you’re a ballsy little thing.”

“Only around people I know won’t hurt me over it,” You murmur, brows furrowing a little when you process his words a little more thoroughly, wondering if you’re starting to cross the line with him, “You did not strike me as the kind of man who would mind it.”

“I don’t,” He confirms your suspicions and squashes your worries, then for good measure, adds in another sentiment, “I am glad you do not fear me anymore, saviin’ika.”

You wince as a smile pulls at your split bottom lip, though you find it’s well worth the pain, “Me too, Mandalorian.”

He grunts and you wonder if all Mandalorians are bad at expressing their emotions with words, though you don’t think you mind as he urges you a little closer against his side when a cold breeze has you shivering. Perhaps he prefers speaking through little gestures and you think you prefer that over useless words and promises that can easily be broken.

You decide to stop teasing him then, not wanting him to grow uncomfortable around you and despite your better judgment, you can’t stop yourself from pressing your cheek tiredly against the small pad of dark brown leather that peeks out from underneath his pauldron. The cold sensation from the leather and metal feels good against your bruised cheek and you hope he doesn’t push you away, though you suspect he would have done so already if he was uncomfortable by your close proximity. Perhaps he senses that you need some sort of close contact with another human being where it won’t leave you feeling broken and absolutely terrified and for whatever reason, he’s willing to entertain your pathetic request.

You wonder if he enjoys the intimacy of someone who isn’t covered from head to toe in thick armor, if he ever craves skin on skin contact after spending an entire life surrounded by cold metal. Briefly, you remember the way he had tensed and how his chest had heaved a little the first time you touched his hot skin when you had been stitching up his stab wound and rubbing that bacta salve into bruised skin; you wonder how long it had been since he felt someone else’s skin against his own.

Does he ever crave it? The warmth of another human being? Does he ever long for a tender embrace after an unbearably long day of carrying the weight of heavy blue armor and massive weapons?

You aren’t even covered in metal, yet you often find yourself craving such intimate touches whenever you find yourself falling asleep at the end of the day, all alone and cold without the comfort of another. It isn’t necessarily something sexual that you yearn for, but something deeper where you can bare your soul and scars to another human without fearing their judgment. You aren’t sure if it’s love or companionship you wish for--perhaps it’s both--and you wonder if you would ever find someone who would accept you for everything you are and all of the hardships that came with loving someone like yourself.

“Keep your eyes open, saviin’ika.”

His deep baritone jolts you awake and you didn’t even realize you had stopped walking, your eyes closing as you sag against him and Maker… how long had it been since you slept more than one or two hours a night? Your eyes feel drier than the Tatooine deserts and your feet ache from all the blisters that had formed on your soles and the back of your heels after walking in ill-fitting boots nonstop for weeks.

Your back and neck both throb in pain from the position you constantly have to sit in whenever you’re patching up a patient or filing paperwork and your fingers feel horrifically stiff as they curl tightly into the blue Mandalorian’s elbow. There’s a horrible pin and needles sensation prickling painfully in each of your shoulder blades and you think you must have pinched nerves there--just another check mark on your seemingly never-ending list of afflictions.

You try to ground yourself before responding to your unlikely companion, willing yourself to not slur your words as you quietly speak up and ignore the fog that clouds your mind and makes it hard to think straight.

“S-Sorry,” You murmur even though his tone hadn’t been admonishing in the slightest, but more concerned than anything, “Just a little tired.”

“A little?” He scoffs again and for a moment, you fear he’s going to inform you that you are a fool for not taking care of yourself properly, “You look like you haven’t slept more than a few hours since the last time I saw you and… you look thinner--almost malnourished. Have you not been eating? Your body needs nourishment, saviin’ika.”

“I--” Your cheeks flush when he turns his helmet down to look at you and you sheepishly avoid the expressionless gaze of his shiny visor, “Credits have been a little sparse lately but uh, I’m fine, really! I’ll have a ration bar or something when I get home.”

You’ve always been a terrible liar and you’re certain he easily detects the slightly higher pitch of your tone and the way you gnaw on your bottom lip as you avoid his intense gaze. His visor is still pointed at the way your cheek is pressed half against his dull blue pauldron and half against the leather padding that pokes out from the metal and you wonder what he must think of you clinging so desperately to his arm, though you barely know him. Despite his huge, intimidating stature and his reputation as a fearless Mandalorian, you think that there must be something so soft and warm that lingers somewhere deep inside of him--far beneath the cracks of his metal armor--that he doesn’t get to display often.

Perhaps he’s just like you, having grown so accustomed and desensitized towards the cruelty and violence of others that he’s willing to take any soft touch and sweet, intimate moment that the Maker will allow him to have. It’s a peculiar thought--that you could have possibly anything in common with the massive warrior--but as he supports the majority of your weight against his side, you feel like you’ve never related to anyone more than the blue Mandalorian, despite your stark differences.

“I could…” He lets out a strange sound that sounds distorted and garbled as it gets stuck in his modulator; it sounds like a groan of frustration, though you think it’s directed more towards himself, rather than you, “I can carry you the rest of the way home, that way you can get some rest. You look like you’ve been on your feet all day.”

The sweet offer knocks the breath out of your lungs and while you’re utterly touched by his kindness, it also fills you with guilt that he would feel the need to go out of his way just to give you a tiny amount of reprieve, “Y-You really don’t have to do that. I just--I can walk--I’ll try to be faster, I-I promise! Besides, I’m sure you already have enough weight to carry around, what with all that armor and your weapons; I wouldn’t want to weigh you down anymore.”

“I’m used to the armor and weapons,” He insists, visor pointed at your pale face as he drops his tone into something gentler, though the deepness of it warms your cold cheeks, “You haven’t been eating or sleeping and you can barely stand up. Just… let me carry you home, saviin’ika. I don’t mind.”

“But--”

Before you can weakly argue with him, he easily slips his elbow out of the gentle grip of your hands and he’s bending down at the waist to slide a thick arm underneath the backs of your bare knees, efficiently knocking you backwards into the safety of his other arm. A graceless squeak escapes your mouth and your arms scramble to find purchase around his shoulders and neck as he effortlessly scoops you up into his arms, suspending you high above the ground and you think this is the most awake you’ve felt in the last month as you peer down at the rocky terrain beneath his big boots. Your stiff fingers painfully curl against the cloth that’s bunched up at his nape as he hikes you up a little higher up his chest so you can comfortably rest your head between his pauldron and the lip of his helmet.

“A-Are you sure about this? I don’t want to tire you out and--”

He huffs out an amused noise and you think you feel his chest rumbling a little, though it’s hard to tell with his cuirass in the way, “Do you think I would be doing this if I wasn’t sure? You don’t weigh anymore than my armor or weapons, little nurse.”

“‘M not little,” You mumble tiredly, giving in and nestling your face into a more comfortable position against his neck so his armor isn’t digging into the black and blue skin that’s covering nearly half of your face; your eyes grow unbearably heavy when you inhale his clean, spicy scent, “You’re just a big brute.”

He barks out a laugh then, making you pout a little against his neck, though you decide quickly that you like the unfamiliar warmth of his laughter, “You're not little? Sure, saviin'ika, and the sky isn't blue, water isn't wet, I'm not a Mandalorian, you're not a--"

"Okay, okay," You huff, trying your hardest to sound annoyed, though his sarcasm has you smiling against the soft material of his tunic, "Hush, Mandalorian, I am trying to get the rest you were so hellbent on me having in the first place.”

“Fine,” He grunts and you think he’s done antagonizing you for the rest of the small journey, but then he speaks your name softly and you think it’s the first time he’s ever used your real name, rather than some sort of nickname, “One more question and I’ll leave you alone.”

You make an inquisitive humming noise, barely paying attention, though his following question has your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach, making you feel sick and nauseous.

“The bruise on your cheek and your lip… was that him? Your father?”

You’re actually kind of surprised it’s taken this long for the Mandalorian to say something, especially with how quickly he had called your father out on his deplorable actions during your initial meeting. For a moment, you contemplate just closing your eyes and pretending like you’ve already fallen asleep, but something tells you that the warrior is far smarter than most would think and you know he would be able to easily detect your facade.

You remain silent for a few seconds, thinking of the circumstances surrounding your painful punishment and you remember how you had initially told the Mandalorian that the bruises inflicted on you were for your own benefit, so you could be better. You think of how angry your father had grown at you two nights ago for no rational reason other than coming home high off of spice and already in a bad mood after a long day of work. Your eyes fill with tears and your chest heaves when you remember the weight of his palm colliding with your cheek and how hard you had hit the ground from the heavy blow; it had completely thrown off your equilibrium and the only reason you had stood up right away was because you had been forcefully yanked up by your bicep.

You remember forcing yourself not to scream later that night as you forced your aching shoulder back into its socket, not wanting him to wake up after he’d finally pass out.

“Saviin’ika…”

His voice is a low growl, but you swear you hear a soft twinge from somewhere beneath his helmet and something about it has tears burning your dry eyes.

Perhaps it’s just your imagination or wishful thinking.

“Does it matter, Mandalorian? It’s done and over with.”

“You say that, yet you know it’s only going to get worse,” He mutters and you feel the way his leather-clad fingers curl lightly against the inside of your knee, as if he’s trying to ground himself, “It may just be bruises and split lips now, but how long before it turns into broken bones and concussions? What will you do then?”

“Same as always,” You whisper, eyelids growing impossibly heavy as your body finally starts to give into exhaustion; you decide not to tell him you’ve suffered plenty of broken bones in the past and you’re more than capable of patching yourself up after a particularly painful punishment, “Survive… it’s the only thing I know how to do, next to helping others.”

“It is not what you deserve though,” He insists just as quietly and you think you hear the natural baritone of his voice from where your ear is pressed just underneath the lip of his helmet, “You would let him break your spirit so easily? Let him hurt you so badly without putting up a fight?”

“I think my spirit was broken long ago, Mandalorian.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever confessed such a thing and it leaves you feeling exposed like a livewire, terrified of anyone getting too close because you don’t want anyone to suffer because of your own trauma and emotional baggage. Something tells you that the blue warrior is all too aware of the atrocities that one can experience in a lifetime and you think it wouldn’t weigh down on him if you explained to him everything you’ve been through and everything you fear. You would like to think he would remain unwaveringly sympathetic and kind if you recounted the horrible torture your father had put you through since your mother’s death, but a tiny part of you fears that the powerful warrior would believe you to be weak--at least weaker than he already sees you as.

“I think you are wrong,” He argues quietly, sounding as calm and soothing as ever, “I don’t think you are broken, saviin’ika. Maybe a little lost and confused, but not broken.”

A tear trickles from your eye and you pray to the Maker that he doesn’t feel it soak through his thick cowl, though you know better and the Mandalorian is far more perceptive than most give him credit for, “Do you remember when you were walking me home the first time and you said I should fight for a better life? Do you truly believe there is any way I could possibly feel happy and safe on a planet like this, Mandalorian?” Your voice cracks a little and you tighten your arms around his muscular shoulders, thinking that even though you’ve only met this dark blue warrior twice, he’s been the only good thing to happen to you since long before your mother’s death, “I have come to terms with my fate long ago and I no longer feel sorrow or pity for myself, nor do I want you to feel it for me.”

“It is not pity.”

He’s repeating the same words you had spoken to him when you gave him that jar of salve, knowing he had nothing to give you in return and you nearly sob into the crook of his neck at the realization that he seems to remember everything from your initial run-in with him.

Most people forgot about you as soon as they left the infirmary.

“Then what is it?”

“I… I don’t know,” He answers honestly and you’re grateful he doesn’t come up with a lie to make you feel better; you didn’t take the big blue warrior for a dishonest man, “I just know I don’t like the way he treats you--the way he looked at you like you were nothing more than a burden than to him. Has he always treated you that way?”

You hum a little and bury your face further into the slope of his neck, “Please don’t make me talk about this, not when I already live with it every single day, Mandalorian.”

“Ni ceta.”

You don’t know what it means, but you take it as an apology by the regretful tone in his modulated voice.

Tears form at your waterline and you don’t have the strength to force them away when he lightly strokes your kneecap with a leather thumb. You don’t sob or make a show of your sadness and exhaustion, but you let his warm cowl soak your tears as they fall from your eyes on their own accord. It’s been a while since someone has held you while you cried--at least over a decade--and something about the way he comfortingly caresses your knee or says something in his sacred language every now and then brings you an overwhelming sense of catharsis that you have never felt in your life.

He’s murmuring something to you in that low baritone, but you find yourself being pushed under a massive wave of exhaustion after such a long day and it’s suddenly difficult to focus on his what he’s saying when all you long for is some rest and peace of mind. The taut slope where his shoulder meets the bottom of his neck is surprisingly comfortable and even though you had never been much of a drinker, his warm, comforting scent leaves you feeling delightfully intoxicated.

There’s a soft pressure rubbing circles against your ribs and he’s still murmuring, but everything is so hazy and his warm body isn’t doing anything to keep you awake or coherent of your surroundings and you realize just how much trust you’re putting into this man that you’ve only met twice. He could easily take you to some unknown location and take advantage of you, but you have no fears of him doing so and find yourself growing completely limp against his broad chest, your fingers unfurling from the bunched up material at his nape.

You’re trapped in a strange limbo between wanting to fall asleep completely and wanting to savor his warmth and deep baritone, but every now and then, you feel the Mandalorian curl his big arms tighter around you or you hear a deep murmur from underneath his helmet--always something in his native tongue.

If you ever see him again after tonight, you promise yourself that you’ll ask him what all of these words mean--what he’s calling you when he refers to you as ‘saviin’ika’--and you pray that you see the big blue Mandalorian again. You never thought that you would find solace in the massive warrior’s company or that he would have surprisingly gentle hands whenever he touched you, especially after all the stories you had listened to as a child. Since meeting him, you no longer fear the Beskar-clad warriors that live underground, but more so those who live above and torment and prey on innocent people for no reason other than to satisfy their own sick desires.

You childishly wonder what the Mandalorian thinks about you--what he feels for you.

Perhaps you’re just acting like a fool who has a crush on someone you don’t even know, someone whose face can’t even see, though you’ve never cared too much about physical appearances, especially when someone has a kind heart. You think that despite his cold disposition, the Mandalorian has a warm soul buried underneath all those weapons and armor and you wonder if he only displays it when he’s surrounded by his tribe and others he deems worthy.

Does he deem you worthy of exposing such vulnerability, despite only knowing you so little? Is there something different he sees in you that he’s never felt with anyone else in the village? Does he see something familiar and comforting whenever he looks into your eyes through the safety of his expressionless visor?

You wonder if you’ll ever find out the real reason as to why he sought out your company tonight, if he truly wanted to check up on you or if he genuinely enjoys your company.

His voice barely trespasses the fogginess that’s clouded your mind and you’re more than half asleep when you feel yourself slowly being lowered, dizziness washing over you as he attempts to remain utterly gentle. Realizing that you have been restlessly sleeping in his arms the entire way home, you turn on your stiff mattress until you’re curled on your side, the uninjured side of your face pressed into your flat pillow as you slowly convince yourself to give into exhaustion.

The Mandalorian, however, isn’t finished taking care of you and you barely hear him shuffling around as he pulls something from one of the pouches attached to his utility belt.

You think you’re dreaming when you feel something cold and tingly rubbing against your flushed, bruised cheek, though it’s not enough to cause any excess pain. You can feel rough calluses covering his thick fingertips and they promptly freeze on the apple of your cheek when they graze a particularly tender spot, causing a small whimper to expel from between your chapped lips.

The Mandalorian’s modulated voice is gently shushing you and you know you’re having some sort of sweet dream when you realize his hand is bare, simultaneously coarse and soft and so deliciously warm as it caresses your cold cheek and soothes the intense pain there. Eventually, the pain gives way a warm, numbing feeling and your breath catches in your throat when you feel that coarse skin glide along the bottom of your lip, stroking gently along the thin gash in the center.

A soft cry pierces through your lips, louder and sharper than the previous one, and you don’t know whether it’s from the dull, throbbing pain or from how tender the warm pressure is against the tender wound. Another hush has you slowly turning on your back and you force your eyelids open, realizing that you’re definitely not alone in your little bedroom. The blue Mandalorian is slightly hunched over you as he tentatively swipes a slippery thumb along your injured lip, though you feel the rough digit lightly graze your upper lip once or twice, despite it being completely unscathed.

You realize he’s using the salve you had given over a month ago for his ribs and when your eyes flicker to the jar that he’s holding in his gloved palm, you’re surprised to find that it’s barely been used, maybe only a quarter of it missing. The bright moonlight that pierces through your window emphasizes the bright blue gel and hesitantly, you let your eyes wander back up to the hollows of his cheeks and you find that the color is almost similar to the healing ointment in the glass jar he holds so gently.

He must not realize you’re awake because his helmet jolts a little when you speak in a breathy whisper, lips barely moving so you don’t ruin his skilled fingers that are tending to the minor wound.

“That salve was for your ribs, Mandalorian.”

“The pain in my ribs was annoying, but not unbearable,” His thumb continues to lightly rub the healing ointment against your plush bottom lip until it’s fully absorbed into the tiny gash and you can already feel the immense relief that follows in the wake of his rough digit, “There were others in the tribe who could have used it more than me.”

You smile sadly when he lightly strokes the apple of your cheek, inspecting the severe bruising there, “Yet you waste it on the nurse that gave it to you in the first place. My pain is not unbearable either, silly man.”

“It is not a waste,” He says in a cool, deep rasp and your eyelids slip shut when he strokes the tail of your brow soothingly, “Besides, it will be good for it to heal faster.”

“Mm,” You’re mind is growing hazy as he moves to the end of the bed to untie the laces of your worn boots and gently tugs them off, as well as your socks, “Why’s that?”

“The faster it heals, the less tempted I’ll be to leave the same marks on your father--or kill him,” The gruffness of his deep voice nearly makes you chuckle, but then you hear him utter something in his native tongue and he promptly speaks up again, “Your feet are covered in bruises and blisters; how long have you had these boots? The soles are completely worn out.”

“I’ve been living off of ration bars,” You tiredly remind him, gracelessly flopping onto your stomach and lightly kicking his hand away when you feel his thumb graze an intense blister on the back of your heel, “New shoes aren’t exactly high up on my list of necessities.”

He grunts his displeasure and you hear him shifting around a little before you feel his hand between your shoulder blades, followed by his deep voice; you think you hear something nervous brewing in his usually calm tone “Do you want me to take out your braids so your hair doesn’t get tangled?”

You pray to the Maker that he doesn’t notice the way you shudder a little at just the thought of more close contact with your unlikely companion, though you’re certain he hears the shakiness in your voice when you quietly speak, “S-Sure, if you don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything and you hear a bit of shuffling before the mattress next to you dips and creaks underneath his weight; it nearly makes you giggle at how massive he must look sitting on your little bed. The Mandalorian is endearingly gentle as he unclasps the tiny silver cuffs that hold your two thick Dutch braids in place, setting them aside on the nightstand next to your little vase that contains your beloved violets. You don’t have many belongings nor are you materialistic by any means, but your plants and your mother’s hair beads are items that you cherish and value over anything else that you own.

After plucking the wildflowers from the weaves in your braids and carefully dropping them next to your mother’s hair beads, his hands deftly unwind one of your long braids, slowly and carefully, as if he’s worried of tangling your thick waves. The feeling of his fingers gently carding through your unruly mane has you closing your eyes in bliss and you shiver a little when you feel his blunt fingernails lightly scraping against your scalp to undo the braiding at your crown. You’re grateful that the bacta salve you concocted seems to be healing your split lip, because you can’t stop yourself from smiling so softly when he unweaves your second braid and combs his bare, thick fingers through your long hair.

“Pel,” He breathes, his vocoder barely picking it up as he strokes down the length of your hair before picking up a lock of it and bringing it up to his visor, inspecting it with seemingly great interest, like he’s not used to handling longer hair.

It’s deathly quiet for a few moments and you think he’s going to simply stand up and leave, but then you feel the rough pad of his index finger gliding up along your bruised cheekbone, though his touch is so achingly soft that you don’t even feel an inkling of pain in his wake. Your eyelids squeeze together tightly as you try to commit the sensation of his skilled fingers to your memory, though you fear you won’t even be able to remember it even in the sweetest of dreams that the Maker would kindly bless you with.

A shaky exhale wracks your body when his index finger continues it’s sweet ascent up to the cartilage tip of your ear before he rotates his hand a little so he can run all of his fingers through your hairline, coming to a blunt stop at the base of your skull to affectionately stroke your scalp. After having your hair in braids for such a long amount of time, the relief that his fingers rub into your tender skin nearly lulls you to sleep and you have no idea how long he sits there, merely massaging your scalp and stroking your long waves.

As if realizing what he’s doing is wrong or selfish, the blue Mandalorian is quick to drop a thick, wavy lock of hair that he had been inspecting and awkwardly clears his throat a little. The mattress rises when he stands tall in your little room and even though you’re sleepy and drowsy as hell, you dread the thought of him leaving you in solitude until your father arrives later in the morning right before you leave for work.

“Mandalorian.”

You’re surprised he hears your muffled voice as he slowly makes his way to the curtain that separates your room from the rest of the hut, turning to you before leaving, “Saviin’ika.”

You smile softly at the nickname, despite not knowing what it means, and you turn your head so he can hear you more clearly, “Will I see you again?”

“Are you always going to ask that whenever we part ways?”

“Depends.”

His helmet cocks to the side inquisitively as you turn back onto your side and curl your knees up to your chest, peering at his dark silhouette with soft eyes and shivering when his strong baritone pierces through the silence of your little bedroom.

“On what?”

You wonder if his visor somehow allows him to see the smile tugging at your lips that are still slick with salve, along with the pink tinging your warm cheeks.

“If we’ll keep finding our way back to one another.”

You see the outline of his broad shoulders and how they seem to deflate from the vulnerability in your bashful voice.

“Goodnight, saviin’ika,” His voice is raspy and you wonder what it must sound like without the old modulator in his blue helmet, “I’ll see you sooner than you could wish for.”

Somehow, you doubt his words, but it’s the first time you can remember falling asleep with a smile stretched across your face.

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Ni ceta=Sorry (lit: I kneel)

Pel=Soft

Author’s Note: I wanted to put this at the end of the chapter, since it’s kind of long, but I sincerely want to thank you all for your kind words; it’s really encouraged me to write more. You guys are all a bunch of sweethearts and I really appreciate it!

I honestly wasn’t expecting to get such positive feedback on the first chapter, especially since Paz doesn’t play a super huge role in the Mandalorian, but I’m glad we’re all still thirsting over our big blue grouchy boi and I’m so excited to continue with this story!

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa

#paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #mandalorian #my writing #the mandalorian fanfiction #why did it take me so long to find a gif for this chapter #even then #I still don't like the one I chose #that's what happens when you stan a character that has less than a minute of screen time lmaoo #anyways #EVERYONE IS TOUCH STARVED AND PAZ HAS HEART EYES UNDERNEATH HIS STUPID BLUE HELMET

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backdraft-bimbo · 3 years

Text

rule number two

After years of avoiding his trauma, Bucky finally confides in Sam.

Words: 2893; Chapters: 1/1

James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson; Episode: s01e02 The Star-Spangled Man Coda

ao3 link

“Why don’t you get some shut eye, Buck? It’s gonna be a long ride home.”

Bucky glances at Sam from his makeshift cargo perch across the fuselage. The bags under his eyes must be getting bad. Leah gave Bucky the impression last week that he needs concealer for his skin or something. But he’s a 106-year-old ex-assassin; who the hell is he trying to impress at this point?

After a few seconds pass, Bucky notes that he should probably respond instead of just staring blankly, because that’s what people do, right? They talk to each other, they share, and they trust so easily. It’s such a simple question, but Bucky’s urge to deflect any possible social interaction has decided to rear its ugly head tonight. Sam can’t be a fan of it either, since he’s the charismatic one of the two of them. He’s not the guy with the staring problem.

It’s just… Bucky doesn’t have normal conversations without being reminded of the restored freedom to speak his mind. The habits HYDRA drilled into his brain incite an unpleasant knee-jerk reaction– don’t speak or they’ll beat you –but Bucky has gotten better at managing the vestiges of his trauma. At least now he’ll be able to defend himself if his careless mouth puts him in hot water. And maybe he could just be honest with Sam; it wouldn’t hurt anything. But that almost kindles a burst of laughter in Bucky: the concept of himself not hurting somebody. What a world that would be.

Don’t get him wrong–Bucky used to like talking to people. He used to be good at it. But that was a long time ago; far longer than anyone should be able to recall. Even now, Bucky’s early 20th century days as a staff sergeant feel like a distant dream. He almost misses the wartime; when everything was simpler. Sure, it was bloody and violent and horrible, but at least Bucky knew how to fucking talk to people he considered friends. When it comes to his loose tongue nowadays, there’s an ugly history waiting to make an unwanted appearance; bared teeth and all.

“I don’t,” Bucky answers finally, his voice trembling a fraction more than he’s comfortable with. He doesn’t think he can do more than two syllables right now. If Bucky somehow musters up the courage to tell Sam about his nightmares, he won’t make it through a single sentence without bursting into tears like a twelve-year-old.

The fact that Sam could somehow see Bucky’s eye bags across the shadowy fuselage does not convince Bucky that Sam didn’t hear that slight embarrassing waver in his voice. But even if he did, the guy doesn’t comment on it. Sam has been laying in a supine position on the flight seats for the past hour, drifting in and out of sub-consciousness, and really, he’s the one who looks damn tired. It’s been a long day for both of them; they’re bruised and achy after their loss against the Flag-Smashers–more proof that Bucky shouldn’t bother Sam.

But this is here and now. The sky is starless as a humming inky black abyss, the RS-834 cruising about 40,000 feet above sea level, far beyond the stratus clouds, and everything feels tranquil in that seldom gentle way it does sometimes. It’s as if the world consists only of Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, and that illusion is a tremendous comfort to the ex-assassin. When it’s clear that Bucky isn’t going to elaborate, Sam lets his neck muscles relax, drooping his head back to face the opposite wall that reflects the drowsy slur of his voice.

“C’mon, man...I know at least three percent of your body is metal, but that don’t mean you never sleep.”

Bucky pauses. Tries not to glance at his left arm. He has to be careful; guys like him have a tendency to overshare when it’s late. It’s just that something about the night brings a facade of protection, as if anything he says can be written off as a dream, so he can bare himself to the bone in front of anyone he wants. It doesn’t matter since it will be forgotten in the morning. The night is unreliable, thus Bucky uses that to his defense.

“Aren’t you worried I’m gonna like...”

“Kill me?” Sam snorts, a bit of energy returning to his voice. “I think if either of us really wanted to kill the other, one of us would be lying in a heap by now. Just saying.”

Bucky can’t argue with that. Like Dr. Raynor so elegantly puts it, it is so sad, but Sam is probably Bucky’s only real friend at this point. Add that with the fact that he doesn’t really want to kill anyone anyway, and someone who doesn’t know better might call what Sam and Bucky have a “healthy relationship.” Bucky swings a hand around Sam’s vicinity, willing his voice to level out this time.

“Are you tired? You should go to sleep.”

A deep sigh resonates out from Sam’s dark corner. “Man, I forget sometimes how good you are at that.”

“What?”

“Changing the subject.”

Oh.

Bucky wonders which part of him that came from: James “Bucky” Barnes, or his HYDRA-conditioned brain. Perhaps it was just a defense against people trying to crowbar their way into his thoughts. As long as he can distract them, he’s safe. Bucky exhales a heavy breath, combing a hand through his greasy hair.

“Look, I just... I’m not the most pleasant person to sleep with.”

A moment of unwonted silence passes. Bucky’s gaze wanders away from his hands and toward Sam. By the time his eyes have adjusted, the guy has propped himself up on his elbows, teeth shining through the dimness in a quiet grin. The suggestive phrasing of Bucky’s words finally catches up to him. His cheeks redden. Well, if Sam decides to take it that way… Bucky technically hasn’t gotten laid since the 1940s. From what he remembers, it hadn’t even been very good. But hell no–that’s the kind of mental rabbit hole Bucky isn’t in the mood for. He coughs and slaps his thighs.

“We have like three more hours. Go to sleep, Sam. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Now you gon’ make me feel bad about it,” Sam smirks. “Shame on you, Barnes.”

Bucky ducks his head in exasperation. “You’re an idiot. What, you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

Sam visibly brightens at that. “Ooh, for real? You know any?”

Great , so now Sam is standing up, walking toward him, the grin on his annoying face widening. And because Bucky is a fucking mess, his tongue gets tied up in about fifteen knots before he gets the chance to open his mouth, and he’s already forgetting what he was going to say. Hell, if Sam smiled any brighter than that, he’d be the fucking sun.

“Uh, well, y’know,” Bucky says eloquently. “HYDRA was kinda lacking in that department.”

Sam laughs again, making himself at home on the red seats adjacent to Bucky’s perch, and Bucky feels a miserable sort of swell in his chest. Why is Sam purposefully gravitating toward him? Who the hell wants an ex-HYDRA assassin in close proximity?

“You gettin’ shy on me, Buck?” Sam tilts his head slightly downward, gazing up at Bucky with his big brown eyes and thick eyelashes, and what the fuck. “You ain’t gotta look so shook up; I don’t bite.”

“That’s a surprise,” Buck replies weakly, trying to force his face to cool down. There’s so much spit caught up in his throat right now, and Bucky knows it’ll look weird if he swallows in front of this guy, like he’s some nervous teenager with a school crush. Sam just laughs softly, the corners of his cheeks tightening, his lips curling up in a way that is too fucking charming to be on the face of a man sitting right across from a mass murderer. But honestly, Bucky can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed anymore; any time Sam laughs because of him is a win.

God, maybe I am good for something.

An overlay of silence reigns over the two men, and the white noise hum of the plane almost makes Bucky want to doze off. When he blinks himself awake for the fifth time, Sam’s familiar cadence cuts through the air like a knife to warm butter. He sounds wide awake.

“Nightmares, huh. So that’s why you don’t sleep.”

Bucky pales a shade, shifting atop his crate in discomfort. He supposes he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being. Sam lifts his hands in a placating gesture, his voice much more benign now. “I used to get ‘em sometimes too. Hell, even nowadays I do; service will do that to you. Not tryna say I completely understand what’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours, but…I get it, to a degree.”

Bucky wonders if Sam behaves like this whenever he’s talking to veterans in his therapy group, or if he’s reserved this for Bucky alone. He finds himself craving the latter to a degree that is both confusing and hopeless. “I…” he mutters, pointedly not looking at the other man. The miserable swell from before is morphing into something much more sad, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do with it.

You’re alone. You have no friends, no family.

The harsh words bounce around Bucky’s head like a game of Pong, contrasting starkly against Sam’s kind and gentle tone. A spark of indignation thaws the insides of his chest. It’s not fair, it’s not true; Bucky’s got proof right here. Fuck you, Dr. Raynor. Despite all you think, at least I’ve got this dumbass with me.

Sam speaks again, leaning back in his seat. “Look, you ain’t gotta tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m just lettin’ you know that you ain’t gotta fight this alone.”

Bucky hates tip-toeing around his trauma like it’s some massive landmine. Part of him just wants to lay it all out; explode with everything he’s never willingly told another soul; reopen his wounds and expel all the ugliness in the hopes that maybe he’ll heal up properly this time. He wants to scream to Sam that he never got a fucking break; it was abuse upon abuse. HYDRA buried him alive just to water his grave in guilt and horror and self-hatred. There had never been the option of peace for the Winter Soldier. He was the asset, the weapon, the tool, the plaything, taken out of a dusty closet any time somebody wanted a turn with him.

“It was never a fight,” Bucky whispers. “They never gave me a chance.”

Sam looks slightly taken aback, as if he wasn’t expecting the ex-assassin to actually respond. Bucky would be surprised too if he didn’t feel so utterly lost right now. Instead, he settles for staring past Sam’s shoulder into the back of the fuselage, trying to find answers in the dim blue lights blanketing them. Despite how hard Bucky tries not to see it, Sam is shifting, his face crumpling into...something. He can’t put his finger on it but hopes to God it’s not pity. Steve used to give him that look, always catching himself doing it, and then getting all guilty about it afterward. So before Bucky can stop himself there, let his words fester in comfortable ambiguity, he’s taking off and nothing is going to stop him.

“So yeah, Sam,” Bucky continues, gritting out the words, “I get nightmares. I remember every single human being I murdered with this stupid fucking metal arm, and now I have to deal with it for the rest of my ‘overextended life.’ Is that selfish? Is it selfish of me to say that I wish I died in that fucking ravine when I was supposed to? I don’t belong here, Sam. Just the fact that I’m alive in this era is unnatural. But I’ve gotta make amends with my laundry list of everyone I hurt, because dying just isn’t going to cut it. ”

Bucky still isn’t looking at Sam by the time he finishes, snapping his mouth shut like an animal being muzzled before he can bite anyone else. Even though Bucky can’t tell what Sam is thinking, can’t see how his expression has undoubtedly contorted from pity to hurt, Bucky is overwhelmed by instinct. He doesn't know which side is currently winning over: the Soldier’s desperation to submit before his handlers put him through “corrective treatment,” or Bucky’s longing to apologize to Sam for hurting him. Make amends, make amends, don’t hurt anyone. Rule number two.

The latter ends up taking the tug of war, and Bucky whispers out a choked, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sam, I–”

“Hey.”

Sam is standing close beside him, their shoulders almost level while Bucky is slouching. He can’t suppress the shiver that shoots through his body like lightning as a hand carefully grips his flesh arm. “Hey, man, look at me,” Sam says–somehow firm and gentle at the same time. His thumb brushes over the fabric of Bucky’s sweater, and Bucky wants to let his hand come up to clench Sam’s, but hell if he doesn’t know how that’ll end. It’s been so long since he’s been touched in a way that doesn’t end in bruises.

“Hey, hey… Listen to me, man. I hear you,” Sam says warmly, burnishing the chasm where Bucky thinks his heart used to be. “And it’s gonna be all right. You may not think it yet, and I should’ve said something earlier, but…” Sam trails off, pauses, then nods to himself. “You’re a good man, Bucky.”

A tight, burning ember of anguish flares up in Bucky’s throat.

A good man.

The Winter Soldier seldom got oral approval from his handlers, and even when he did, it was for chaos and carnage disguised as HYDRA’s regurgitated “gift to mankind” bullshit. To James “Bucky” Barnes, praise was a concept he never considered, since he’d have to be deserving in order to get any. Goodness is reserved for people , and Bucky crossed the line of humanity a long time ago. He isn’t a person anymore–just a monster.

People who fall under the category of “good” are the ones like Steve. Like his sister Becca. And like Sam Wilson specifically, standing here next to him with the true mantle of Captain America; a man so much damn worthier of that title than Bucky is, and he thinks Bucky is good . The same guy who has killed more innocent people than he has fingers and toes. And that’s not counting the unnameable ones–the collateral damage–caught in the crossfire.

Just the thought of all he’s done makes Bucky want to fervently deny Sam; to prove him wrong; to show Sam his track record with big red letters at the bottom of the page emphasizing that Bucky isn’t good . In the memories of hundreds, maybe thousands of people, he’s the cruel, terrifying mercenary with a history uglier than most want to comprehend. If Sam saw all that Bucky had done, would he change his mind? Would Sam look at Bucky the way he looks at himself in the mirror?

Sam is saying something now–maybe his name. But Bucky can’t hear him. He doesn’t know when the tears began, so he quickly ducks his chin so Sam can’t see them streaming down his face. God, it’s so fucking cold. Sam lets out a soft hum–not sad, but caring–and Bucky knows he’s failed at hiding again. Sam’s hand brushes up his arm and around his shoulder, pulling him gently against Sam’s warm body. Eventually Bucky leans into it, shutting his eyes tight.

“Been a while,” Bucky mutters, almost a whisper; it might just be a vivid thought.

“Yeah, I know, Tin Man. I mean it, you’re a great guy. And before you start, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m gonna keep reminding you till you do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sniffles, voice muffled as he buries his face into Sam’s shoulder. “Thank you, Sam.”

The words, the touching–it’s all too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true, because if it’s real, then Bucky might just have a bit of hope left. And if he has hope, then he can’t jump into battle without care for his own life anymore. He’s going to have to exist correctly this time around. So if Sam means what he says, if he really thinks Bucky is a good person, then Bucky is going to live up to that image or die trying.

Once they pull away, it’s felt like hours. The plane is still going steady through the early morning, the lights still that calming shade of blue, but something has shifted in the air, something neither Sam nor Bucky can seem to put their finger on. It’s a certain kind of rawness; an ache Bucky is thoroughly familiar with; a feeling that always comes with the moon and foolish amounts of trust. Bucky mumbles a flustered apology for the wet spot now stained into Sam’s sweater, but the guy just shakes his head and grins in a way that makes Bucky fall in love with him.

“Anytime.”

#sambucky #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #fanfiction #angst #hurt comfort #winter soldier #ptsd #ao3

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alwaysmychoices · 4 years

Text

Is This Goodbye?

Synopsis: Charlie and Ethan are running out of time, and if they don’t hurry, this toxin will take everything from them. But with so little time left, is it more important to keep barriers or to finally say how they feel?

this is the final part of the chapter 11 rewrite but is not the end of the series.

Chapter 17 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 7.2k

Rating: T (language)

The second Charlie saw Ethan approach her hospital room, she knew he had bad news.

She had seen him give bad news hundreds of times. Every time, he had the same expression, though the degree varied. He walked with determination, yet there was a silent reluctance in each step, like he would be happy to walk just a touch slower. The skin between his eyebrows crinkled together, and his lips formed a hard line. And his eyes…

They were particularly sad today.

In the short time before Ethan reached the glass, Charlie panicked.

She imagined a million scenarios, each worse than the last. She grieved each of them for her friends, her family, and herself. Even Ethan, too.

But once he reached her, she was relieved to see him. Happy, even. Especially because this could be the last time that she would face him like this, before this toxin had taken everything from her.

She paid a great deal of attention to him. He didn’t look like the same man who had kissed her goodbye this morning, and it was so hard to reconcile the two conflicting versions of Ethan. The one from last night had this radiance about him – like, for the first time in a very long time, the world was beautiful and full of possibilities. That man was happy. He made an extra cup of coffee in the morning and sacrificed his morning rituals just to stay in bed with her a little longer.

This man…

He wasn’t happy.

He was devastated.

His life had shattered. His world was chaos. And faced with the most important case of his career, he was failing.

And he was failing the woman he loved…

Looking at him, it was hard to imagine that the Ethan from this morning could ever come back. He was this now – and maybe even forever.

Ethan didn’t know how to begin. He imagined that there were eloquent, efficient words that could professionally and carefully inform her of the team’s new breakthrough. If he had an eternity, he wouldn’t have found them, though. The truth was that he didn’t want to begin. He didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want it to be true.

Charlie took a moment to weakly approach the glass, and when he remained silent, she offered a kind of sympathetic smile.

“Would it help if I guessed the bad news?” Charlie offered.

“Who said it was bad news?” Ethan asked reflexively.

He didn’t like the knowing smile she offered or how effortlessly she had read him.

He didn’t like that he wouldn’t be able to keep secrets from her in the coming hours. She deserved the luxury of compassionate lies and well-meaning falsehoods. She deserved to be spared, if just from the psychological toll.

“We’ve discovered the type of toxin,” Ethan finally elaborated, watching her intently. He told himself he was looking for new symptoms, but he wasn’t. He was studying her reaction and hoping that she could take it.

Ethan didn’t know Charlie’s limits like he knew his own, not really. She toed the line last year with the combined trauma of Mrs. Martinez, the ethics hearing, Naveen’s illness, and Landry’s betrayal. She got herself off that ledge somehow, though a few cracks remained. But this? Could she take this?

But truthfully, as her doctor, it didn’t matter if she could take it. She would have to.

“You have?” Charlie asked apprehensively. She was looking for the trick, for the subtle clue that would put everything together. Because, at first blush, this was good news, wasn’t it? They were one step closer to treatment if they identified the toxin. They might even have time to save Raf.

What was she missing?

How could this discovery earn Ethan’s somber expression?

Ethan took a deep breath and gave her one last moment of innocent hopefulness before he told her.

“It’s a maitotoxin,” Ethan explained, “One I’ve never seen before. And it’s still present and active on Danny’s body postmortem, including the surface of his skin, which means it’s still dangerous.”

It took Charlie about fifteen seconds to understand why Ethan had hesitated for so long.

There was no cure.

Charlie felt like the wind was knocked out of her, and she stumbled back, almost as if she were fighting this new information. She knew it was true. She had no doubts, yet… she couldn’t accept it.

So, she had to say it.

She had to announce it to herself and to the world. She had to make it real.

“I’m going to die,” she said it softly, so softly that Ethan almost didn’t hear through the glass.

But he did. She kind of wished he hadn’t.

Charlie belatedly realized that Ethan was talking.

No, he was talking to her.

He was saying something about how this wasn’t the time to give up because they were actively working on an antidote, but his words were so distant—nearly white noise.

All she could think was that she was going to die.

She would never keep her promise to Raf. She would never make it out of this room. She would never tell Kyra all the scandalous and sordid details of her private life. She would never sit on Ethan’s kitchen barstool and watch him make coffee in the morning. She wouldn’t even find out if they messed this up again or if, magically, it all fell into place.

All of her dreams and plans meant nothing now.

They would just be the private thoughts of a dead girl.

She could have wallowed in that for the rest of her life – it’s not like she had a lot of time left, anyway.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

And once she escaped those horrible thoughts, something worse occurred to her.

Charlie knew that Ethan Ramsey would never forgive himself for this. When she died, she would live on through his self-torment. He would twist and turn her memory until it became his personal hell. He would convince himself that he deserved it, and armed with his stubbornness and a conviction of his inherent badness, nothing could stop him.

She couldn’t fathom the thought.

Yet it felt so real, so decided, that she couldn’t stop thinking it.

It was there. It was true. It was practically inevitable.

And she felt some sense of responsibility in all of it. Like maybe it was her fault. Like she had sealed his fate with her own impulsive need to save others. Like she had betrayed him without even knowing it.

She couldn’t look at him when he was like this, eyes so wide and sad as he pled for her to maintain hope and ignore her own mortality. And she certainly couldn’t listen to him.

His voice didn’t even sound the same. It was too desperate for her agreement. Too grave. Too anxious. He needed her to live the same lie. It grated on her ears.

“Stop talking,” Charlie demanded breathlessly. She sounded like she had run a marathon just to command him. In her mind, she had raced miles and miles just to hold on to the world. But for Ethan, who watched her sway slightly with dizziness, her breathlessness was just another reminder of the horrible truth he couldn’t yet acknowledge.

He didn’t dare speak. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

There was a pause.

Charlie realized she didn’t actually want to talk.

She didn’t want to do any of this.

She wanted to crawl back into bed. She wanted to fall asleep. She wanted to wake up tomorrow morning.

“Ethan,” Charlie began, her voice shaking. She silently started to count, promising that she would say it again once she reached three. She didn’t actually do it until she got to five, “I’m going to die.”

“Charlotte, don’t say that,” Ethan’s response was quick and desperate, so much so that the words blended together a little bit.

Charlie’s vision was hazy from the tears building in her eyes. Even then, she could see how intensely he needed her to pretend none of this was happening. She hated herself for not letting him have that.

She hated herself for being sick, for dying, for walking in this goddamn room and ruining everything. She hated herself for needing more, for loving him so much that she had to hurt him. She hated this illness. She hated Travis. She hated Senator Farrugia. She hated Raf for taking the brunt of the toxin and for leaving her here alone.

She hated everyone but Ethan.

But she really hated what she said next.

“I have to say it,” Charlie asserted, “Because it’s true.”

“Charlie, you can’t give up,” Ethan’s voice cracked, and he moved as close as he could through the glass. He was looking at her intently, searching for something familiar to latch on to in her green eyes. All he found was resolute determination.

It crushed him.

“I’m not giving up, Ethan,” Charlie told him. What little control she had over her body seemed to disappear. She was shaking. Breathing was harder. Tears prickled at her eyes. Everything hurt. “But we have to face this. You have to face this.”

“Am I not facing this?” Ethan retorted incredulously, looking like he had been insulted, “Am I not here, Charlie?”

Charlie shook her head vigorously, “No, you’re not facing this. You still think I will walk out of here unscathed, Ethan, and I won’t. Not even I can work my way out of this. I know that. I need you to know it, too.”

“Why?” Ethan snapped, “Why do you need that?”

Ethan seethed.

How could she ask this of him?

How could she give up when he needed her? When he was doing everything he could, how could she not just hold on? Why did she need him to face the one thing that would break him?

“Because I care about you, Ethan, and I need to know you’ll be okay.”

Ethan scoffed.

“I promised Naveen I would be there for you if he died,” Charlie explained forcefully. The way she spoke demanded his attention, and he begrudgingly gave it. “I need that same assurance, Ethan. I need to know that, when I’m gone, you will be okay. That you’re not going to waste years blaming and hating yourself for something that was never even your fault. I got myself in this mess. Blame me,” Charlie’s voice had changed subtly as she spoke, but it was clear now.

She was just as desperate as he was.

He felt it in her stare. He heard it in her voice. It surrounded her.

And it killed him.

When Ethan didn’t speak, she begged, “Please. I won’t let you use my memory to torture yourself.”

Ethan still didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to. The look on his face told her that he could never agree.

It hit Charlie like a blow, and she stumbled back just a bit. She looked betrayed, even disappointed in him. Ethan felt the urge to avert his eyes in guilt.

“Do you promise?” Charlie was very close to a new emotion – one that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She heard it in her tone, though. It wasn’t quite angry, not fully disappointed. But it was certainly commanding.

Ethan had to answer her. He knew he did.

But he didn’t.

He was so mad that she forced him to sit in this, that she broke down his carefully constructed barriers. He couldn’t save her if he felt the full weight of what was happening. His grief, his adoration, his fury – it would bury him.

He told himself that he was doing what was best for her.

But there was a small voice in the back of his head that said he was just running away.

“I can’t do this, Greene. I can’t have this conversation,” Ethan announced, evading eye contact. He was too ashamed to look at her, “I’ve been here too long. I need to get back to the team.”

Then he left – so abruptly and dramatically that Charlie couldn’t even get a word before he was too far away to hear her.

Charlie watched him in disbelief.

He… left?

She was dying, and he fucking left?

Charlie didn’t know what she was feeling, but it was something close to anger, fear, and sadness.

She couldn’t believe he would allow his stubbornness to deprive them of what little time they had together. It was one thing for her to not let him hide from the truth, but was it the same for him to run away? Could he do that?

Was there a right way to do any of this?

If there was, Charlie was convinced he certainly hadn’t done it.

She fumed. How could he leave when they were already running out of time?

Quietly, she remembered the spring when she sneaked out of his apartment in the early hours just to avoid saying goodbye. Was he doing the same thing?

Charlie thought of the note she wrote the night she left. She had written, “I love you,” and then crumbled the note up and taken it with her instead of letting him read it.

Once again, when this could be goodbye, she hadn’t told him.

She might never.

Charlie paced as she tried to clear her mind. She stumbled every other step, feeling increasingly dizzy, but she kept trying. If she kept moving, she wouldn’t have to face the silence again.

She had to keep going because, if she didn’t, she would hear Danny’s final, ragged breaths. She would see Raf’s exhausted, pale face as he mumbled his last words. She would hear her own screams…

And now, she would also see Ethan storming away from her in her final hours.

It was too much.

Charlie felt lucky when she heard someone approach the glass. It meant she would have a distraction.

But when she realized that the noisy steps came from her all her best friends coming to check on her, her feeling of good luck wavered.

They all looked so…

Sad. Aware of the threat. And politely trying not to talk about it.

Sienna’s face was red with tears, and something stabbed at Charlie’s heart as she realized that her friend had lost the man she adored and would likely lose even more friends by the end of the night.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Charlie wasn’t suffering in isolation. Everyone she loved was also suffering, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“I saw Dr. Ramsey storming down the hall. Is everything okay?” Bryce asked as soon as he was in Charlie’s earshot, obviously apprehensive and drained from the traumatic afternoon. Charlie had never seen him not smile when he approached. It broke her heart that he only frowned.

No, Charlie thought, Ethan can’t handle his girlfriend’s mortality, so he’s acting like a dick.

But she didn’t say it. She didn’t want her last memories with her friends to be tainted with calling Ethan a dick or complaining about how ridiculous he was.

Instead, Charlie shrugged, “I don’t know, but they’re making progress. They’ve figured out the toxin, so that’s good news.”

“Really? That’s amazing! What is it?” Sienna’s face perked up with hope for the first time since the whole ordeal began.

Charlie hesitated and reluctantly admitted, “Maitotoxin.”

“Oh,” Sienna exclaimed with surprise, and it only took a moment for her face to fall with recognition, “Oh…”

An awkward silence fell between the friends, and Charlie’s eyes fell to the floor. She didn’t like the way they looked at her now, like they were memorizing her so they could remember once she was gone. Elijah’s face was soft with sympathy, a stark contrast to Jackie’s distraught and angry frown. Bryce was trying so hard to be positive that it seemed to break him.

And Sienna…

Charlie knew that, if she looked at Sienna right now, she wouldn’t be able to stop from crying, so she selfishly looked away.

But she couldn’t maintain it. She had to look. She had to connect.

She had to let them know how much she loved and appreciated them, even if they weren’t ready to acknowledge these as their final hours.

“I love you guys,” Charlie sniffed, wiping at her eyes before anyone could see her cry, “I’m so happy I met all of you.”

“We love you, too,” Elijah’s voice hitched, and Bryce put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“It’s really good that they’ve identified the toxin, Charlie,” Jackie spoke up, nodding firmly, “We’re one step closer.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed weakly, “One step closer.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Bryce added, trying to keep everyone optimistic, but not even his bravado couldn’t save the day.

Charlie nodded, “You’re right.”

Everyone tried to stay positive, including Charlie, and she hid her growing tears with awkward sniffles and wiping her eyes. They pretended not to notice and ignored the increasing pain in their hearts.

“How’s Kyra?” Charlie asked.

“She’s good… She made it out of surgery, and she’s recovering,” Bryce clumsily added, “We haven’t… we haven’t told her about this yet. We didn’t want to stress her, but…”

He trailed off before he could say that they would bring her to say goodbye if it became obvious that Charlie wouldn’t survive the hour.

It stung. It was just another reminder that she was actually going to die.

Charlie nodded her approval and expressed relief that Kyra was okay, and she didn’t make Bryce explain. She didn’t need him to tell her. His obvious discomfort and nervousness expressed everything she needed to know. As long as she could say goodbye to Kyra before the end, she was happy to let her stay blissfully ignorant.

She wished she could give all her friends that gift.

As they continued to talk, Charlie found the effort to stay strong for them exhausting. A dark, quiet thought whispered that at least her impending doom meant she could rest after taking blow after blow.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the diagnostics team coming down the hall, and she released a tiny sigh of acceptance.

She knew they didn’t have good news. There was no good news to be had. Whatever it was would be traumatic at worst and depressing at best.

Charlie was so tired.

She longed for her bed so much that she was fine with the fact that she would likely never get out of it. She was ready to let go. She was ready to give in, if everyone would just stand back and let her.

But they wouldn’t.

Charlie’s friends moved to allow June, Baz, and Ethan to face Charlie through the glass. Ethan was staring at her with eyes that begged her to look at him. She didn’t. She was too close to crying already. Instead, she looked at June.

“How are you doing, Charlie?” June asked, and once again, Charlie was comforted by her no-nonsense approach. It was nice to not be causing someone pain for once today.

“Okay,” Charlie shrugged, “No significant changes.”

June nodded considerately, “You know it’s Maitotoxin?”

“Yes.”

“And you know what that means?”

“Yes.”

June looked away just for a second – a second to brace herself. When she looked back, she was stern again.

“I brought some files if you would like to look through it.”

“I don’t want to,” Charlie rejected the offer, “But thank you.”

June nodded understandingly and handed the folder to Baz, who wiped a tear from underneath his glasses, “We’re working on it, Charlie.”

“I know, and thank you,” Charlie acknowledged.

She couldn’t help herself.

She had to look at Ethan.

Her muscles burned with the effort of looking away. She couldn’t fight it. She had to see him.

And she did.

And it…

It broke her and healed her at the same time.

Her Ethan.

She could see him now – the Ethan she loved, not just Dr. Ramsey. He was so sad… So devastated. And so eager for her to glance in his direction.

She loved him. She loved him so much.

In that moment, he felt like the only thing worth looking at. Her heart swelled so much that it felt like it might just burst. She couldn’t imagine staring at anything else.

“This isn’t the time to give up, Charlotte,” Ethan asserted, but it was a plea, really.

He hoped his voice still mattered to her. He hoped he still mattered to her after how he treated her.

“But,” Charlie spoke softly to the group, though she only looked at Ethan, “There isn’t an antidote.”

“Yet,” Ethan emphasized, “We’re going to work around the clock to synthesize one.”

“And you won’t be alone.”

Everyone’s head jerked in the direction of the familiar voice.

For a moment, Charlie wondered if she should add delusions to her growing list of symptoms. She looked at her friends’ expressions for confirmation that they saw it, too, and to her surprise, they did.

But… how?

Aurora approached quickly, flanked with a team of doctors on either side. Just a step ahead of her was Tobias, and it was only then that Charlie recognized that he was the one who spoke.

And just like that, everything was different. Hope rushed down the empty corridor to the sound of a dozen footsteps.

Everyone gaped as the doctors approached. Everyone from Edenbrook was too shocked to say a word, so it was Aurora who spoke next.

“The best doctors and resources Mass Kenmore can offer at your disposal,” Aurora affirmed, and the doctors behind her nodded their agreement.

Charlie was stunned to silence.

“Tobias?” Ethan’s lips were parted in a silent gasp. He couldn’t believe it, and right then, he decided he didn’t care about anything in their past anymore.

Tobias was here now, and if he could save Charlie, Ethan would forgive and forget anything.

The only thing that mattered was Charlie.

“This is bigger than any rivalry. Greene’s not dying on our watch,” Tobias looked at Ethan like he understood.

Normally, this would have terrified Ethan. He would have wondered how Tobias knew about their relationship and if he would dare use it against the two of them in the name of their ongoing competition. He would have feared for Charlie’s career. And he would have hated Tobias for pointing it out.

But Ethan felt none of that.

Instead, he said, “Thank you, Tobias.”

This startled Tobias, but after a beat, he accepted the thanks.

“Yes… Thank you. Both of you,” Charlie echoed, looking between Aurora and Tobias with shocked gratitude, “Aurora… I don’t even know how to express… I …” Charlie stumbled through her words, struggling to express her love for her friend and her gratitude and her relief to even know her.

“Then don’t,” Aurora cut her off, “Thank me by hanging in there, okay?”

Charlie nodded weakly, “I’ll try.”

“We've set up basecamp in the laboratory. We can take you there now,” June offered.

“Anyone else who wants to join us is welcome,” Baz added.

“Count us in. Chemistry was always my strongest subject in college,” Elijah said, earning a nod of approval from Baz.

Sienna pushed her way to the glass, her teary eyes fierce and piercing as they found Charlie, “Don’t you dare die. No comas, either. Just… hold the line, you hear me?” Sienna demanded.

“I hear you,” Charlie confirmed as strongly as she could.

Aurora pulled Sienna from the window and gently lead her away. The others said their goodbyes and hurried after June and Baz to the lab.

Only Ethan stayed behind.

Charlie stared at him in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“I realized you might need me here more than you need me with them,” Ethan confessed, taking another step towards the glass – towards Charlie.

He didn’t quite know where to start. He was ashamed of his behavior – of his rude cowardice. He was haunted by that last look she’d given before he left, like she knew he would let her down.

And he didn’t want to be that man.

He wasn’t that man.

He might not be able to save her, but that wasn’t what she needed from him. He knew that now.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie,” Ethan said it all at once, like a deep sigh he needed to release. And he did. He had to apologize. He needed her to not hate him.

“For what?” Charlie asked apprehensively. She realized that she was holding her breath as she waited. She wanted to forgive him so very, very badly that she was terrified he wouldn’t say the right words, that this would somehow be ruined.

But really, even if he had made every wrong move, she wasn’t prepared to let him ruin it. She would have forgiven him no matter what he said.

“For everything,” Ethan swallowed heavily, casting his eyes low with humiliation, “For storming off. For not listening to you. for hiding when I should have stood with you.”

He twisted his face, trying to hold back the floodgates of emotion as he added, “You’re asking for something that’s very hard to give, Charlotte.”

Charlie was crying.

She didn’t bother wiping away the tears as she sadly smiled, “I know.”

“But you deserve to ask,” Ethan made himself look at her, even though he wasn’t sure if he even deserved to, “Because you’re right, Charlie. You’re always right.”

Charlie laughed softly. That was the kind of thing she always wanted to hear. If he had told her any other time, she would have stored those words and brought them up time and time again. She wouldn’t get to now, though.

“I forgive you, Ethan,” Charlie quickly corrected, “Actually, no. I don’t. Because I don’t need to. I don’t care. You were a dick, but I… I don’t blame you. I’m just happy you’re here now.”

Ethan shook his head, knowing he didn’t deserve anything she said, “You’re too easy on me.”

“No,” Charlie tentatively held her hand to the glass, “I’m not.”

She offered a small, playful smile – the kind that always filled him with happiness, even now. She whispered, “I knew you were an asshole when I picked you, Ethan.”

He didn’t deserve Charlie.

But he placed his hand on the glass and smiled anyway.

He was supposed to leave now. They both knew it.

But he stood still.

He was devastated to look at her like this, alone and scared. He could see the exhaustion etched in her face, and he knew she hadn’t slept. He doubted she had sat for more than hour all together today. She was so stubborn… And so isolated…

“Can I stay?” Ethan asked impulsively.

Charlie jerked in surprise, instinctively taking a small step back. He missed her proximity immediately.

“Won’t the team miss you?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t care. I want to be here with you.”

Charlie hadn’t thought that there were right words to say. She thought that this situation was too shocking, too dramatic to have anything “right” about it. But she felt differently now. Because those were the right words to say.

She didn’t speak immediately. She didn’t know how to. She was too overcome with emotions she didn’t even recognize. It was harder to breathe. She felt like something was breaking inside of her – some resolve, some barrier. It flooded her until her limbs felt heavy and her mind exhausted.

She was falling apart. She felt it. Ethan saw it.

“Please,” Charlie begged him to come inside.

Ethan nodded emphatically, and he assured her it would be just one minute. As he rushed into his hazmat suit, he was tempted to be reckless with the remaining procedures. Time with Charlie was precious, and one minute felt like too long to wait.

It took about 65 seconds for Ethan to safely enter the hospital room.

Ethan only took one of the following seconds to complain about how slow he moved and how much faster he needed to go to get to her, but he was quickly distracted from those criticisms.

Because Charlie was there.

After hours of staying apart to maintain boundaries and leaving her to struggle on her own, Ethan could finally hold her.

Ethan wordlessly enveloped Charlie in his arms, and she fell deeply into his embrace until he was the only thing keeping her up. She shed the pretense of strength and stability. When Raf crashed and abandoned her in this room, she almost wallowed in the full effect of the night – the pain, the sorrow, the fear. But there was still a part of her that pushed Ethan away for his own good, sacrificing what she wanted for the greater effort. Now, even that was gone.

Charlie succumbed to the darkness.

And really, it was kind of a relief.

She sobbed into his chest, and Ethan held her as tight as he possibly could without breaking her. He wished he could give her all of his remaining strength. She needed it more than he did.

“It’s okay,” Ethan whispered, tracing a soothing pattern on her back, “I’m here.”

“I missed you so much,” Charlie managed breathlessly.

He squeezed her, but he wasn’t sure if he did it to reassure her or to prove to himself that she was really there.

Once her sobs grew softer, Ethan pulled away enough to wipe the tears off her red-stained cheeks. He hated the hazmat suit for keeping them apart. He wanted to feel her skin, her warmth.

“I wish you could touch me,” Charlie told him, a spare tear rolling down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb.

“So, do I,” Ethan affirmed with a sad smile.

She swayed softly in his arms. Her dizziness, coupled with her exhaustion, made it hard to stand. Her eyelids were heavy, and her eyes were bloodshot from hours of tears and not a minute of sleep. She demanded a lot from her body, and it was determined to get its revenge on her.

Though he knew she hadn’t, he asked, “Have you slept at all?”

Charlie shook her head, “I tried, but um…” Charlie had to stop and hold her breath for a minute, too choked up to continue. For anyone else, she would have left it at that, but for Ethan, she bore the pain and explained, “I tried after Raf crashed… And I… I was too afraid I wouldn’t wake up again, and I wasn’t ready.”

Oh.

Ethan swallowed heavily and nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t dare speak. He knew he would break if he did.

His beautiful, wonderful Charlie didn’t deserve this…

“How is Raf?” Charlie asked apprehensively. She doubted she would like his answer.

“He’s holding on,” Ethan told her, “He’s in a coma.”

Charlie knew that was the best she could ask for, so she accepted it quietly.

“Are you tired, Charlie?”

Charlie let out a deep breath as she admitted, “So, so tired.”

Not just physically, either. She was drained completely – emotionally and mentally. The only thing that kept her going was her determination, and even that wore thin.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Ethan suggested softly. When she hesitated, he added, “I’ll be here to make sure you wake up.”

Charlie knew he couldn’t really make a promise like that, but she believed it anyway. She needed it.

Charlie accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her to the bed. As she sank into the mattress, he carefully followed. His arms encircled her, and her head fell comfortably and familiarly to his shoulder.

If they pretended, it almost looked like a normal night in his apartment.

“I think your bed might be just a bit more comfortable,” Charlie whispered playfully, earning his chuckle.

She liked to watch him laugh, even through the bulky hazmat helmet. In fact, she liked almost everything about him.

“Can I tell you something I regret?” Charlie asked, much to Ethan’s surprise.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes, you can,” Ethan affirmed, hiding his own anxiety.

Everything about this night felt final, like the last chapter of his favorite book. Every time they had a “last” anything, Ethan felt closer to the edge.

“If I could go back, I would pick you all the times I almost did.”

“I wouldn’t deserve it.”

“I don’t care,” Charlie shrugged. She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her sad eyes, “You don’t have to deserve me, Ethan. I wasted so much time thinking that, if I couldn’t have you, I had to stay away until I moved on. And I never moved on, not even for a minute.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Ethan felt like a fool for all his stubborn, ‘ethical’ arguments. He’d just been hiding, and because of it, they were deprived of so much. “I wish I could take it back, Charlie. I would take a million more months with you.”

This time, when Charlie smiled, he knew it was real.

And she knew she had to tell him. Anxiety built in her chest, and for a terrifying moment, she wondered if she as alone in loving him, if she had always been the foolish, love-struck girl. If he still didn’t need her like she needed him.

“Can I tell you another regret?”

Ethan nodded his consent.

“I should have… I should have told you I loved you the second I felt it.”

The world stopped. Time wasn’t counting down.

Now, it was Ethan’s turn to stop breathing.

“When was that?”

“The spring, the night I left you before you could leave me. I wrote it on a note that I was going to leave for you, but I took it with me instead. I thought it help me move on if I never told you,” Charlie admitted.

She was very aware that Ethan hadn’t said it back yet, and she watched his lips intently, waiting for three words to fall out of them.

But Ethan was distracted.

Because, if he had known, everything would have been different. If she had left that note, he wouldn’t have been able to stay away. He ran away and hid from her for his own safety, to keep him away from her. If he had known that she was suffering, too, he would have stayed.

He could have been happy with her all this time.

All it would have taken was for one of them to say that they loved each other.

“I knew then, too…” Ethan still seemed lost in his own head as he spoke, “I spent every night in the Amazon wondering if I would ever stop.”

“Did you?” Charlie was so afraid of his answer she almost hoped he wouldn’t say anything. That way, she ran no risk of being crushed.

“Never.”

He loves me.

Charlie shouldn’t have been shocked, but she was.

And she was so… so…

So in love with him. So overwhelmed.

Charlie began to cry, hiding her face in Ethan’s shoulder as she mourned. She cried because of how much she loved him. She cried because they had all this time and never told each other. She cried because she wouldn’t get to love him for decades. She cried because this was still the end.

Ethan held her tight and fought off his own ragged, dangerous breath. He didn’t know how to breathe anymore. He was so sad but so happy. So distraught and so relieved.

He should have told her before. In his apartment, on the balcony with a bottle of wine. When she was smiling at him. When her eyes reflected the glimmering cityscape and stars. When she was happy and safe.

“You know,” Ethan murmured, “My dad says I would be an idiot to ruin this because you’re the best thing to ever happen to me,” Ethan wasn’t quite sure why he told her this story, but he just knew he wanted to make her smile, “I told him that I already had once, and he said I was an idiot.”

Charlie laughed softly through her tears. She could imagine it, and she didn’t disagree with Alan.

“My mom found a picture of you on the internet after I moved here. She warned me not to get too close to you because you were too handsome and smart for your own good,” Charlotte murmured. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice, but he was relieved to have the distraction.

“You know, it was pretty strange you claimed to be such a ‘fan’ but had no idea what I looked like,” Ethan teased.

“I was a fan of your research. Was I supposed to keep a poster of your face on my wall?”

“I’m just saying that my picture was in the back of the book.”

“I was too busy reading it to check you out, Ethan.”

Charlie rolled her eyes, and Ethan smiled.

They didn’t say a lot after that, just a few murmured words and the occasional joke. Despite her best efforts to stay awake and enjoy her time with Ethan, Charlie fell asleep. She finally felt safe enough to sleep.

Even after he realized Charlie was asleep, Ethan held her. He wasn’t ready to let go.

He wanted to hold her through the night and keep her safe. He wanted to keep his promise and make sure she woke up in the morning.

But he needed to get back to the team and fight for her while they still had time left.

Ethan reluctantly untangled himself from Charlie, and before he left, he whispered gently that he loved her.

Ethan followed the decontamination procedures methodically. It gave him something else to think about, somewhere for his mind to hide. Once he was done, he slid back into his white coat and started walking down the hall to the lab.

But he didn’t make it there.

Every step, his feet felt like lead. His heart raced. His eyes watered. His breath was irregular.

He had to stop. He had to… crash.

He fell to the linoleum floor with a thud that echoed down the empty hall. He leaned his head back to the wall and begged his body to stop, to just let him focus. He searched for those barriers that kept him safe, but they were gone now.

He loved Charlie.

And she was going to die.

Ethan succumbed to the weight of it all as he sobbed into his hands. It took everything from him, so when the tears stopped flowing, he felt hollow and empty. He was alone. And he missed her.

As soon as he could fathom it, Ethan stood. He walked into the bathroom and splashed his tear-stained face with water. His reflection was so unfamiliar – so distraught and devoid of life – that he avoided looking at it at first. He forced himself to level his gaze with his reflection, and he commanded that he get his shit together and be a good doctor. It didn’t matter if he was sad. All that mattered was that Charlotte survived. He would give anything for her.

Using that as fuel, Ethan marched into the lab.

Everyone was surprised to see him, and they hardly kept it to himself. Even June gaped in alarm. No one expected him to leave Charlie’s side, and they worried what it meant that he had.

“How is Charlie?” Baz asked immediately.

“She’s resting. Heart rate still normal. No obvious deterioration,” Ethan ignored their astonished stares and walked to the half-empty pot of coffee in the corner of the make-shift lab. He poured himself a cup and winced at the taste, “Who made this?”

“I did,” Tobias confirmed.

“Makes sense,” Ethan muttered. If Tobias caught it, he let it slide.

He forced the rest of the cup down, reasoning that he needed the caffeine more than his taste buds needed satisfaction.

As soon as he finished his coffee, Ethan asked for an update and where he could help. Tobias told him about their progress and invited Ethan to work with him. Ethan obliged and fell into the project quickly.

The team benefited from his presence, even if they couldn’t believe he was there.

As they worked, Tobias finally said, “So, the resident, huh?”

Ethan shot him a warning look, “Shut up.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You are, and I don’t care. After we finish this antidote, you have all the time in the world to judge me. Save it for then.”

Tobias raised his hands in surrender and got back to work.

---

Charlie woke the next morning to a sharp, stabbing pain ripping through her stomach. She yelped in pain and instinctively doubled over, silently begging her body to just release whatever the fuck this was. She reached for Ethan beside her but found the bed empty.

As another wave of pain hit her, Charlie longed for Ethan’s reassuring presence but was quietly relieved that he didn’t have to see her bitter end. And anyway, he kept his promise. She woke up this morning.

“Charlotte!”

She recognized Ethan’s voice, but her vision was too blurry to recognize him on the other side of the glass. He was just an outline, but he was the tallest outline out of the group. So, Charlie reasoned it had to be him rushing through the decontamination tent to get to her. A handful of people followed.

Charlie dug her nails into her arm to distract from the pain, but she only ended up drawing blood.

Once it was finally over, she fell back into the bed feebly.

Ethan anxiously approached and demanded, “Are you okay?”

Charlie faintly nodded her head in response, and Ethan released a sigh of relief.

“What’s going on?” Charlie murmured, struggling to keep her eyes open. She needed sleep. She needed relief.

“We did it, Charlie!” Charlie recognized the voice before she recognized Aurora’s form in the glass.

“What?” Charlie’s mouth felt dry, and the word came out cracked.

“We have an antidote, Charlie,” Ethan explained. While she tried to identify Aurora out of the crowd, he had made it to her bedside and was sitting in the chair beside her, holding out his hand for hers.

Charlie didn’t understand.

She had to be imagining this.

But people were talking. They explained the miracle of the formulation and how the antidote worked. She only picked up every other word, but she got the gist of it.

It was real.

They did it.

“Did you give it to Raf?” Charlie breathed as soon as it all clicked together, cutting off someone else. She looked to Ethan like he was the only one she trusted.

“We did,” Sienna confirmed, “We haven’t seen any change. It may have been too late…”

“But we haven’t seen a decline, and that has to mean something,” Elijah chimed in.

Charlie fell back into the bed just a little bit farther. She was relieved he was still alive, even if he might not be by the end of the day.

“Charlotte,” Ethan’s voice was tender, nearly begging as he asked, “Give me your arm.”

Charlie obliged, but her body was so weak that it shook when she held it out. Baz came to her side and steadied her as Ethan prepared the shot.

As Ethan smoothly slid the needle into her skin, he told her, “It’s going to be okay.”

And for the first time, Charlie believed him.

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