#did i post this directly after the fiddle one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

midnightfictionlibrary · 9 months

Text

Saccharine - Dick Winters x FemNurse!Reader

Saccharine - Dick Winters x FemNurse!Reader

Word Count : 1.9k

Warnings : mentions of war, wounds, slight jealousy (barely)

Summary : Three Times Dick Winters Wanted to Confess His Feelings and The One Time He Did

A/N : Hello, the next fic after this will be the winner of the WIP poll. This one was tickling my brain though, so I had to write it! This fic is based on the fictional depiction in the miniseries Band of Brothers, not the real veterans. I hope you enjoy it and as always, pls like and reblog if you’d like to see more <;33

Shortly After You Met

You were quickly wrapping bandages, stocking the medics’ bags, making sure morphine was ready, and generally cleaning house. Keeping clean conditions was a little more difficult in the position you were all in, but you liked to make sure the medics felt even partially clean and organized.

“Well look at that..” you hear a voice behind you and you turn slightly, recognizing Dick Winters. You smile at him, eyes lighting up when you register that Doc Roe is standing next to him.

“Just the men I wanted to see.” You hand a fully stocked aid kit to Doc “At the ready for use.” You lower your voice. “Don’t tell anybody but I gave my favorite company medic a few extra bandages.” Roe nods thoughtfully with a little laugh and takes his aid kit from you.

Your eyes slide to Winters, smile brightening for him. “Hello Lieutenant Winters.”

Dick pauses for a moment before answering you, your smile disarming him. Never had he seen you smile so brightly at him. He would have figured you would have reserved such sweet smiles for someone like Doc.

Doc was looking between the two of you, eyebrows scrunched together a bit. Lieutenant Winters wasn’t a very talkative man, sure, but he seemed dumbstruck by you.

“Hello, Nurse.” Dick says quietly. “Always a pleasure to see you.” He gives you a small, polite smile. You duck your head slightly, trying to hide the scarlet blush creeping up your cheeks. Dick pretends not to notice, but is secretly very pleased that he’s had this effect on you.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Such kind words for such difficult times bring me great comfort.” You fiddle absentmindedly with the spare piece of gauze in your hand, your calloused fingers looking so rough, but your touch being so gentle.

“Nurse!” You hear someone call. “NURSE!” You head turns quickly and you notice a young man dragging his half conscious friend behind him. You drop the spare gauze in your hands and rush over, immediately pushing yourself under the unconscious young man’s other shoulder. You can see his lower leg is torn up, the blood mingling with his shredded trousers. You guide both men to a cot and as you reach for the makeshift curtain you lock eyes with Dick Winters, who looks as if he wants to say something to you. Before he opens his mouth, you close the curtain, turning to the wounded soldier.

“I need a surgeon!” You yell, beginning with staunching blood flow. Once another nurse arrives, you pause, wiping your hands quickly and ripping open a sulfa powder packet with your teeth, sprinkling it on the unconscious man’s leg.

Dick watches you from afar, admiring how you seem so sure of yourself. He can barely tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. He shakes himself out of his reverie and exits the aid station with Doc Roe.

2. When He Just Happened To Walk By

You were standing outside the aid station, taking a small breather. You knew you were meant to help people, it had just seemed like a calling, but watching men take their last breaths takes a toll on a person, and you needed to leave the stuffy confines of your post for a moment.

“Oh. Hello.” You hear, and you look up, surprised to see Lieutenant Winters. “I just happened to be walking by and thought I would come say hello.” What you didn’t know is that he had given himself a papercut on purpose so he could come speak to you directly. Finding that you were already there, he forgot all about his self-inflicted cut and approached you carefully.

You can’t help but smile at him. Of course, you smiled at many of the men, but something about Winters made you want to smile whenever you saw him. “Hello, Lieutenant Winters.” You say politely. Dick arches an eyebrow and looks down at you.

“Please, call me Dick.” He says, one corner of his mouth quirking up at you, and you grin at him. His heart feels like it seized a bit, and he realizes that seeing you is something he keeps finding himself seeking out.

“Okay.” You say sweetly. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

Now it’s Dick’s turn to grin at you. “Nice to meet you.” His blue eyes sparkle at you and you turn back to look at the road.

Dick clears his throat. “You know, I -“

You turn to look at him again and he falters. He’s too nervous to tell you just how much he enjoys seeing you.

“Never mind. I seem to have lost my train of thought, Nurse.” He looks down briefly at the finger with the paper cut and you notice, gently taking his hand in yours. Dick’s heart skips a beat and you examine his finger.

“Just a small paper cut. Do you want a bandage?” You say, looking up at him with what he swears is the sweetest expression he’s ever seen.

He shakes his head slowly at you. “No, no. Save it for a man who needs it.” You notice that he doesn’t move his hand out of yours right away, and you like it. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a small crush on the lieutenant, and when it felt like he sought you out just to say hello, you were elated.

“You’re a noble man,Lieutenant. Braving that paper cut all by yourself.” You tease him, lowering both your hands gently. You bring your hand up and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, aware of his eyes on you.

“Well, someone has to do it.” He jokes lightly back.

The two of you stand outside the aid station, a small smile playing on both your lips.

3. The Ricochet

You would be lying if you said you weren’t panicked. There was a rumor running through that Dick Winters had been shot, and you were running around the station, gathering whatever it was you thought might help. The other nurses glanced between themselves, knowing that Winters was important to you, even if you wouldn’t admit it.

You make sure there’s a cot ready, waiting to see Doc Roe rush in, yelling at the others that a surgeon was needed, that Dick was losing too much blood, that he might not make it.

When Dick walks in, limping, you stand there, shocked.

He was standing upright.

Dick raises his eyes and notices you, limping towards you. “Just the nurse I need to see.” You stare at him, unsure how to react, what to say. If your silence wasn’t embarrassing enough, you could feel tears pricking at your eyes. “Are…are you alright?” You look as if you may faint, and Dick reaches his hand out to cup your elbow gently.

You blink a few times, looking up at him. Then you look down at his feet, remembering that he had limped over to meet you. “I…oh my, I’m so sorry.” You say, guiding him to a chair. Sitting opposite him, you just shake your head. “I…um. They told me you had been shot. That it might be bad.”

Dick’s eyebrows raise, now understanding why you seemed to be worried. “Oh, no. No, sweetheart, it’s just a ricochet wound.”

You pretend not to notice the “sweetheart” that slipped from his lips as he lifted his leg for you to examine. It truly wasn’t as bad as you had been told, and you clean and bandage it quickly. “You need to try and stay off this leg.”

He shakes his head at you. “I can’t.”

You smile sadly at him. “I know.”

He leans forward and smiles softly at you, lifting your hand and bringing it to his lips. “Thank you, nurse.”

4. The Night George Luz Asked You To Dance

Dick didn’t know why his stomach felt like someone had reached into and grabbed it with an iron fist.

But Nixon did. As he follows Dick’s gaze he notices you, happily dancing with George Luz. He sees you throw your head back in a laugh and swears he sees Dick’s jaw jump.

The men and most of the nurses were drinking, dancing, having a general good time before everything crumbled and went haywire. It almost felt normal, but what about war could ever be normal? Dick clears his throat and looks down at his feet briefly, noticing that the song had slowed down considerably, and you were now in Luz’s arms, swaying slightly to the soft music in the background.

Nixon is still glancing at Dick when he sees his friend cross the room and cut in, taking you in to the same slow dance you had just been dancing with Luz.

Dick looks down at you. “You look lovely tonight.”

You smile up at him, blushing slightly. “How many pretty nurses have you said that to tonight?” You see his eyes soften considerably and he chuckles.

“Only one.” You blush openly now as Dick draws you in, his cheek resting gently against your head as you sway to the music.

“How’s your leg doing?” You ask quietly, and you hear Winters hum.

“Sore. I’m just lucky I had such a tender nurse.”

You pull your head back to look at him, finding him ready to meet your eyes.

“I have to confess that it’s easy being a nurse to such a kind man.” You say, and Dick smiles at you.

“I have to confess something as well.” He says, his eyes searching yours. “I think you are the nicest girl I’ve ever met.” He pauses, turning you slightly as the two of you sway to the song. “And I find myself thinking about you more and more.”

You swallow, your eyes flicking across his face. “Is that so?”

He nods, watching your face. You feel his arm around your back gently pull you closer again. He’s always gentle with you, like he thinks you might break.

“I’ve thought about you a lot too. I think you may know that I care about you…given my reaction to your wound.”

Dick’s heart skips a beat at this confession, and he takes his hand to softly cup under your chin, pulling your eyes to meet him. “When this is over, let me take you dancing properly.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop dancing with me now when given the chance?” You ask, eyebrows scrunched together in fake anguish.

Dick laughs, gently lifting your chin again. “May I kiss you?”

You can’t speak, you just nod. He leans in, his lips touching yours ever so gently.

It was saccharine, and when he pulls away from you, you can’t help but grin widely at him as he rests his forehead on yours. “What’s that pretty little smile for?”

You shrug slightly. “Just terribly happy that you think about me as much as I think about you.”

“I have ever since I first laid eyes on you, sweetheart.”

You smile to yourself, feeling like you might burst with the butterflies that were fluttering in your stomach.

From afar, Lewis Nixon stands with a drink in his hand, a small smile on his lips, happy that Dick had finally plucked up the courage to gather you in his arms.

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #bob fanfic #bob hbo #george luz #lewis nixon #doc roe #dick winters fanfiction #Richard winters x reader #band of brothers x reader

293 notes · View notes

thecuriousquest · 7 months

Note

Could you do a (kind of?) part two to this post?

Where their daughter has a crush on Shinsou? I feel like both Aizawa and Mic like Shinsou A lot, so what an interesting turn of events would it be for their little girl to have a crush on him?

(I think your writing is neat :) keep up the good stuff it's really good!)

Dating Rules

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Platonic Yandere themes, some romantic thoughts, violent tendencies, punishment spanking reference from previous story, slight manipulations

Checkout my Master List here.

—————————————————————————

“Daddy?” You smile at your father with a note of curiosity in your tone.

“Yes, Pumpkin?” Your father turns to you as he wraps his scarf around his neck.

“Are you going out to train one of your students?” You watch your father tug his boots on.

“Yeah, I’ll be back-“

“Is it Shinso? Are you training Shinso?”

He doesn’t like the fact that you just cut him off, and he quirks his eyebrow at you sternly.

Your cheeks blush, and you take a step back, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Sorry, sir. I was just wondering…”

“What’s your sudden interest in the boy? You’ve been asking about him ever since I trained him here a few weeks ago.”

“Nothing, Daddy! I swear. I just…well…” You don’t know what to say. You’ve never been able to open up to your fathers about boys. They’re the reason why you’re not allowed to date after all. You’re “too young” to be around boys in that way, so you have to keep all of your thoughts pent up secretively.

Hell, you can’t even write about it in your diary because they’ll probably just end up reading it.

“You just what?” He inquires impatiently.

You rub your arm, blushing even harder under his scrutiny.

Just then, your savior, Papa, appears in the doorway.

“Sho, you heading out? Don’t get too crazy with that kid now. You’re too mean with those students.”

“Have to be. It would be an injustice if I wasn’t.”

He turns back to look at you, waiting to hear your answer, but you’re nowhere to be found now. He sighs, kisses his husband on the cheek, and walks out the door.

———

At dinner, you fiddle with your bread roll. You smile as you think about running your hands through Shinso’s hair. You think about those muscles, oh God, his muscles. You bite your lip, wondering what it’s like to be held by him in those arms. You wonder if he’d pin you down and-

“Why aren’t you eating? Do you not like your food, honey bear?”

“No, Papa. I’m sorry. I just got distracted is all,” you tell him nervously.

“Well, what ya thinkin’ about?” Those sunglasses are trained on you.

Even indoors at night, he still refuses to take them off.

You shrug your shoulders and look at your Dad.

“Daddy, how was training Shinso today?”

“It was good. He’s progressing very well. You and I need to have a talk however after dinner.”

“Oh? Is someone in trouble?” Mic turns to look back at you.

“It depends on her answer.”

“Shouta, what’s happening?” His husband asks uncertainly. He doesn’t like being left out of the loop.

Aizawa sighs and looks directly at you with a serious gaze. “Have you been alone with Hitoshi? Answer me honestly. Is that why you keep asking about him? Did he do anything to you?”

“What?” Is all you can think of as a breathless response.

“Did he…touch you…down there?”

You stand up from the table with a disgusted look on your face. You can’t believe he just asked you such an uncomfortable question.

“What? No, he never touched me! I was never alone with him because you two never let me do anything. I just like him. I think he’s cute or whatever.”

Your Dad grabs your wrist and pulls you towards him. “If I find out you’re secret keeping from us again, you know what will happen.”

His belt crashing down on your sore bottom rings through your mind upon his unspoken threat. You gulp as you avert your eyes in submission.

“Yes, Daddy. I’m not secret keeping. I’ve never been alone with Shinso.”

Your jaw is grabbed, and eye contact with your father is forced.

“You promise me, young lady.”

Your face feels smushed in his calloused hand.

“I promise you and Papa that I’m not secret keeping. I promise that I’ve never been alone with Shinso. I promise that he’s never laid a finger on me.”

Oh, but how you so desperately wish he would lay both hands on you.

Your father deems your promise good enough. He can always tell when your lying, and right now, you’re not showing any signs of it. He releases you from his grasp and pushes you back towards your chair.

“Sit and finish your food.”

You look at Papa, and you really just want someone to hold you right now.

Preferably Hitoshi.

You’ll take your Papa instead though.

You go to walk over to him, and as you do, you open your mouth to say something.

However, he beats you to it. “Listen, honey, crushes pass. These things fade. You’ll get over him quickly, I promise. Boys this age are prone to breaking hearts and cheating. You don’t want that. Listen to your Papa and Daddy. We won’t let anyone hurt you ever. Okay?”

Fuck that. You definitely just want a hug from Hitoshi.

———

You hear Papa and Daddy arguing in the kitchen during the night. You’re supposed to be tucked into bed, fast asleep. As their voices carry on, you can’t help but patter to the top of the steps to hear what they’re saying.

“Well, what are we supposed to do? He’s my best student, and he’s a great kid. I don’t know what to do, Zashi.”

“Sho, I don’t know how I feel about her having a crush on him is all. Should we not let him train here anymore?”

“This is beyond me. I don’t want to let him be around her, but maybe…I have an idea.”

You sneak closer to the kitchen.

“What is it, Sho?”

“He can be around her if one or both of us are supervising. I don’t want her sneaking out again, and I really don’t want to cart the kid off to someone else for training. Not a lot of people stick by Shinso because of his quirk. Hell, his own parents treat him like a villain. He’s a good kid, and as much as I hate the idea of her dating, at least we know what kind of person Shinso is.”

“What if he breaks her heart?”

“Then I’ll break every bone in his body,” comes the quick response of your dark haired father.

He didn’t even hesitate in answering that way. It’s as if he’s done something like that before and he’s not afraid to do it again.

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp. Your father would never…would he? Having heard enough, you turn around and sneak back to your bedroom, closing the door.

You can’t stop thinking about how easy it was for him to threaten something like that. Every bone in his body if he were to hurt you? That’s so extreme, and you feel as though anyone wouldn’t deserve such treatment. You have to figure out a way to get them to let you see him, to prove to your fathers that Hitoshi wouldn’t mistreat you.

If they give him a chance, then they’ll see how much Hitoshi can make you happy.

———

Two days pass before you gain the courage to talk to your fathers about Hitoshi again.

“Daddy? Papa? Can I ask you something?”

Aizawa looks at you with loving eyes yet a tired smile. “Yeah, Pumpkin?”

“Could I…maybe if it’s okay with you…meet Hitoshi again?”

Mic sits up on the couch, regarding you and Shouta.

“Alright, you can meet with him, but there will be supervision. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Daddy! Thank you!” You lunge at your sleep deprived father, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug.

He huffs and pats you on the back before enveloping you in a hug of his own. You’re so small, just his little girl.

He’s counting on Hitoshi to be a good kid and not break your heart. If he doesn’t, the kid gets to keep his bones intact.

If not, then your fathers will be there for you to lean on while you learn about the cruelty of boys while Hitoshi suffers in the hospital, and hopefully, they’ll never have to revisit this conversation again.

145 notes · View notes

nohoperadio · 5 days

Text

Here's a little breakdown of my personal relationship/non-relationship with various types of aesthetic self-modification (?, I feel like there might be a word or at least a more elegant phrase to denote this category). The point is not to offer my "take" on each thing but to express the different feelings/desires/inhibitions my psyche manifests around them. Some of these will approach awkwardly personal territory, fair warning! You may notice that basically none of them are especially positive; I'm going to leave off from analyzing that pattern for this post.

Tattoos -- I think tattoos as a concept are extremely cool, frequently they're cool in practice also and I like seeing other people's, but I don't think I've ever had even the smallest urge to get one for myself. I'm not totally sure why. The lack of an obvious thing to get is one factor, I feel like "band tattoo" would be the most likely thing for me to have but I don't like the idea of directly lifting a band logo or album art and I really don't like the idea of a lyric tattoo (I offer no justification for these prejudices), so I'd have to get clever with it if I'm doing that and I'm not very clever. More broadly, I predict that my enthusiasm for any artwork I put on my body would fade through overexposure in a matter of weeks if not days--other people describe "barely knowing it's there" after a short time--which on top of making the value of the project seem dubious, I feel like having a permanent image on my skin that I don't actively love would be something I'd feel bad about rather than neutral. Like "man, that thing's on my arm and I don't care about it at all, that sucks" rather than just not noticing it. Maybe I'm wrong about that.

(Tattoos are the one that got me thinking about this whole subject I think, it feels like they're reaching a ubiquity in the culture where it's almost like you're expected to have a reason not to have one rather than a reason to? Maybe that's just a people-I-know thing, anyway it got me thinking about why I don't want one.)

Piercings -- An interesting thing about me and piercings is that it's virtually impossible for me to notice when somebody has them unless I'm like, actively consciously scrutinizing their face (or whatever it is). When I was about ten months into my current job I asked my co-worker who I worked closely with almost every day "hey when did you get that septum ring" and she was like "well way before I met you". That is simply how it is with me and piercings and I make no apology.

If my inability to perceive piercings (perceirvings...) makes me indifferent to the idea of getting one, what makes me actively hostile is the total certainty that I would fiddle with it constantly if I did. I know these hands and their ways and there would simply be no dissuading them, it would be so bad you guys, oh my god. This is probably the hardest no on the list I think, although I haven't finished the post yet so idk maybe I'll think of a worse one.

Makeup -- There's undeniably a lot that's very beautiful in the universe of makeup and there's also the weird dark side, I have dabbled a little in this area and in my heart I feel more positively than not about it, but it's just never going to be a sustainable part of my life because (not unrelated to previous para) I am a perennial and unrepentant face-toucher. I will be itching and rubbing my face-skin and also inflicting other hard-to-characterize punishments upon it (is this "stimming"?) until the day I die and anything that wants to be on my face has just gotta deal. It would probably be better if this was not the case but I don't make the rules, sorry.

Haircuts -- When I was a child I haaaaaated getting my hair cut, like the physical sensation of it? Was so horrible and would usually make me cry and always ruin my day (is this "sensory overload"?), I didn't understand why I was being made to go through this ordeal and basically as soon as I reached an age when I realized my mom couldn't literally force me to do it if I just stubbornly refused hard enough--that age was 13 I think--I stopped. I haven't had a professional haircut since that time although I'm sure I could cope with the sensory aspect at this point, it's just not a habit I ever picked up again (I've had a couple of non-professional ones from my ex who just kind of wanted to try it, in a not particularly ambitious or dramatic fashion). Sometimes I feel like I should, but idk. My hair as it stands is not optimized for making me look hot but I don't think it looks especially horrible either, it's just kind of whatever I think.

Complicating factor here: I've had trichotillomania since I was 15/16, and it's hard to imagine it going away at this point but it's a lot more under control than it used to be, to the point where you can't really tell just from my appearance that something's up now. I say "under control", I have very little conscious control over it and usually no conscious awareness that I'm doing it, but over the years the compulsion seems to have unconsciously settled into a routine where it's just kind of... sculpting my hair into a more-or-less normal silhouette? Like I sort of have a fringe and stuff despite no haircuts. Oh I guess this doesn't make sense unless I clarify that I mostly break rather than pluck the hair nowadays, that's a big part of the gradual unconscious shift that's occurred.

A fun thing about trichotillomania is that it often makes people really uncomfortable when you talk about having it, which sucks for me because it makes me feel lonely, but I guess it sucks for the person feeling uncomfortable too in a smaller way. If you're one of the people who feel uncomfortable around this topic, sorry! Quite genuinely.

Gender transition in general -- I feel like I'm just, just on the boring side of cis-by-default. I think about transitioning shockingly often for someone who's never gonna do it, like it's not searing a hole in my heart or anything like it is for a lot of people but it occupies that "it would be cool to learn an instrument" kind of niche in my thoughts, if that makes sense? (Probably a bit stronger than that analogy makes it sound, it's on my mind frequently but not with a massive sense of urgency attached I guess is what I'm getting at.) I can see myself taking the plunge if the medical technology was like 10% better, or the social technology was like 20% better, or with some medium-sized changes in how my personality was configured, but this life being this life there's no way in heck the juice would be worth the squeeze. If I had one fifth of the executive function required to do all of that lying to doctors and learning how to clothes shop and having awkward conversations with people in my life and all the rest of it, well I can list like ten things I'd rather spend it on first. And I don't!

Glasses -- Love wearing glasses, 10/10 no notes. I knew since I was like 11 that my face should have a pair of glasses on it and I was very smug when the optician agreed (I did not cheat on the eye test in any way for what it's worth). The only times I'm not wearing glasses are sleeping and showering. I don't even carry a case because there's no point because I simply don't ever take them off. This is probably overkill, I think as a kid I was instructed to only put them on when I need to see something in the distance, ignoring that and just wearing them permanently has probably led to my vision weakening to the point where they're now pretty much mandatory in every situation, but I don't give a shit about that because just let me wear my goddamned glasses okay, fuck off. It's actually crazy how much I like wearing glasses, this is the only true thumbs up on the list.

I remembering trying to explain how I like my glasses to a then-close friend of mine many years ago when the subject of laser eye surgery came up in conversation, he said I should get the surgery and then just wear glasses with non-prescription lenses. When I tried to explain why that wouldn't be the same at all he was adamant that I was just being stubborn. That guy was a wonderful person in many ways and I loved him very deeply, but man what a dumbass thing to say.

Facial hair -- There are so many great beards and moustaches in this world, there are few more cheering sights than someone bearing some swish whiskers who's pleased about it, but personally I don't wish to be involved in that business at all.

I never learned how to ride a bike -- Obviously this one doesn't belong on the list, it doesn't fit with any of the other categories, and yet I feel compelled to include it here. And why should I resist that which compels me? This is my post. Yeah, I'm the oldest of four siblings, we were all given bikes at the appropriate kid-on-bike age, the others picked it up but not me. I liked it when I had stabilizers on my bike, then they took them off and I started falling off the bike, and after a very short amount of time I gave up. Like I didn't get mad injuries or anything, it just felt like I wasn't improving at it quickly enough and I didn't feel like keeping it up so I didn't. Early indication of my bad personality.

Fashion in general -- Clothes shopping has always been extremely aversive to me for whatever reason, it's gotten a little better in recent years, I have been able to exist inside clothes shops for long enough to purchase a small thing or two, but eh. Most of my tops are band t-shirts I bought at gigs, most of my bottoms are exactly identical pairs of jeans, there's just not much going on you know? But unlike with most of the items on this list I would really like to be doing this properly. I would like to wear cuter things with prettier colours and designs. This one's an actual goal. But so far I haven't really made progress. The aforementioned shopping sucks thing, plus a fear of being so aesthetically clueless that I just make myself look like a big idiot if I try anything risky, plus the fact that doing things that are not my established routine is tricky in general--these are barriers for me. I guess another barrier is that the things that would be most interesting to try out and therefore most potentially motivating fall into the wrong-gender-clothes category and therefore bring into play some of the barriers from that other category a few ones up. I did actually somehow get myself to dabble in that area some years ago to a modest but positive degree of satisfaction. It'll probably happen again. The patterns and causes that determine whether I can or cannot find motivation to engage in a thing--they are mysterious indeed.

Like horn implants or whatever other crazy miscellany -- I don't want anything in this category and don't have any non-trivial thoughts about it either. Including this section for completeness only.

---

Well, there you have it, that's the post. Now you know a bit more about some of my little weirdsies. If you actually made it through the whole thing, a) how interesting and b) why not tell me a little weirdsy of yours in return, whether it pertains to the above list or not? Why not get all antiphonal on my post, that way I'd get to know a thing about you as well, it might be a whole fun kind of deal. You don't have to though, I didn't make this post to try to snare people into letting themselves be known, I just kind of made it to be a post mostly. I make all sorts of kinds of posts you know? And so I thought I'd try one that's like this.

#selfposting #uninteresting #more uninteresting than average #and a bit too long #and yet putting it in a readmore didn't feel right for some reason; sorry all!#have you ever tried listicle oversharing? it's weirdly freeing

22 notes · View notes

hockeynoses · 6 months

Text

fix me up along the line (Ste/ddie snz fic)

Summary: Another Ste/ddie snz fic! (Will I ever stop? Only time will tell.) Inspired by @sneezeshame's post here. Steve is traveling for work and is super sick. He calls Eddie from his hotel room. Future fic.

Rating: Other than snz stuff, this could be rated PG. I thought about making Eddie have the kink here, but I didn't. 1k.

Warnings: Mess. Implied future contagion.

Notes: The title is a line from the full version of the ancient song Hello My Baby. I've loved that song ever since I saw that frog singing it. 💖

Eddie fiddles with the strings on his guitar, killing time while he waits to hear from Steve. He’d promised he’d call Eddie once he got settled at the hotel up in Seattle; some conference his fancy job was making him travel for. Eddie had just gotten back to their house in LA from a gig that kept him away for the weekend. Their schedules caused them to just miss each other, Eddie arriving home the afternoon Steve left.

The shrill ring of the phone pulls him from his thoughts. Finally!

“Hey!”

“Hey babe.”

“You made it! Wait, you did make it, right?”

“Yep, checked idn a bidt ago,” Steve says. Eddie hears what he thinks is a squeaky, congested sniffle. “I’b godda have a shower soon and thedn head down for dinner.”

“Nice. How was the flight?” Eddie asks.

“Idt was… haah… hold odn… ihhh … hih’YEEHIISSHHH’oo!”

Eddie hears a wet, spraying sneeze explode on the other end of the line and blinks in shock. It sounds like Steve had time to twist away from the phone and has now set it down in an attempt to find some tissues.

“Shiiihh- ugh. SNF. Shidt.” An ill-sounding noseblow gurgles down the line, and concern pierces through Eddie.

“You feelin’ alright, sweetheart?”

“I’ve just beed sneezing all day,” Steve groans. “And I thigk the plane gave mbe a headache.” He follows that up with a few desperate, soupy sniffles, trying to stop his nose from running freely. “The cabidn pressure was bmessing with bmy sinuses and I couldn’t stob sneeziiii-hih… Hiiiih-ZZSSHHESSH’iue!”

“It sounds like you’re sick, babe.” He knows how stubborn Steve can be on the rare times he does get sick. Steve was already stressed about this trip, and Eddie doesn’t want him to overexert himself if he really is feeling that poorly.

“I dod’t… huh… I dod’t have tibe to be …haah… het’GGKSSHHH’uh! Hep’TIISHHH! Ughh. To be sigg.” Judging from the sound of those, Steve was just letting them fly, sneezing openly and spraying his hotel room with everything he had. The scrape of several tissues being pulled from a box fills the air, followed by a long, crackling blow.

“I hate to break it to you, but I think you might be. You sound awful already.” Eddie cups the receiver to his face with both hands. There’s a tug in his heart and he wants nothing more than for Steve to be back home so he can take care of him. He’d force him to stay in bed and would wait on him hand and foot, bringing him anything he asked for. “Did this just start today?”

“Dno…” Another sickly sniffle. “I’ve felt rudn down for a couble of days. Then last night I started sdeezing and I-iiihhh huh’KKSSSHH’IUE!” An exhausted sigh. “I didn’t gedt mbuch sleep.” He pulls a handful of tissues out, one after the other, and buries his face in them. “I thigk the pressure on the plane mbade it worse and then ihhh- HEH’TSSCHUH! Idt’s jusdt so damp here.” He clears his throat, his voice starting to go a little ragged. “I got caught ind the rain tryigg to hail a cab, which pro-ahh-bably didn’t h-he-hih’AEEISSHHah! SNF. Helb.”

“Poor thing. I wish I was there with you.”

“Probably best thadt… thadt you-ooo… huh’NGGSSHHiggh! Guh. Thadt you aren’t.” Eddie doesn’t think he’s imagining things when he hears the sheer mess of that one, thick and telling. “I thigk I’b pretty condagious. Huh… hih’YEIISHH’IUE!”

The line crackles as Steve sneezes uncovered, directly onto the receiver; the wet, viscous mess of it contaminating everything. Eddie flinches back on instinct. Steve sounds so cold-ridden and contagious that Eddie almost believes he could catch it over the phone, halfway across the country.

Steve moans, “SNF. Oh god. I’b so sorry. I cadn’t stob.”

“Steve… you sound really, really sick. Are you sure you should be going out like that?” Steve’s too busy abusing another tissue with a drenching noseblow to respond, so Eddie adds hopefully, “You should just come home.”

“Cadn’t. The bmanagement team specifically chose bme to represent the compady at the conference, and if I – if I – hih’kgxshht! Ugh. ‘Scuse bme. If I wandt the promotion I have to keeb bmy shit together. Ha-k’ISH’IGSHH’uh!”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to appreciate you getting them sick.” Eddie says, appealing to Steve’s vanity in a last-ditch effort. Everyone who comes within ten feet of him is going to be at risk of catching this thing. He’s going to be shaking so many hands, sharing so many meals, sitting in so many crowded conference rooms…

“I dod’t really have mbuch of aahh…Ha’AEESHHH’IUE! SNF. Mbuch of a choice.” Another miserable blow travels down the line, straight into Eddie’s ear.

There’s a beat of silence where Steve must be dazed after such a heavy noseblow, trying to catch his breath. Eddie can hear his open-mouthed, congested panting crackle over the phone receiver. If they don’t sanitize every inch of that place after he leaves, whoever stays there next is going to be in for a world of misery.

“I still wish there was something I could do,” Eddie says. “You sure you don’t need some food delivered? Or a care package? I can check if a delivery service would go to the pharmacy-”

“Eddie,” Steve says, and Eddie hears the smile in his voice despite everything. “You’re sweedt, but I’b good.”

“Okay…” Eddie’s still going to see about that pharmacy, just try and stop him. “You’ll let me know if it gets any worse? I could always fly up there and come rescue you.”

Steve chuckles, which turns into the beginnings of a cough. “I’ll be finde, really. Jusdt have to power through a few…heh…days…heh’RRIISHHH’IUE!” Another careless, wet sneeze bursts from him, dousing the phone in droplets, making Eddie wince again.

“May God bless your soul,” Eddie says, with exaggerated sincerity. Steve is too distracted to thank him.

“Ugh, whadt a bmess,” he says, pulling more tissues from his dwindling supply. “I’ve godda get these under condtrol.” His words are muffled into the bundle of tissues before he releases a long, squelching blow.

“Good luck with that.”

“Thaggs,” Steve responds, matching his sarcastic tone. He swallows around his burning throat. “Well, I’ve godda gedt in the shower and gedt cleaned up before dinner.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go.” Eddie has to stop himself from pouting. “But call me before you go to bed, yeah?”

“Assumbing I don’t gedt back and immediately pass oudt. Hih-kxxngt!” Steve says, smothering another sneeze in his full, slimy tissues.

Eddie huffs a laugh. “Okay. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The last thing Eddie hears is Steve’s breath hitching before the clunk of the contaminated phone being placed back into its holder cuts off the call. Eddie immediately starts looking into getting a care package from the pharmacy delivered…maybe some soup, too. Steve’s gonna need it.

#snzblr #snz fic #snzfic #snz fics #snzfics #tw: contagion #cw: contagion #the ro/y and ja/mie fic is 3/4 done and next on the list... I just got distracted

49 notes · View notes

laxmiree · 14 days

Text

[CN] MLQC Season 2 Chapter 56 Translation [Lucien’s Part]-(2/2)

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT ⚠️

This post contains a VERY HEAVY SPOILER for the chapter that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

I see your darkness, your failures, your confusion.

"Are you leaving?"

His deep gaze makes my heart tremble, and his tight grip on my hand feels as if he wants to imprison me here forever.

I purse my lips and gaze into the depths of his dark eyes, confronting the obscurity and paranoia lurking within.

Translation under the cut!

[Previous Part-> Click Here]

—[Chapter 56-15]—

Next, Lucien and I search the orphanage thoroughly under the cover of the night. Along the way, we inevitably trigger hidden rules, failing the mission several times.

We stop at the entrance of an underground secret chamber as the moon begins to fade away, and I look at Lucien.

MC: Do you want to go in?

Lucien: Mm, it seems that the door is locked though. We might need a key.

MC: No need, watch this!

I proudly take out my lockpicking tools from my backpack and fiddle with the lock. Then, with a click, the door opens.

Lucien's eyebrows furrow slightly, but his eyes squint with a smile, appearing somewhat resigned but also amused, as if he didn't expect this turn of events.

Lucien: As a mentor, I'm surprised to learn that this classmate also possesses lockpicking skills.

MC: Hehe, I have plenty of skill points to spare, and with Professor Lucien being so capable, I thought I'd invest in some odd skills.

MC: Lockpicking, tracking footprints, beast hunting... If I see something fun, I'll learn it.

MC: Otherwise, in "Odyssey", wouldn't I have to rely on Professor Lucien for everything?

Lucien is amused by my demeanor, and he bends his eyes, showing a hint of interest in them.

Lucien: Then I'll look forward to experiencing this classmate's diverse "life skills" in the future.

Pushing open the door, a cold, stark white light suddenly appears. I enter the secret room with Lucien one after another.

I squint my eyes slightly, waiting for them to adjust to the light, and in front of me, many unknown cold white devices come into view.

A massive amount of documents is locked in cabinets and some handwritten notes are scattered across several tables, documenting the experiments being conducted here.

Lucien stands in front of the desk, flipping through several experiment records, his brow furrowed.

Lucien: These children are involved in an experiment to synchronize their minds. Once the experiment succeeds, they will become "puppets" that can be manipulated by others.

MC: But... what is the purpose of such experiments?

Lucien: Not entirely sure yet, but I did see the signature of the sponsor of these experiments.

I take the list he handed me. "Angel Adoption Center", “Childhood Charity Association", "Neurological Research Institute"...

As I look at these words written in black and white, a chill emanates from the depths of my heart, slowly spreading throughout my body.

Children who should have received special care are instead becoming experimental subjects at the mercy of others in the dark basement.

What should be a joyful paradise for children turns out to be a breeding ground for evil to satisfy the desires of adults…

The indoor walls are painted snow white, under the pale light, we feel as if we are trapped in a lab rat's cage.

The familiar scene almost makes my hands tremble, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

MC: …Lucien, have you found any new clues on your end?

I wait for a while, but there is no response from Lucien.

I open my eyes in confusion, only to see an icicle hurtling towards me, aimed directly at my forehead!

I instinctively roll to dodge and crash heavily onto the cold ground.

MC: Ugh…!

The icicle lodges tightly into the ground, piercing through a strand of my hair. I gasp and turn to look at Lucien.

With one hand gripping the report, his other hand hanging limply and emitting a chill. Lucien's face is frozen in shock.

MC: What's going on... Could it be?

Subconsciously, I recall the myriad of hidden rules in this place. Have we unwittingly violated something again?

Is ‘’you can't read the experiment report" also an unwritten rule of the orphanage? But why weren't we teleported out this time?

MC: Lucien, we…

Lucien: MC.

His voice is chillingly cold, carrying an inexplicable danger. I turn my head to see veins bulging on his forehead like ice cracks as if he's struggling to restrain something.

Lucien: [sternly] Just... abandon the mission.

Before I could ask anything, another icicle pierces straight into the ground right beside my foot, sending a chilling sensation through me.

Lucien: [SHOUTING] ….MC, RUN!

As the words register, I finally realize what's happening. I sprint forward, but as soon as my foot hits the ground, the space distorts, and I'm instantly back in front of him.

MC: Ah, sprinting is futile! I forgot that you can also space-fold!

Since I can't leave this underground facility, I'm forced into a relentless chase with Lucien within this confined space.

An icicle shoots towards me at lightning speed, and I can almost feel the freezing sensation brushing against my skin—

However, the icicle grazes past me at the last moment, mercilessly severing just a strand of my hair.

I turn around to find Lucien breathing heavily, as if he just exerted himself to regain a moment of consciousness, barely managing to deflect the icicle.

And I'm not doing so well either. To avoid his onslaught, I've almost used up all the items in my backpack.

The only thing that might still be useful... is this rope.

MC: I have no choice but to spare no effort…

I suddenly stand still on the ground, not dodging the incoming icicles.

In an instant, the icicles seem to veer slightly, grazing hard past my shoulder. I grunt in pain, and in the corner of my eye, I see Lucien's figure pause.

Now's the time!

I swiftly unleash my "Beast Hunter" skill, and the rope descends from the sky, tying Lucien tightly.

MC: Success….!

The next second, silver-white streaks cut through the air, and a barrage of ice spikes slice through my rope.

MC: ...It's over.

Is the mission going to fail again? I close my eyes, waiting to be respawned back to the orphanage.

Yet the next moment, I find myself falling into an embrace.

Lucien: MC, it's okay now.

I open my eyes, gazing at Lucien dazedly.

His eyes regain that familiar gentleness, though the coldness seems not to have entirely dissipated.

MC: Have you... regained control?

Lucien gently curled his lips and winked his crystal-clear eyes at me, but it was as if he had used up all his strength.

—[Chapter 56-17]—

-You've discovered the orphanage's conspiracy; it's time to make a choice with your mentor.

As soon as I walk out of the basement, the system pops up with a new prompt.

MC: Of course, these conspiracies must be exposed to the public!

MC: Otherwise, I would be letting down the children in the night division, the children waiting outside... and even letting down my childhood self!

Lucien: It seems MC really empathizes with this mission.

Lucien smiles as he watches me angrily select the "expose conspiracy" option, making the same choice as me.

MC: For the children of the Night Division, this orphanage must be a complicated place.

MC: It provides them with a living environment, yet pushes them towards hell…

I take a deep breath, feeling somewhat melancholic.

MC: I wonder how long it will take to dispel the trauma left here for them…

Lucien: Perhaps what lingers in one's life is more than just the haunting trauma.

As he speaks, a hint of snow-colored moonlight seeps into Lucien's eyes, cold yet beautiful.

Lucien: It's just that this soil no longer needs to continue preserving it.

MC: Are you suggesting…

Lucien: Let's do what couldn't be done in reality.

With that, he grabs my hand and turns back to the basement.

Twin Leaves Orphanage stands on the ground like a beached white whale gasping for its last breath on the shore, no one knows that its insides have rotted away.

But now, we have unearthed all of them, exposing them to the moonlight.

Lucien and I have transported all the books and equipment related to the experiments, piling up a series of decrepit items at the entrance of the orphanage.

He half squints his eyes, as if pondering the next move. Understanding his unspoken thoughts, I retrieve something from my backpack.

MC: Here, matches.

Lucien strikes the match, and the flame throbs in his hand, as if a powerful, vivid heart is being put into it.

In an instant, the flame shoots up into the sky, illuminating the words "Orphanage" at the entrance, consuming and burning away all the sins.

I take a deep breath of the scorching air, witnessing the imminent arrival of this new beginning.

Lucien: ….

In the corner of my eye, Lucien's figure comes into view.

He holds a burning record of experiments in his hand, silently watching the flames.

Against the backdrop of the blazing flames, his features outlined by the light appear increasingly cold and indifferent.

It’s even darker and colder than the moonlight.

MC: Lucien…?

The crackling of the flames drowns out my soft shouting. Lucien's figure is half-hidden in the shadows, revealing an indescribable loneliness and desolation.

I quietly walk up to his side, gently placing a hand on his arm.

MC: What are you thinking about?

Lucien shakes his head lightly, casually tossing the last remnants of the page into the fire.

Lucien: [chuckles lightly, then sighs] Just feeling like this scene is somewhat familiar, and I've come to understand something.

Lucien: Perhaps when faced with failure, looking back is also a choice.

Lucien: Maybe we can find answers among the things that have already been burned.

He smiles at me, the curve of his lips perfect yet distant. I gaze at his profile, silently tightening my grip on his hand.

Before my eyes, the flames roar fiercely, yet it feels almost chilling.

After sending all the children away, a halo of light appears and disappears around us, signaling the completion of the mission.

I look at Lucien, who has been silent since just now and squeeze his hand with concern.

MC: Are you tired? You look like you're not feeling well.

Lucien: …I'm fine.

Lucien: It's just that the mission we just had was a bit special, so I've been thinking about the reasons behind it.

MC: Special?

Seeing my confusion, Lucien furrows his brow, then speaks thoughtfully.

Lucien: …When being controlled by the game, what I felt was not the usual sensation of a mission… but rather something akin to the takeover of my central nervous system.

Lucien: This is the first time I've experienced such a sensation in a game.

Lucien: [quietly] …The feeling of being deprived of control over my consciousness is not good.

He speaks with indifference, but his eyes seem to be shrouded by a layer of darkness.

Thinking about how he looked just now, I worriedly reach out and touch the tired corners of Lucien's eyes.

MC: [worriedly] Is there anywhere you feel uncomfortable right now?

Lucien shakes his head, but I still can't help but feel a little worried.

MC: Could it be that we've been doing tasks for too long? Or maybe there's a bug on Infinite's side?

MC: If that's the case, no wonder it feels like the "hidden rules" this time are different, and neither of us got transported back to the orphanage…

Feeling anxious, I speak faster and faster until Lucien gently squeezes my hand, speaking in a soothing tone.

Lucien: [soothingly] We might need to look for the answer to this question within the game.

Lucien: Would you like to join me?

The warmth emanating from his palm feels different from before, now harboring a hint of burning nostalgia.

When Professor Lucien gets clingy, he's like a fox narrowing its eyes; I simply can't resist him.

A hint of sweetness wells up in my heart as I take a few steps forward with him.

MC: Alright, then I'll keep accompanying you to find the answers, anywhere you want to go.

✂———————–

We wander aimlessly along the path we come, watching together as the starry night is melted away by the sunlight.

Hand in hand, we cross the untouched stream, occasionally plucking flower buds together, knowing that new ones will soon bloom again.

The dew on the stones and the newly bloomed flowers tremble with each step we take, showcasing their vitality.

After hopping onto a slab of stone, I don't hear Lucien's voice. Turning around, I find him behind me, lost in thought with his head bowed.

During our leisurely and carefree stroll, I often catch glimpses of loneliness and coldness in his expression, tinged with sorrow.

Soon, he resumes his usual gentle smile, catching up to me as if those moments of cold loneliness were just insignificant illusions.

I hold his arm as I maintain a natural expression, and continue to talk and laugh with him without losing my smile.

I can feel restlessness in the corner of his heart, and the root of these changes—

Seems to lie outside of the game.

Walking through the night into a new day, as we witness the sunrise melting into the horizon once more, we find ourselves back at Lucien's home.

The morning light blankets the river, its ripples dancing in Lucien's eyes, as if a layer of mottled silver is painted across them.

I take a gentle breath of the air filled with the moisture of water and the fragrance of grass, then turn away and speak softly.

MC: Lucien, is there something... happening to you in the real world?

—[Chapter 56-18]—

The water gurgles as it flows, and an invisible silence spreads around us, concealing the warmth of the sun from our bodies.

I hear Lucien's light exhale as he reaches out to touch my cheek, prompting me to look back at him.

Lucien: MC, in front of you, I want to accompany you with a calming mood and a clear mind.

Lucien's gaze carries shattered dawnlight. He lowers his eyes, his tone calm and natural.

He didn't directly answer my question, yet it was as if he explained something.

It's as if he casually mentioned something irrelevant. He doesn't continue, instead he takes my hand and sits by the river with me.

His silence on the topic, and the way he skirts around it, leaves a lingering cloud of doubt in my heart.

Lucien has always been calm and composed, but in the places I cannot see, has he silently endured something I am unaware of?

The river breeze sweeps over our heads, tousling our hair. Watching Lucien's quiet profile, I can't help but speak up in the end.

MC: Lucien, when I came to see you today, I couldn't help but feel... that you may have encountered some "difficulties".

MC: It's just that at that moment, I felt like you didn't want to talk about it, so I thought of spending some fun and relaxing time with you first.

MC: Actually, I should have just told you directly…

With both of my hands cradling his face, our eyes meet, and I speak firmly.

MC: We've been through so much together. No matter what difficulties we encounter, haven't we always faced them together?

MC: Tell me about the difficulties you're facing, okay?

Lucien looks at me, sighs softly, and rests his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingle, tracing each other's heartbeats.

Lucien: [inhales then sighs longly]…

His eyelashes tremble a few times, and he embraces me tightly, warm breath murmuring softly in my ear.

Lucien: [whispers softly and quietly] Then let me... tell you myself.

After Lucien finished speaking, he logged off. I take a deep breath and then log off as soon as I see his avatar turn gray.

The lingering light of the setting sun dances through the windows. It's been almost half a day since I went to see Lucien.

It's the first time I've been online in "Odyssey" for so long. After leaving the game, I feel a wave of dizziness flooding my mind.

The light from the hallway in the research institute seeps through the gap in the laboratory door and the lights inside the room are off.

The room is filled with the dim yellow of dusk, with the steadily dissipating setting sun as the sole source of light.

Lucien sits beside me, the twilight casting shadows on his clear and refined face, making it difficult for me to discern his expression.

I get up to turn on the light, but a gentle touch brushes against my cheek.

Just like how I cradle his face in the game, my face is being held up by his cold hands.

A pair of eyes shining with a cold gleam lock onto my gaze.

As we're within a very close distance, Lucien's body emanates a faint chill, as if submerged in seawater, yet his gaze is blazing hot and surging.

Lucien: [quietly and softly] Are you leaving?

MC: I'm not leaving, I just want to turn on the light…

Lucien: …Don't turn on the light.

A cold breath brushes past my cheek. Lucien takes a deep breath, his gaze flickering.

Lucien: …Just stay here quietly by my side like this.

Lucien's tone remains gentle, but his hand firmly grasps mine without any explanation, rendering me unable to move.

He looks deeply into my eyes as if seeing something through me.

His deep gaze makes my heart tremble, and his tight grip on my hand feels as if he wants to imprison me here forever.

I purse my lips and gaze into the depths of his dark eyes, confronting the obscurity and paranoia lurking within.

His grasp on my palm feels burning hot, with a slight tremble that's barely perceptible, as if it's desperately restraining something about to burst out.

I don't know why he's like this, but I know one thing— he wants me to stay by his side.

So I take the initiative to open my arms and embrace him tightly.

MC: Alright, I'll stay right here, not going anywhere. So... don't force yourself.

I feel his body stiffen, before his arms around me tighten and embrace me harder, as if he wants to meld me into his body, causing a bit of pain.

The last glimmer of twilight fades away, and in the darkness, I hug him tightly for a long time.

The breath by our ears and the heartbeat pressed against each other’s chest gradually sync in frequency, becoming our sole yet intimate form of communication.

Feeling the breath of the person in my arms has gradually calmed down, I softly ask him.

MC: Shall we go turn on the lights together?

The person in my embrace remains silent. I hold his hand and slowly stroke his back.

MC: I want to see you, Lucien.

There's a pause on his breath, and then a faint rustle of our rubbing clothes follows.

I'm pulled into a tighter embrace and he moves a few steps. Immediately after, the lights switch on.

Under the cold light of the laboratory, I notice the dark circles under Lucien's eyes, standing out prominently.

I let him hold me as my fingertips slowly touched the proof of his fatigue.

MC: How many hours have you been sleeping lately?

Lucien: ...This week, it adds up to three hours.

Lucien closes his eyes and presses his face against my palm, his brows furrowing unconsciously. I pause, then gently massage his forehead.

MC: Does your head hurt a lot?

Lucien: It hurts.

He doesn't open his eyes, but his brows relax slightly. His hoarse voice seeped into my ears, tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

...Remembering Lucien's appearance the last time he lost control, my heart tightens.

This isn't the first time. It's been happening since a few months ago and there have been subtle signs of this.

Lucien: This kind of headache prevents me from concentrating and stabilizing my emotions for research, causing progress to slow down.

He opens his eyes, seeming to have recovered a lot, and loosens his tight grasp on my hands.

Lucien: But in the game, I can escape from physical discomfort and think more freely, which leads to faster research progress. So I believe this is a great way to do it.

His tone becomes calm again, even indifferent as if the person suffering the torture is not himself.

I embrace him distressfully, my eyes involuntarily becoming moist.

After a long while, I hear his calm voice ringing beside my ear.

Lucien: MC, it's from Evol's deterioration.

—[Chapter 56-19]—

I startle, lifting my head to look at him.

Although there's a vague premonition in my heart, I still uncontrollably feel a sharp pain hearing these calm words.

MC: Lucien…

I open my mouth, but all that escapes is his name. My eyes sting with tears, blurring the person in front of me.

From the moment he broke NW's glass chamber and carried me out from there, I had already noticed some subtle differences.

All the things that I couldn't figure out before, now seem to have answers.

Without effective treatment, the deterioration symptoms of Evolvers will only worsen, leading inevitably to death or premature demise.

Lucien is no exception to this.

So much has happened recently, with no events related to deterioration occurring, I've almost pushed it out of my mind.

The grim memories flood back into my mind, and I take a sharp breath.

I forgot.

I forgot that the conflicts arising from deterioration had only temporarily receded into the depths, but the symptoms of the illness had never disappeared.

They still spread and feed on their host like parasites.

I look at Lucien before me, his complexion much dimmer than before, and his lips are as pale as autumn frost.

MC: I genuinely forgot, Lucien…

Even if Lucien had never mentioned it, I should have checked for changes in his physical condition.

Lucien is so adept at feigning normalcy and enduring; enduring pain, enduring collapse, enduring…… deterioration…

Now, with even him unable to bear it, just how far has his deterioration progressed?

I dare not dwell on it, feeling tears welling up in my eyes, yet Lucien simply gently and slowly holds my hand in his palm.

Lucien: Don't blame yourself. It's just some unavoidable problems with my body. Moreover, our recent research on deterioration has been going smoothly.

MC: Have there been any breakthroughs?

I blink quickly to conceal the glisten of moisture in my eyes.

Lucien shakes his head, deliberating as he simplifies the complex process of his findings.

Lucien: For a long time, the drugs developed have shown limited effectiveness in clinical settings.

Lucien: Yesterday, the final clinical trial of the last drug also concluded, and the result was a failure.

MC: ….

I open my mouth, but feeling a sudden heaviness in my heart, many thoughts that had bubbled to my lips now dissolve into nothingness.

MC: ...Then why is it going smoothly?

Lucien notices my emotions and, in turn, comforts me by gently squeezing my hand.

Lucien: Because this failure is the most special one.

Lucien: For years, all the solutions in the field of biomedicine for deterioration, the biological material—

Lucien: Have been extracted from ordinary people and Evolvers, then applied to Evolvers.

Lucien: The failure of clinical trials proves that both paths we've been pursuing for so long are wrong, so we can only find another way.

He looks at me, his gaze filled with certainty about the conclusion, completely unconcerned about how shocking his words sound.

Lucien: The biological material to cure deterioration is neither in ordinary people nor in Evolvers.

My head spins a bit, leaving only one path, neither ordinary people nor Evolvers…

Who else could it be? Could it possibly be... me?

As if guessing what I'm thinking, he shakes his head.

Lucien: CORE is indeed a perfect gene, but it is not replicable, what I mean is, for example...

Seeing him about to think again, I blurt out almost in a panic.

MC: ...F-for example, relying on aliens?!

Lucien: Aliens? [chuckles lightly] That's also a possibility.

My scattered thoughts amuse Lucien, causing a slight curl of his lips.

Lucien: If there really are aliens, I would definitely think of a way to capture them for research.

Our conversation started on a somber note and ended with Lucien's playful joke.

The lights in the lab are glaring in the darkness of the evening, and I'm just thinking about how to ensure Lucien gets a good night's sleep tonight—

Lucien seems to have anticipated my thoughts. He stops in his tracks, not allowing me to lead him out of the lab.

Lucien: You've already helped me a lot today and provided me with new inspiration.

Looking back on my actions throughout the day, nothing seems particularly special. I furrow my brow, looking at him in confusion.

MC: Did I?

Lucien smiles and smooths out my furrowed brow, extending his hand to me.

Lucien: Can you accompany me somewhere now?

✂———————–

As the sunset bathes the earth, Lucien and I become solitary figures amidst the tranquil twilight, walking side by side in the quiet evening.

Lucien: Watch your step, give me your hand.

I take his hand and we walk around a cement wall, feeling a bit curious.

MC: I didn't expect there to be such a large expanse of ruins behind the research center…

Lucien: From here onwards, this used to be the territory of the research institute. However, after the reconstruction of Ultima Bioscience Research Institute, this area has been abandoned.

As we walk, Lucien vividly recounts the research heyday of the research institute.

Lucien: There were multiple laboratories, control rooms, and even a display center here…

I listen to Lucien describe in detail the comprehensive facilities that once existed in the main building, and I can't help but be amazed and impressed.

The completeness and capacity of this abandoned area are rare even in today's research institutions.

Despite being abandoned, one can still see how grand its building area was back then.

Now, the walls of the buildings above ground in the main building are mottled and fragile, crumbling at a mere touch due to lack of maintenance.

Lucien: When the research direction of the research institute was first proposed, it attracted a lot of attention.

MC: From your description, this place must have been filled with talented individuals.

Lucien: Mm, at that time, the main research direction was to find methods to delay or even reverse deterioration through gene editing and cell manipulation experiments.

Lucien: And leading the team was a highly respected scientific researcher, Mr. Xu.

[T/N: Mr. Xu (徐) in this has a different surname from Lucien's Xu [许] surname]

I look at him in surprise as he leads me through the ruins, his gaze calm.

Lucien: But the field of gene editing inevitably involves modifications that could potentially be irreversible to human genetic material.

Lucien: You can guess what happened next.

MC: There must have been a lot of controversy.

Lucien pauses his steps gently, his tone cold and distant.

Lucien: One could even say that it was sensational.

—[Chapter 56-20]—

The twilight seems to have grown even darker.

I exhale softly into my hand, listening as Lucien continues to recount the difficulties faced by the research team in those years.

Lucien: Soon, some people raised objections that this violated academic ethics and norms. They went to Mr. Xu's office to exert pressure, using both soft and hard tactics.

MC: Indeed... it's something expected.

Lucien: Mm, after such ethical controversies persisted for a while, they significantly impacted the progress of the research.

Lucien: Afterwards, the research outcomes also failed to meet the standards for an extended period, leading to a decline in external funding support and morale within the research team.

Lucien's voice is steady as he narrates the end of this place's story.

Lucien: Ultimately, due to technical limitations and insufficient understanding of the nature of the deteriorating disease, the key samples were damaged.

Lucien: This incident became the final straw that broke the camel's back, causing the management to completely lose confidence in the research direction.

The wind whispers through this now desolate wasteland as if sighing at the hasty conclusion of a grand tale.

Lucien: The research team disbanded, and the complete abandonment of the base became the final chapter of this place.

Just like dominoes, one problem leads to another, ultimately leading to failure here.

Lucien retrieves a fragile, weathered page from the ground, its surface bearing faint traces of burn marks.

Lucien: For me, this base is like those "dark pasts" we burned in the game today.

MC: So, back then, when you were staring at the flames in a trance...

Lucien: When the flames lit up, I recalled those research contents that were "burned" due to failure.

Lucien: The drugs developed at that time did indeed temporarily repair the defects in the Evolver gene, resulting in experimental subjects exhibiting extraordinary enhancements in abilities.

Lucien: However, this enhancement came at a cost. It resulted in excessive accumulation of Evol energy in the body, rapidly draining the life of the subjects.

Lucien narrates the story as if it’s not a big deal, yet I'm listening with cold sweat trickling down my spine.

Lucien: Even after all these years, no one has looked back at those failed research endeavors, myself included.

He turns to me, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Lucien: But today's orphanage mission has given me new ideas.

Lucien: Perhaps, within these 'burned' pasts, there indeed exists some useful information.

Guided by Lucien, I explore cautiously, sidestepping collapsed walls, navigating around dusty stairs, and avoiding dilapidated benches.

Step by step, I tour the area, using my feet as a ruler to measure the former grandeur of this place.

It feels as if I'm transported back to the past, witnessing firsthand the research institute's rapid decline after a brief moment of glory.

I had assumed that we would continue to wander through every corner of the research institute until Lucien suddenly came to a halt.

Following his gaze, I peer ahead to see that the corridor in front of us looks as if it has been subjected to an explosion.

Glass and rubble are scattered around us, blocking the path ahead. Unless cleared, it’s impossible for us to proceed.

Lucien falls silent, his gaze lowering as if lost in memories.

I don't disturb him and quietly wait by his side.

To me, it's just an abandoned research institute, a relic of a bygone era. But for him, it surely holds memories of his own.

After a moment, Lucien turns to me, a faint smile gracing his face.

Lucien: Come on, let's go back.

MC: Is that all? No more searching?

Lucien's eyes are filled with traces of memories, but he doesn't linger. He simply gazes up at the sky above this wasteland.

The sky from years ago had the same sunset as today.

Lucien: This is enough.

Lucien had no intention of going home to rest and insisted on continuing to research at the research institute.

I can only insist on escorting him to the entrance of the research institute and bidding him farewell downstairs.

Under the moonlight, our shadows are stretched long, occasionally overlapping with my careless footsteps.

I ponder the ending of that story and can't help but cautiously ask the question that has always lingered in my mind.

MC: Lucien, what happened to the supervisor who led the group after the team disbanded?

Lucien: He has a very realistic ending.

Lucien: Faced with overwhelming pressure and the irreparable setback, he chose to leave the field of biological sciences and went to teach in remote mountain areas.

Lucien: Now, he should continue teaching in some mountainous region.

I have a feeling inside that's hard to describe as if there are pieces of cotton soaked in water stuffed into my heart, permeated with a heavy sense of worry.

Lucien: Don't worry, in the journey of scientific research, coming to a dead end without any particular reason is the most common thing.

In reality, the night wind is even more biting than in "Odyssey," Lucien straightens my coat.

Lucien: Besides, whatever price failure demands, it's all within our expectations.

Lucien's gaze is gentle yet subtly imbued with an unparalleled dedication.

I meet his gaze and eventually nod with a smile, wrapping my arms around his neck and nuzzling him affectionately.

Lucien also pulls me into a tight hug, and we exchange each other's body heat, enjoying the silent moment in tacit understanding.

Just then, the phone rings abruptly. I pick it up and see that it's a call from my work partner.

I quickly answer the phone and exchange a few words. After hanging up, I glance at Lucien, hesitating as if wanting to say something but holding back.

Lucien: [softly] Do you still have work to attend to?

I nod and hug Lucien tightly with reluctance, unwilling to part with him.

MC: Our partner isn't quite satisfied with our plan and wants me to take charge and revise it.

Lucien: Then, I'll call a cab for you.

Feeling somewhat sad and reluctant, I tighten my grip on his sleeve, looking into his eyes.

MC: [worriedly] Lucien, I know you're dealing with something very difficult alone.

MC: Although my power is small, if you need me... I'll be there.

MC: Whether you need the power of the CORE or simply need me.

Lucien: Don't worry, I certainly will need you. After all, I'll need you more than you imagine.

His eyebrows arch slightly as he gazes into my eyes, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

I hop into the taxi, and Lucien stands there, watching me leave. Until the car turns the street corner, his reassuring figure is still in sight.

✂———————–

The building of the research institute is also shrouded in moonlight, gradually disappearing into the concrete and steel jungle of the city.

The corridor is brightly lit. The high-wattage lights are unadorned, making the bright areas even more dazzling and the shadows even darker.

Lucien walks back to his dimly lit office alone.

He reaches into a corner of the filing cabinet that hasn't been opened in a long time, finding only a brittle yellowed piece of paper inside.

The light from the corridor spills into the office, and the red emergency exit lights are on, providing enough illumination to see the entire contents of the paper.

[Name: Xu Yijian, Cause of Death: Explosion caused by laboratory sample leakage.]

[Due to severe damage at the scene, there is currently no evidence of human factors, and it is deemed as an incident.]

✂———————–

[Afterword, rambles, and highlight(s)]

After MONTHS of foreshadowing and subtle signs in both the main story (especially chapter 45 + Chapter 51) and R&S, the deterioration finally takes a toll on Lucien. The main focus revolves around the long-awaited arrival of the deteriorating disease event, marking a crucial turning point in the storyline. In this sort-of-analysis want to highlight and talk about the underlying theme of this chapter and what the future may hold for his main story sub-plot.

[Odyssey]

MC: I signed a collaboration with Infinite for their new game, and today, I’m going to try out their gaming equipment. Lucien: Is it the game called “Odyssey”? MC: Oh, you know about it too? Lucien: Since the first-generation products of GA, they’ve been using a lot of technology related to brainwaves and data conversion. [S2 Chapter 51]

As I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter translation, Odyssey is a hyper-realistic VR game developed by a company called Infinite. Their technology not only allows players to see and hear in the realistic game world but also to touch, taste, and smell as they interact with it.

To enter the game, players need to put on a device called Golden Apple (GA for short). Not only that, but the game also incorporates AI technology into it. Infinite has a lot of technologies that are said to be "out of this world, besides AI they also develop other things yet to be revealed.

MC: I never expected that the charm of "Odyssey" would be so great that even Professor Lucien has become an "Internet Addict". I clear my throat and then nonchalantly add a "harmless" little question. MC: Lately, it seems like I've been seeing you online often. Is the work at the Ultima Bioscience Research Institute relatively easy?

MC notices that Lucien has been spending a lot of time online in the game. Although Lucien explains that he does so because it's quieter and allows him to focus better, but is the reason really that simple?

[Children of Night Division - Emotional Neglect and Loneliness]

Ever since the start, the mission has felt very personal to them. Why did the mission lead them to the exact place that can trigger trauma for both Lucien and MC over their pasts? Why does the mission lore bear an uncanny resemblance to what they experienced as children? How did a mere game take over the human nervous center, isn’t this technology dangerous?

MC: I can't shake the feeling that this orphanage mission seems to have some sort of prototype reference... like the mirrored building we encountered before. MC: There's a kind of... indescribable familiarity in my heart.

I have two theories:

The game digs into their memory and with AI technology, uses it to create such a mission, raising the stakes for both of them

Infinite has some information about BS experiments and besides using it to develop its technology, Infinite also uses it as a ‘prototype reference’ for the AI to develop a mission, resulting in such a mission.

I don’t know which theory is more f*cked up, be it the game gaining data from the players without their consent or them using those kinds of data to design the game:” therefore also exploited the orphanage children indirectly…

Anyway, both theories can explain the sudden takeover of Lucien’s consciousness. Because the ‘data’ gained from them (be it their memory or BS experiment file) have him as part of the orphanage experiment. So, I speculate that the game can control him because it considers him part of the "night division"... Let me explain a bit more.

The orphanage segregates children into night and day divisions based on their performance and physical condition. Observing their demeanor during classes, it seems plausible that the night division comprises children deemed academically proficient.

As I look at these words written in black and white, a chill emanates from the depths of my heart, slowly spreading throughout my body. Children who should have received special care are instead becoming experimental subjects at the mercy of others in the dark basement. What should be a joyful paradise for children turns out to be a breeding ground for evil to satisfy the desires of adults…

Lucien's past in Black Swan (BS) shares striking similarities with the experiences of the children in the night division. Like them, he was subjected to experimentation and exploitation. [Till Dawn R&S]. While he may have consented to some extent, there is definitely some manipulation involved in shaping a child into a tool for BS.

MC: For the children of the Night Division, this orphanage must be a complicated place. MC: It provides them with a living environment, yet pushes them towards hell…

BS provided him with a living environment that allowed him to survive, but it also pushed him towards a hell where he had no time to contemplate his circumstances. He was constantly driven to keep running, with his emotional needs completely neglected. While he may not have experienced physical abuse later on, the emotional neglect he endured as a child is a form of abuse in itself.

Lucien: I think maybe it's not resistance, but rather she also needs an opportunity to connect with you. Lucien: When you talk to her, although her reactions are a bit cold, her body always unconsciously moves closer toward you. Lucien: Rather than resistance, it might be more like "not good at" or "not daring" to communicate with you. My heart tightens. Could it be that the reason why these children from the Night Divisions are so quiet... is because of similar reasons? Children in orphanages are already more prone to feeling lonely than others. A girl who struggles to communicate is even more susceptible to being ignored to some extent.

Emotional neglect can lead to difficulties in emotional regulation, low self-esteem, relationship challenges, and insecure attachment styles, which can all contribute to feelings of loneliness. People who experience emotional neglect can have trouble expressing emotions effectively, leading to isolation and a belief that they don't deserve love or connection.

Even prior to the car accident, Lucien struggled with understanding and expressing his emotions. His time on BS exacerbated this issue. Despite his outward demeanor of indifference, it's clear that he experiences deep loneliness (please read this good analysis about Lucien and his loneliness lol).

Lucien: Some children develop a dependency on specific plush items during their growth process, finding a sense of security in them. Lucien: I think, this scarf might be just that special existence for her.

Besides loneliness, children who experience emotional neglect can develop feelings of insecurity. Emotional neglect involves not receiving the emotional support, validation, and nurturance that are crucial for healthy emotional development. When children do not feel valued, heard, or understood by others, they may internalize these experiences and develop a sense of insecurity about themselves and their relationships. This insecurity can manifest in various ways, such as seeking comfort from special objects like plush toys or blankets. I will come back to this later ;)

Lucien: These children are involved in an experiment to synchronize their minds. Once the experiment succeeds, they will become "puppets" that can be manipulated by others.

The purpose of these experiments was to create puppets that could be manipulated by others. And guess who suddenly found themselves being manipulated by the game?

With one hand gripping the report, the other hanging limply, emitting a chill, his face frozen in shock. MC: What's going on... Could it be? Subconsciously, I recall the myriad of hidden rules in this place. Have we unwittingly violated something again? Is ‘’you can't read the experiment report' also an unwritten rule of the orphanage? But why weren't we teleported out this time? - Lucien: MC. His voice is chillingly cold, carrying an inexplicable danger. I turn my head to see veins bulging on his forehead like ice cracks as if he's struggling to restrain something. Lucien: [sternly] Just... abandon the mission. Before I could ask anything, another icicle pierces straight into the ground beside my foot, sending a chilling sensation through me.

Freaking, Lucien.

From all the coincidences and connections, we can theorize that according to the game, Lucien is the result of the experiments, which enables the game to freely manipulate him. According to the game, Lucien IS part of the night division!

also, can I point out that loss of control has been one of the constant symptoms of his deterioration disease, which means that this accident can be a foreshadowing of a future ‘knife’ where Lucien loses control and accidentally hurts MC-

Luckily, Lucien managed to regain control in the end, ~though this experience undoubtedly added extra trauma for him~. After uncovering the conspiracy, they both chose to expose it. However, Lucien proposed something unexpected.

Lucien: Perhaps what lingers in one's life is more than just the haunting trauma. As he speaks, a hint of snow-colored moonlight seeps into Lucien's eyes, cold yet beautiful. Lucien: It's just that this soil no longer needs to continue preserving it. MC: Are you suggesting… Lucien: Doing what couldn't be done in reality. - Lucien strikes the match, and the flame throbs in his hand, as if a powerful, vivid heart is being put into it. In an instant, the flame shoots up into the sky, illuminating the words "Orphanage" at the entrance, consuming and burning away all the sins. I take a deep breath of the scorching air, witnessing the imminent arrival of this new beginning.

He suggested burning everything. Perhaps it is his emotional catharsis over his past. Burning can symbolize purification and a new beginning, a way to get rid of past sins and start anew. By suggesting this drastic action, he might be seeking closure and a sense of control over the painful events that transpired, although it can only be done in-game:”.

[Deterioration]

The crackling of the flames drowns out my soft shouting. Lucien's figure is half-hidden in the shadows, revealing an indescribable loneliness and desolation.

During our leisurely and carefree stroll, I often catch glimpses of loneliness and coldness in his expression, tinged with sorrow. Soon, he resumes his usual gentle smile, catching up to me as if those moments of cold loneliness were just insignificant illusions.

Throughout the chapter, MC keeps catching glimpses of his loneliness and sorrow. which leads me to ponder: with such a heavy burden of facing his own mortality and failures after failures... has he been carrying it alone for so long?

In this chapter, it’s the first time… we see him actually being so close to death as if there's a death countdown ticking with each breath.

Just like how I cradle his face in the game, my face is being held up by his cold hands. A pair of eyes shining with a cold gleam lock onto my gaze. As we're within a very close distance, Lucien's body emanates a faint chill, as if submerged in seawater, yet his gaze is blazing hot and surging. Lucien: Are you leaving? MC: I'm not leaving, I just want to turn on the light… Lucien: …Don't turn on the light.

Confronted with his own mortality, despite his usual indifference, Lucien’s reaction to the situation is one of vulnerability and desperation. Perhaps, more than death itself, he’s even more afraid to be separated from her. Thus, upon returning to reality, his immediate instinct is to cling to her, preventing her from leaving. All while trying to conceal his vulnerability and condition from her by preventing her from turning on the light.

Lucien: …Just stay here quietly by my side like this. Lucien's tone remains gentle, but his hand firmly grasps mine without any explanation, rendering me unable to move. He looks deeply into my eyes as if seeing something through me. His deep gaze makes my heart tremble, and his tight grip on my hand feels as if he wants to imprison me here forever. I purse my lips and gaze into the depths of his dark eyes, confronting the obscurity and paranoia lurking within.

Remember when Lucien mentioned how some children develop a dependency on specific plush items during their growth process, finding a sense of security in them? This scene perfectly mirrors that concept. In addition to his fear of losing her, he also experiences a lack of security at that moment, seeking solace in her eyes. MC is that special existence for him, someone he has grown dependent on because he finds a sense of security in her; the way he holds and looks at her… almost akin to a devout believer seeking comfort from the divine.

His grasp on my palm feels burning hot, with a slight tremble that's barely perceptible, as if it's desperately restraining something about to burst out. I don't know why he's like this, but I know one thing— he wants me to stay by his side. So I take the initiative to open my arms and embrace him tightly. MC: Alright, I'll stay right here, not going anywhere. So... don't force yourself. I feel his body stiffen, before his arms around me tighten and embrace me harder, as if he wants to meld me into his body, causing a bit of pain.

Oh and don’t get me started about how he *still* tries to restrain himself from completely holding her :"" only allowing himself to seek even more comfort when she's the one who initiates the hug; when she chooses not to leave him ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽ .

ALSO, the hug that feels as if he wants to meld her into his body :”” It's been so long since the PG used this description, which shows the DEPTH of his fear of separation; He just wants to meld her into his body so that there's no way they'll get separated.

The last glimmer of twilight fades away, and in the darkness, I hug him tightly for a long time. The breath by our ears and the heartbeat pressed against each other’s chest gradually sync in frequency, becoming our sole yet intimate form of communication. Feeling the breath of the person in my arms has gradually calmed down, I softly ask him. MC: Shall we go turn on the lights together? The person in my embrace remains silent. I hold his hand then gently and slowly stroke his back. MC: I want to see you, Lucien. There's a pause on his breath, and then a faint rustle of our rubbing clothes follows. I'm pulled into a tighter embrace and he moves a few steps. Immediately after, the lights switch on.

Not really analysis I just want to highlight this scene because, GOD this is so bittersweet and intimate ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ the way they cling to each other in the dark, comforting each other and communicating only through their heartbeat and breath… how MC gently and softly coaxes him to reveal himself to her and he finally obliges, ugh, my kokoro just :"

Under the cold light of the laboratory, I notice the dark circles under Lucien's eyes, standing out prominently. I let him hold me as my fingertips slowly touched the proof of his fatigue. - Lucien closes his eyes and presses his face against my palm, his brows furrowing unconsciously. I pause, then gently massage his forehead. MC: Does your head hurt a lot? Lucien: It hurts. He doesn't open his eyes, but his brows relax slightly. His hoarse voice seeped into my ears, tinged with a hint of vulnerability. -

His tone becomes calm again, even indifferent as if the person suffering the torture is not himself. I embrace him distressfully, my eyes involuntarily becoming moist. After a long while, I hear his calm voice ringing beside my ear. Lucien: MC, it's from Evol's deterioration. -

Lucien is so adept at feigning normalcy and enduring; enduring pain, enduring collapse, enduring…… deterioration… Now, with even him unable to bear it, just how far has his deterioration progressed?

WHEN I HEARD THIS WORD “疼” (lit. painful) MY HEART JUST BROKE INTO PIECES༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽ . It's just... how awful his condition must be if even Lucien (who's used to freaking pain, who can still laugh even after he slit his own eyes, or get his shoulder blasted) finds it unbearable?

As mentioned in R&S Threshold, Lucien's evol deterioration manifests as cancer. Judging from his symptoms such as headaches, anxiety, and depressive symptoms, it's likely that Lucien has a brain tumor resulting from his evol deterioration. Evol deterioration worsens exponentially due to the overuse of evol, and in the past few chapters, Lucien has repeatedly overused his evol to protect MC, again and again, resulting to his condition now :".

It's only when the lights come on that MC realizes what he's been enduring lately :". The unease that MC felt since the start of the chapter now has an answer. It turns out that Lucien has been spending a lot of time online recently due to the unbearable pain caused by his worsening condition:"". He ‘escapes’ to the game to avoid the pain yet also never gives up on his real life.

Although he needs coaxing, it's also the first time he shows his vulnerability; being clingy solely because he needs her there in that moment.

In a way, this is also proof of his growth. He has truly learned to share his burden with her, realizing that she does care and he no longer needs to bear everything alone. So, when he's not even sure if he'll survive this time, the least he can do is tell her some truth, perhaps easing her into preparing for the worst.

Lucien: For a long time, the drugs developed have shown limited effectiveness in clinical settings. Lucien: Yesterday, the final clinical trial of the last drug also concluded, and the result was a failure. - MC: ...Then why is it going smoothly? Lucien: Because this failure is the most special one. Lucien: The failure of clinical trials proves that both paths we've been pursuing so long are wrong, so we can only find another way. - Lucien: Mm, at that time, the main research direction was to find methods to delay or even reverse deterioration through gene editing and cell manipulation experiments.

More than Lucien facing his circumstances with indifference and sorrow, what I find more heart-wrenching is the very clear emphasis on the passage of time. The research into the deteriorating disease has been ongoing for an extended period, with Lucien's condition progressively deteriorating. Enduring failure after failure, he now embarks on a dangerous journey of researching gene rewriting and cell manipulation, the only path left to solve this deterioration. And...

[Name: Xu Yijian, Cause of Death: Explosion caused by laboratory sample leakage.] [Due to severe damage at the scene, there is currently no evidence of human factors, and it is deemed an accidental incident.]

Lastly, he tells the truth about his condition yet lies about how dangerous this path is. Does he not want MC to investigate his death and involve herself in danger in case the worst happens? ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

[The path moving forward]

As usual, the chapter posted right after the anniversary chapter tends to mark the beginning of the conflict or the introduction of a major challenge. So, it's safe to assume that we'll face an even more intense knife ahead (a.k.a the angst in this chapter is just beginning-) . Aside from Lucien's subplot of treating evol deterioration, I'm betting that this year's anniversary chapter will involve defeating the enigmatic Infinite or perhaps a hidden boss/evil within Odyssey. If you’ve read so far, thank you for reading this chapter and my rambles~

#the first time Lucien being so clingy and so vulnerable?? AND IT'S PAINFUL #enjoy another 3k words of essay #Lucien being pathologically clingy is kinda cute although it meant to be angst #this chapter is good at making you just feel bad at Lucien lmao #mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc cn #mlqc spoiler #mlqc #mlqc translation #mr. love queen's choice #mr love lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc spoilers #looking forward to next pain- i mean chapter update

21 notes · View notes

delightfulcollectivetyphoon · 1 month

Text

WOOP WOOP guess whos baaaaaaack. anyways yeah. ik i promised knifeplay but I SWEAR ON PAPA HET it will be in the next part. only after reading did i realize how bad i am at writing p in v smut. please reply and reblog if you like my fic ! <3

warnings: extreme dubcon (like seriously im blurring the line between dub and non but like its all 100% consensual they're just roleplaying), p in v, hair pulling, squirting, dacryphilia, post-kink-action consent (again roleplaying a dubcon situation), pet names, i need to have his children *cough cough* i didn't say anything, james refers to reader as "my perfect little girl" not in a ped0ph1l1c way but like in size ykwim, morning-aftercare, soft!james (aaaaaa), fluff, he bathes her, food

dear fucking god this started to get really (really) dark but i stopped myself but lmk if u guys want dark stuff!<3

"Won't everyone else hear us?" you asked nervously.

"Ah no, they're all gettin' shitfaced at some bar probably."

You grinned at his remark and let him lead you to his room.

The walls were black wood panels running vertically. The paint was rubbed away at a few spots, and the furniture was just the same. A king-size bed lay in the middle, with the headboard touching the wall and the footboard jutting out just shy of the center of the room. There were two identical small dressers directly across from the bed, and a red easel mirror separating them. You let out a small gasp as you took in your surroundings. It truly was a gorgeous room, and you felt as if you desperately needed to live here. As you were distracted, James took the time to observe you, grinning at your child-like wonder. He too had been amazed at how beautiful it had been. He knew that he needed someone to share it with. One thing you noticed was that the headboard was made oddly; instead of one flat board of wood, it had been carved at the top into an ornate pattern, and the middle of it had a checkered cutout. You instantly knew that it wasn't just a headboard, it was specifically to be tied to. You swallowed hard, thinking about being tied up, unable to escape, forced to succumb to him, to let him have you in every way possible. He noticed your special interest in the bedframe and told you so.

"Yeah, I like it too. Its gotta be my favorite thing in the whole house," he spoke. He chuckled, then walked up to your back. He leaned down to whisper, "well, not my favorite thing." You sighed at being called his favorite thing. The thought that you could just be his toy drove you insane, whimpering for more. If he noticed your turmoil, he didn't show it. Instead, he backed away from you and fiddled with his pocketknife through the denim. He knew exactly what to do with it, he just had to do it. That was gonna be the tricky part. Once your mind left the room and focused back on James, you remembered what you were here for. For him. For the pleasure he would send shooting down every nerve in your body. You blushed at the thought of you cumming around him, screaming his name, growing more and more overstimulated as he chases his own high, not caring that you had reached yours first. You turned to face him, your heart nearly beating out of your ribcage.

"I'm ready."

He strode towards you, a smug look on his face.

"Tell me, what are you ready for?"

"...I...want you to fuck me. I was nervous before, in the woods, because I didn't know what this would be like, but I know I'll like it." You grinned as you leaned forward, standing on your toes to reach his lips. At first, he resisted, just to see how desperate you were. But one swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip convinced him. He grabbed the backs of your thighs, and you understood, allowing yourself to be hefted into his arms. You hooked your ankles together behind his back, you dug them in as you felt his cock, straining against the fabric. You loved the feeling of the rough material on your soft clit, but you remembered his rule. He pulled away. "I've been waiting for that. Waiting for you. Waiting, watching, I can never tell the difference." He dove down to your neck, licking at the bruises. He started towards the bed, gently laying you on the soft blanket. He began grinding himself against your thigh, thrusting wildly. After all, you had denied him earlier. However, he wasn't going to let himself go just yet. He detached himself from your throat as he pulled his cock back out of his jeans, still throbbing and angry from its ruined release. He moaned as he felt his hand tug his length, he needed to cum, and he needed it now.

"On your hands and knees, pretty girl."

You complied as you could feel the throbbing start between your legs again. Soon, you had your nose pressed into his bush again, and you were choking around him. He didn't offer words of encouragement this time. He wasn't going to wait any longer. He had an iron grip on your hair as he fucked your mouth. He was a grunting, sweaty mess by the time you could fell his head pulsing at the back of your throat. You tried to pull away again, to tease him again, but he was smarter this time, not letting you go. He continued until you could feel the hot, salty cum dripping down your throat, filling up your mouth. He came with a moan, the sound imprinting itself into your very soul, echoing in your ears. Once he had caught his breath, he tilted your head up, still holding your hair, and told you to open your mouth.

"Swallow."

You obeyed. You opened again to show him, and he grinned.

"Such a good slut for me, my little girl," he cooed as he stroked your sore scalp.

"Since you've been fairly good, you want me to fill up that tight little cunt? You want me to make you scream my name, cum all over me like the little whore you are?"

You moaned at his words and nodded, eyes clouded with lust. You were drunk. You hadn't touched a bottle since the concert, but you were drunk. On him, on the way he so lovingly degraded you, how you knew he would take care of you in the best ways, how he would love you in the worst.

"I want to be yours."

There it was. The look you had seen onstage, the wolf's glare as he stalks his prey. Those 5 words had transported him somewhere else. They made him someone else. Mine. The word rang through his head as he took you in. On your knees, hands folded in your lap, a lustful look on your face. You were almost made to be dominated. He decided he would make you obey. You would obey his every command. He would get what he wanted, no matter the cost. You were his. His little fucktoy. He grabbed your cheeks in one hand, earning a strangled gasp from you.

"You're gonna regret saying that sweetheart," he sneered as he pushed you on your back. You couldn't see him as you heard his clothing hit the floor, but you knew he would have the hottest body. He leaned forward, chain swinging from his neck just less than a foot above you. He positioned himself between your legs, and you instinctively wrapped them around him. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him as he inserted himself, but he wanted to be inside you as soon as possible. He needed to feel you practically split in two from his girth. He needed to see tears running down your cheek as you tried to distinguish pain from pleasure. His wish was granted as he locked hands with you, and slowly pushed himself inside. He watched as you tried to escape the stretch, the excruciating pain.

"Shhhh, I know, I know. It's gonna be okay," he said in a calming voice as you groaned through your teeth. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and wiped a stray tear from your cheek. It was a few minutes before he bottomed out, but it felt like an hour. Every couple of inches or so, he would stop and let you adjust. It took all of his will to not slam right into you and rail you straight in oblivion. He knew damn well if he did, you wouldn't be able to walk properly for at least a couple weeks, and that wasn't even his ego talking. He continued to caress your cheek as he stared at your entrance, how nicely he stretched you. As soon as he could feel your wetness against his pelvis, he slowly pulled out, assuring you through the pain. He repeated his process several times, before you finally spoke up.

"Fuck me, please, faster" you half-whispered. More tears had accumulated at the corners of your eyes, spilling over the edge and collecting in your hair.

"It's gonna hurt for a few minutes, but I promise I'm gonna make you feel so fucking good. I promise." He slowly picked up his pace, careful to move in as straight a line as possible. He still held your hands in his own. He squeezed tighter as he pushed in, and slowly released as he came back out. You tried to remain as quiet as possible, but it was no use. The only sounds in the room were your moans, his pants, and your pelvis colliding with his. He would lean down and kiss you every once in a while, and could feel his tummy colliding with yours, which almost made you cum on the spot. You found pleasure in the way his bush brushed against your clit upon bottoming out. Your vision was foggy, your legs were almost numb. He was right. You were in pure fucking euphoria, and you hadn't even cum yet. You watched him watch himself drill into your hole. His eyes only left when you freed yourself of his grip and reached your hands around his neck, bringing him in, close enough so you could whisper.

"aa...aaaaa.... Jamie....fuck.... feel so fucking good......aaaaaaaa"

He threw his head back, reveling in the accelerated pleasure. Your whimpers and moans, badly masked, pushed him way closer to the edge than they should've. You could feel the coil tightening, looking at the sweat running down his forehead, arms locked and flexed, the only thing keeping him upright. The way his chain bounced against his chest, even shinier with sweat. You came right then and there, squirting all over his abdomen and thighs. You nearly passed out. Your mouth opened in a silent scream as you convulsed, the hot liquid taking him by surprise.

"Ah fuck yeah.... just like that....thats my good girl.....fuck"

He began to rub at your clit, sending you into overdrive, making you clench as hard as possible. You screamed as he came, coating your walls. He only fucked you faster. He held onto your waist, bruising the skin, His moans were the only thing keeping you conscious.

"Fuck, thats my good fucking girl.........so fucking perfect...... fuck baby.."

He craned his neck, trying to focus on anything, anything other than your fucked-out features. He knew that the second he laid eyes on you, he would cum again. He pulled out just in time, groaning at the loss of stimulation. Your eyes were glazed over as you reached for him, pulling him into a bear hug. You cried into his shoulder as your walls fluttered around the mix of your cum. You could feel it leaking out as he pulled you upright, pressing kisses all over your face, licking the stray tears away. He stroked your back as you both caught your breath, recovering from your brain-melting orgasms.

"You were so good for me. So perfect. My perfect little girl."

You basked in his praise, still unable to fully form words, let alone sentences. You smiled up at him as he stroked your hair.

"Well, I don't know about you, but a bath sounds pretty damn good right about now." You nodded at him as he looked to you for an answer. He smiled softly and stood, walking to the bathroom across the hall. As soon as you heard water running, you fell asleep. You weren't sure how long you had slept, but the sun was shining through the window when you awoke. You tried to sit up, but your core throbbed. As soon as the pain washed over you, you remembered what had happened the night before. Ohmigod. After finding a massive t-shirt, you limped out of the bedroom. You didn't know where the kitchen was, but after exploring, you had finally found it. James was sitting down, eating a bowl of cereal and some eggs. He smiled as you entered the room. You offered him a grin as you slowly sat next to him, holding in a groan as you hit the chair. He put an arm around you, which you gladly accepted, and snuggled into his chest, almost falling asleep again.

"How are you feeling?"

"Feels like you're still in me," you grumbled. You winced as the words left your mouth. You had screamed yourself hoarse last night. His hand ran up and down your arm, trying to ease at least some pain. He chuckled at the remark.

"Well, was it worth it?"

You looked up, unsure of his question.

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever you think it means. Regrets?"

"None," you whispered as you kissed his cheek. A few minutes passed, which you filled with sharing his cereal.

"Oh, uh by the way, I ran a bath last night because I wasn't sure if you had any more energy left for it, but the offer still stands."

"Ugh, fine," you teased as you made your way to the bathroom. You were just reaching for the faucet, when you heard footsteps behind you. James pulled you back by the waist, placing you by the door.

"Nuh uh. I'm doing this. You just work on brushing your hair. I'll wash it, and your body too, if you want. You need to rest."

Your heart almost shattered at how caring he was. You couldn't stop grinning as you ran his brush through your hair. When you were done, you took off the shirt and slowly climbed in. The water was hot enough that you immediately went limp and groaned. God, this was amazing. It soothed your skin, made all the pain drift away like smoke in the wind.

"I don't think I've seen anyone enjoy a bath as much as you," he taunted. You opened your eyes to find him on his knees in front of the tub, hands resting on his thighs.

"Shut up, Hetfield," you smiled.

He held up his hands in defense, laughing. After what only felt like a few minutes of idle chit-chat, he began to pump shampoo into his hands, working up a lather. You pulled the shower curtain back farther and lifted your head off the edge of the tub, to give him better access. As soon as his hands began massaging your scalp, you felt a wave of contentment settle over you. You shifted so that your back was to him. He grabbed a towel off the shelf and put it against the side of the tub so you could lean your head back. He didn't care that he was getting soapy water all over his pants, he was just happy that you were happy. He continued massaging your head in silence. He could've sworn you fell asleep more than once, just while he was shampooing. He guided your head up, grabbed the sprayer, and, while holding a washcloth over your eyes, so as to not get any soap in them, rinsed your hair. He moved on to conditioner, brushing through your hair as he did so. He left the conditioner to settle as he lightly ran a loofa over your body, being extra careful around your labia and vulva. He could still see his handprints on your ass, and tracing them, asked, "do these still hurt?"

"They're just a little sore, but you can wash them."

He slowly ran the loofa across your ass, slightly proud that they were still there. He kept that to himself and carried on. Once you had been rinsed off, he helped you out of the tub and dried you off. He guided you to the bedroom, where he pulled a bag from under the bed.

"This morning, I drove down to a Walmart a few miles out and got you some stuff."

He pulled out a fresh pair of panties, and some pajamas.

"I figured we could just have a day in, if you have nothing else to do."

Your heart felt like it was going to erupt at any second. You teared up as you approached him. He could see your emotion and reached out his arms. He embraced you, running a hand through your hair, as you cried into his shoulder. You hadn't had this type of treatment from past lovers, and you never expected him to do all this for you. Especially when you thought this was just a one-night stand.

"What is it?"

"No one's ever done this for me. You're the first. The bath, the clothes. You're just so sweet, even to a one-night stand."

He looked confused as you spoke the last three words.

"Do you want this to be a one-night stand? 'Cause I don't."

"Are you sure?"

"Pff, why would I not be?"

You simply buried your face back in his chest. You stood like that for a few minutes, glad to have this time with him.

You eventually pulled away, unpackaging your clothes. You slid on the underwear and pajamas. He led you to the living room and sat you on the sofa. He went back to the kitchen, grabbing the snack foods he had gotten from Walmart. He came back out with a couple of boxes of cereal, some milk, some candy, and a massive tub of Moose Tracks ice cream. You snatched the ice cream and a spoon as soon as he set them down. He grabbed the second spoon, and you both worked on the tub as you watched trashy reality TV. God, this man was perfect.

#WHEW #james hetfield #papa het #i need this man in ways that would get me on a watchlist #ANYWAYS #james hetfield smut #papa het smut

24 notes · View notes

canarydarity · 10 months

Text

saw a sad quote, wrote some sad ranchers. you know how it is <3 (1552 words)

He rapped his knuckles on the door lightly before his brain could catch up and wonder about how weird it was to knock before entering the house he lived in; just two taps, one after the other, meek and mild—a replacement for sorry to bother you.

“Tango?” Jimmy’s head was bowed when he entered the ranch, his eyes pushing hard towards his forehead to still afford him a glance up into the room.

Tango’s back was turned, his posture hunched over whatever it was he was working on at the moment—scrap metal and tools littering a wide radius around him—but he straightened and turned immediately upon hearing Jimmy’s voice.

“Yeah?” He was cradling some sort of contraption in his arms, looking not unlike the kind of photo you’d take in a newborn photoshoot, though it would certainly be an unusual baby (maybe not to Tango). Now that he was facing this way, Jimmy could see behind him that he’d removed the top of one of their furnaces, things sticking out of it all over the place. Jimmy didn’t pretend to know whatever it was Tango was trying to do.

And based on the look on Tango’s face, he didn’t think Tango did either; attention on the bundle of metal in his arms lapsed, in danger of being dropped if his hands suddenly forgot themselves and let go. Knowledge of what he’d been working on certainly had been present in his mind beforehand, but his face reflected now only concern; eyebrows raised and slightly arched, eyes reading Jimmy like a line of code, on the lookout for whatever bug was causing the glitch, voice tinged somewhat in concern. He’d heard Jimmy call for him and seemingly forwent all else on the chance that something was wrong—that Jimmy needed him.

And it was all at the moment a little too much.

Jimmy dropped his eyes back down to the floor, “gate’s jammed.”

“Again?” Tango said, but he was already moving, bundle shifted and placed down on the floor, hands brushed on pants as he walked passed Jimmy and out the door. It wasn’t again in the frustrated kind of way, delivered with a sigh and full of contempt for the inconvenience of a repetitive issue. It was just again—a comment on the likeness of the scenario, a smidge of relief betrayed in the way he relaxed into the role immediately, didn’t hesitate to jump into action now that he knew things were fine.

Jimmy closed his eyes for a second before turning to follow.

He raised a hand as a shield from the sun while he readjusted from the dim light indoors to the bright summer outdoors, but after he dropped it he looked at Tango and then found himself needing to take another whole minute.

Looking at Tango hurt, in a way; like when you were a kid and you were told not to look directly into the sun but you did it anyway to prove something, and it burned but you acted like it didn’t out of some misguided sense of principle—then you spent the next 12 minutes blinking spots out of your eyes, half-blind, still acting like it was your plan all along.

Jimmy looked at Tango and saw nothing else for minutes after, oblivious to all that was—fearful for what that meant, fearful for how he knew sightlessness made prey vulnerable, fearful for the fact that he didn't think he could stop looking even if he wanted to.

Tango straddled the fence post to the goat pen, leaning this way and that, fiddling with the latch, troubleshooting why it seemed to be stuck, again. Jimmy walked towards him slowly, caught his breath when he heard Tango hum—the kind of noise he made when he was pleased with having figured something out, the patented Tek variant of an aha!—and then quietly say “Gotcha.”

Jimmy arrived right as the gate swung open again, just in time for Tango to look up at him and smile; on his face a did you see what I did!? Like this was a science fair and he’d just won first prize. It didn’t matter that he was just fixing the gate to the goat pen or that he’d done it at least a dozen times before, the simple pleasure radiating off of him at something having been broken and him having fixed it was palpable. Jimmy was grateful it was so hot, or he’d have to confront the fact that the warmth on his face wasn’t the heat.

He stumbled to a stop inches from Tango’s knee, the one that was on this side of the fence, and tried to smile back but it came out wrong—flimsy, needing to be tied up with string so he wouldn’t give in and let it fall.

“There,” Tango said. “Easy-peasy lemon-cheesy.” And then Tango stood up, feet braced on the bottom rung of the fence. He placed a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, and he used the height leverage he did not often have to lean down and place a kiss on the top of Jimmy’s head. He swung his other leg over the top of the post and hopped down.

He said, “If it does it again…” as he walked away, you know where to find me left hanging, and Jimmy looked back over his shoulder in acknowledgment, smiling so he didn’t start crying instead, and jerked his head forward once in a nod.

Tango returned to whatever it was he was doing before, or Jimmy assumed he did. Not bothered at all that he’d been interrupted, not annoyed that it was for something as simple as a latch being stuck. Jimmy looked at the gate and had the sudden urge to break it again, on purpose this time.

He didn’t understand, he didn’t get why.

The bond might not be a choice, but the partnership was—Scott, Cleo, Pearl, and Martyn all proved that. It’d been weeks, Tango was still there. It wasn’t like Jimmy could ask.

There was an addictive factor here, one Jimmy didn’t see a way out of; no 12-step program, no changing his behavior—he was locking one end of a chain around his ankle and the other around a cinderblock before throwing away the key, water ready below for him to take the plunge. He would be missing this for the rest of his life.

It was the easy acceptance, the again without complaint and no hidden meanings; the concern when he’d thought something had been wrong and the relief when he’d realized it hadn’t been; the want to solve a problem Jimmy had been having, however simple it turned out to be.

The problem was that he didn’t have to wait for the rest of his life, he was missing it already.

Their time wasn’t yet up, they were still yellow, end nowhere in sight—but it was there. He could feel it.

When Jimmy looked at Tango he was all he could see for minutes, hours; when Jimmy looked at Tango he couldn’t stand the thought that it was one less time that he got to do so, but it was all he could think for days. He’d tried to stop looking at all—he should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

Tango wasn’t gone yet, but Jimmy missed him.

He didn’t break the gate, he swung it open easily and the goats welcomed him with a chorus of bleats. He took some wheat out of the chest in the corner and fed them, as he’d originally come intending to do. He didn’t break the gate when he left, either; he heard the latch gently clasp behind him and then he returned to the ranch.

He didn’t knock this time as he entered, and he smiled in the general direction of Tango when he caught movement and assumed it was him looking up in greeting. And then Jimmy made his favorite mistake—he stopped, he looked. Tango was indeed smiling back—or as much as he could being he had a screwdriver between his teeth, his hands deep inside the opened furnace in front of him. He’d put his goggles on, it seemed, when he’d gone back inside, using their placement on his head to keep his hair out of his face.

In actuality, it took only a few seconds before the moment ended and Tango continued working. It wasn’t quite so simple for Jimmy—like usual, Jimmy got stuck. The room sun-bleached and disappeared, the inside of his eyelids hurt with it, the pressure of such brightness. There was just Tango, who was still tinkering, his eyebrows moving up and down with whatever his hands were feeling inside the machine, making absent-minded clicks and hums in consideration as he went. He must’ve pricked something sharp, then, by how quickly he removed his hand, shaking it and shoving the offending finger in his mouth, the other wasting no time to find its way back inside. Jimmy’s chest started to hurt.

He ducked his head, he looked away. He blinked the spots from his eyes, but it didn’t matter, they were still there. They would be for a while.

He was going to be missing this for the rest of his life.

He could only hope that later when he went to feed the cows, that latch would break too.

#will i ever stop writing fics about the ranchers and grief rehearsal?#the answer is no because it is the most team rancher concept ever #worm writes #team rancher #jimmy solidarity #tango tek #team rancher fic #double life #double life fic #rancher duo #solidaritygaming #life series #trafficblr

135 notes · View notes

oxygenbefore1775 · 1 year

Text

teaching you how to play guitar

❧pairing: jean x afab!scout!reader

❧tags: smut (minors/ageless blogs dni), mid-timeskip

❧cw: fingering, one (1) petname used, overstim, weird as shit guitar imagery

❧wc: 1,4k

❧summary: while out on deployment you asked jean to teach you how to play a guitar

❧a/n: my first dab into the full-on smut; that's what the poll was about; posting it *unconspicuously* in honor of jeans bd; thanx to /hangeslefteye and /pisspope for fueling the shitshow that was my brain while writing this (not tagging directly cuz i dont wanna bother you to much)

"Do you mind teaching me how to play?"

You finally collected enough courage to come up to him for the first time as your squadron was settling down for the night. Jean Kirstein — elite and revered member of the Survey Corps — took his eyes off the singing strings to meet yours. His quick with movements fingers though kept on fiddling, with precise pinches and harsh strokes to the cords eliciting a lively tune out of otherwise stiff metal. Truly fascinating you found this, alluring even, that his fingers were capable of creating such a lovely thing.

Service had become luck-luster and boring as of late with all the titans eradicated and Survey Corps having nothing better to do other than to sit around on the coast waylaying the currently non-existing Marleyan ships, as you explained to Jean. Then might as well entertain yourself and put the hours into a skill that you'd actually enjoy, you mused.

He agreed surprisingly easy. Amber of his eyes shimmering from the flames of the dying campfire as he suggested you two should meet after the lights-out in his tent. It was bigger than yours anyway and his only tentmate Connie was on the watch duty that night so you could have all the place to yourselves.

At that time you thought that the glint in his eyes was all anticipation at the sight of a near practice session, seeing as Jean found guilty pleasure in patronizing. That smile he gave you as you both parted your ways quickly morphed into an amorous smirk when you weren't looking anymore.

Who'd have thunk that it'd end up with you sprawled on the tarpaulin, mind fuzzy and body sheening with sweat, as Jean kept on spearing your sopping cunt with his fingers.

You'd give him that, he at least had a decency to actually start off with teaching you. Positioning himself behind you on the floor as you were holding a guitar, his arms going over yours to guide your movements. You were such a diligent student. Your eyes following each motion of his fingers in an attempt to recreate it afterwards, asking him to go through each chord step-by-step slowly this time and turning your pretty face to him in search of approval each time you got the sound right.

It wasn't like Jean wasn't enjoying teaching you. Just that his thoughts weren't exclusively dedicated to the process. Blame it on the pretty much non-existent distance between your ass and his crotch, your giddy with excitement wriggles coiling him even further. Jean nearly hissed at the feeling of his cock growing hard and heavy against the groove of your ass. The Scout uniform was already damningly form-hugging but now with the arousal taking form there surely wasn't a way for you to not notice it.

And notice it you did. Fucking hell. You couldn't help but to feel pleased with yourself. It's not every day that you get a chance to fuck Jean Kirstein. You leaned against him even more, trying to feel upon the outline of his cock.

Maybe you might've actually learned something about playing guitar this night. Too bad your body was pressing against his a little too hard for Jean's composure to last more than a few minutes before finally snapping. His mind giving way to the intrusive thoughts of your image he succumbed to the urge of planting hot wet kisses down your neck. Caught up by surprise you shuddered with pleasure each time his lips crushed into your supple skin, his mouth burning hot and greedy. Yet another avid caress captivating your lips, you felt Jean's hands pry the guitar away from your grasp and putting it aside as he intended on having you only to himself this night.

"Jean!" you gasped almost jerking at his mere touch to your core once he finally had you bare beneath him, "Your fingers, they're too rough"

The curve of his lips gained a feigned sympathetic expression as he brought his fingertips to his mouth to wet them.

"That's how it's gonna be though," he sweetened your sudden discontent with his tongue licking away at your entrance, "Playing the strings got my pads all rough. But these fingers are meant to last so by the time I'm done with you'll be numb with pleasure"

As you'd come to know very shortly he wasn't the one to be throwing promises around.

His touch remained just as rough. The callouses on his fingertips bullying your sensitive flesh to no end. The whimpers and mewls falling past the brim of your bitten lips Jean drank up with such poise and pleasure as if he wasn't the one to cause them with every drag of his digits against your gummy walls. The solace you found in seeing scarlet stripes your nails left on his shoulders was although sweet yet not enough to forget about your discomfort. All you were left to do is to writhe and whine in a futile attempt to escape his merciless caresses.

But the way he was putting his fingers to use — good grief. As if possessing a hidden knowledge of your body all this time, Jean knew the exact points to hit to make you a squirming mess under his touch. Avid precision to his strokes, he never missed that sweet spot, the pressure he applied just right for your pleasure to get at its peak.

"Now, is that what gets you going sweet thing?" He'd coo at you each time he brought your features to a new stage of twisted pleasure, "Keep those pretty eyes open for me, would you?"

Bliss and pain mixing together in a ontradictory concoction, you felt as if your body would soon shut down.

The first time you came on his fingers, it was unexpected. Orgasm creeping up behind the waves pain and crushing over you in shudders. Ever so gracious, Jean helped you ride out your high, his body towering over yours and his lips covering your contorted face in quick pecks as he indulges you into another kiss.

"Jean," you carded your clammy fingers aimlessly through his hair, trying to get your fleeing mind some sort of purchase, "That was so good"

"I know," through the squint of your eyes you can see him smirk down at you, beaming with benevolence, "Boring life of a Scout, my ass. Just come to my tent every now and then and see how quickly you'd forget your complaints"

Your orgasm leaving you still so sensitive, you quickly noticed how his fingers returned to rubbing circles round your bud of nerves. Your clit still angry and puffy, it hurt so much each time his rough fingerpads did so much as brushed up slightly against your core.

With an intruding kiss he shushed your huffs of protest, "Oh, sweet thing I'm not done with you yet. Haven't you heard me the first time?" his hot breath searing the shell of your ear. "You'll be numb with pleasure"

The man of his word, he kept you up in the tent for almost all night drawing orgasm after orgasm out of your feeble body. Prying you open and discovering the new layers of bliss in you you've never even known of before.

How beautiful he was looking down at you, lulling your distress away with his attentive touch and caress. Like a string of his guitar he had you pinned down, left at the mercy of his never-resting fingers. Impeccable strokes succumbing your body to his will, whimpers and moans chording a sweet melody to his ears.

And just as promised, your mind was a haze, your flesh a putty under his touch by the end of the night. It seemed as your body had no bones, so pliable for him. As he held your trembling form close to his chest he kissed away the salt from your cheeks — the only remnants of your former soreness on your otherwise painted with bliss features.

"Such a sweet thing for me," you smiled lazily at his words, "Coming undone on my fingers like that. The next time I'm teaching you playing guitar, you're going to be riding my dick all throughout"

#aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot smut #jean #jean kirstein #jean smut #jean x reader #jean x you #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x you

115 notes · View notes

aeslenya · 1 year

Text

Six Of Crows: Incorrect Quotes

-------

Nina: *Posts a super low-quality image to the group chat*

Jesper: If I had a dollar for every pixel in this image, I’d have 15 cents

Nina: If I had a dollar for every ounce of rage I felt in my body after I read this text, I would have enough money to buy a cannon to fire at you

Matthias : Actually I did the math, Jesper would have $225, not $0.15.

Jesper: Fam I’m right here....

Wylan: If I had a dollar I would buy a can of soda :)

Nina: while you’re there could you buy me an apple juice please?

Wylan: Sorry I only have a dollar

Nina: :(

Matthias : Hey I just realized my friend is right, Jesper would have $22,500 because it's a dollar for every pixel, not a cent

Wylan: If I had $22,500 I would buy a can of soda and an apple juice

Matthias : You can buy anything you want with $22,500

Inej : Yeah and they want soda and apple juice

Matthias : Apply juice to what

Kaz: Directly to the forehead

Jesper: Great chat everyone

-------

Wylan: Hewwo.

Jesper: Hihiiiiii!

Matthias : Greetings, Humans.

Inej : Three kinds of people.

Wylan: I want pudding.

Nina: Four kinds of people.

Kaz: WHAT’S UP FUCKERS?

Inej : Five kinds of people.

-------

*The squad is over at Nina's house*

Jesper: Ohhhh, we each get our own oven?

Nina: ... N-No...

Nina, laughing: How many ovens do you think I have???

Jesper, motioning to their kitchen: Three, I thought!

Matthias : I see a-

Nina, motioning to one device: This is a microwave.

Jesper: Oh, well I-

Nina: Hey wait wait, actually- hang on- *fiddles with the buttons on the microwave*

Nina, amazed: Its got a bake setting!

Wylan: Ohoho, you learn something new every day!

Inej : Do we- Do we roshambo for who gets to pick first?

Nina: Now I've just discovered I have more ovens than I thought, we don't have to roshambo nothin!

Nina: I am someone who owns four ovens...

Nina, louder and way too happy: I am someone... who owns FOUR OVENS...

Nina: I didn't know I was so rich with ovens...

Kaz, pointing to another appliance: Also the toaster oven!

Nina:

Wylan: Ohhh, toasty boy! Four- Five ovens!

Nina:

Nina, fucking ECSTATIC: I AM SOMEONE WHO OWNS FIVE OVENS

-------

Nina: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Wylan: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Inej : I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and burned it.

Jesper: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade.

Matthias : I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn.

Kaz:

Kaz: I have emotional scars.

-------

Kaz: So are we flirting right now?

Inej: I AM LITERALLY STABBING YOU

Kaz: That doesn’t answer my question

134 notes · View notes

pelorsdyke · 7 months

Text

ronancetober - day nine: free day [west wing au]

“What the hell was that?”

When she enters Nancy’s office, the woman in question is scribbling furiously on a yellow legal pad, books and highlighters surrounding her on the desk.

“Good morning, Nancy, it’s nice to see you, Nancy, oh, thank you so much, Robin, it’s nice to see you too.” Nancy replies, not looking up from her task. Robin rolls her eyes.

“Good morning, Nancy. What the hell was that?”

Nancy’s pen runs out of ink and she switches for a replacement, tossing the old one into the wastebasket at her feet. Still, she doesn’t lift her gaze, though whether it’s purposeful or just a symptom of Nancy being deep in her work, Robin doesn’t know.

“I did my job,” Nancy replies, and her voice is sincere, if a little ticked, “you know, the thing where they pay me human money to make sure the President doesn’t get torpedoed by a bunch of idiots?”

“Yeah, well, you also directly undermined me to the press corps,” Robin reminds her, still thinking about the way Vickie Stewart pulled her aside after the briefing not ten minutes ago. “You know,” she mocks, “the thing where they pay me human money to make sure the White House has consistent and accurate messaging?”

At this, Nancy looks up.

“I didn’t undermine you,” she says, instant, and her gaze remains locked on Robin’s. Robin scoffs and Nancy shakes her head, repeats herself. “I didn’t undermine you, Robin.”

“Then what the hell is the Post doing asking me about the Speaker of the House?” Robin replies, and Nancy frowns, considering for a moment. It’s one of the woman’s best qualities, especially given her job description, but sometimes it really pisses Robin off. Sometimes, like right now.

“Speaker’s not elected yet, Nance,” Robin reminds her, and Nancy shoots her a look, I know that, idiot clear across her face.

“What’s Stewart claiming to know?” Nancy asks, and if Robin didn’t know better, she’d think the tone in Nancy’s voice on Vickie’s name is jealousy.

“You don’t know it’s Stewart,” Robin says, just to be difficult.

“Nobody else at the Post would tell you,” Nancy fires back, “they’d just print the story and make it your problem at the next briefing.”

Robin bristles. She feels, honestly, a little protective over the journalists in the press room. She knows there’s staff that think she’s too friendly with them, but it’s important to her job to not be antagonistic as much as it’s important to her personally. There’s a non-zero number of people in the White House who consider the press and politicians to be permanently at each other’s throats, and Robin believes that’s a terrible way to run a country. Journalists are, as much as they’re occasionally pains in her ass, an extension of the American people.

“What’s she saying?” Nancy repeats, and Robin shoves her hands in her pockets, desperate for something to fiddle with.

“That Byers is trying to prop up a Democratic candidate to lessen the pressure during the impending investigation,” Robin says, quoting Vickie directly. “Special prosecutor not withstanding.”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “The President is supporting a candidate from her own party for a position in government. The horror.”

“That’s not the problem and you know it,” Robin replies. “We’re staring down the barrel of an investigation that could make or break the presidency— based on accusations of something she did in fact do, in case you’ve forgotten— and people are starting to suggest it could shift toward impeachment.”

“It’s not gonna shift toward impeachment.”

“It will if you’re an idiot about this!”

Nancy’s eyes narrow. “Choose your next words very carefully.” It’s times like this that Robin remembers she’s the least powerful senior staff member, that Nancy is leagues beyond her.

“There’s discussion of attempts on behalf of the presidency to defraud the American people,” Robin holds up a hand when Nancy begins to cut in, “whether you agree with the assessment is not the point, the point is that it’s the conversation being had. Now this kind of thing, maybe she gets a censure, has a black mark on her presidency. Fine. Not great, but not the end of the world. But there’s been talk for a while now about conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy toward what end?” Nancy sputters.

“Conspiracy to win a presidential election,” Robin replies. It’s another thing she’s quoting verbatim, though this time not from Vickie. “Lying to the American people, it’s tantamount to manipulation in some people’s eyes.”

Nancy sighs, drops her head into her hands.

“So tell me, Nance,” Robin says, gentling her voice, “what the hell you were thinking supporting Byers’ move here.”

“The same thing she was thinking,” Nancy replies, lifting her head to meet Robin’s gaze again, “that the investigation is primarily politically-motivated bullshit from a Republican Party that hates her guts. That they’re trying to tank her chances of re-election. That the special prosecutor is a good guy, but we’d rather have someone on our side in his ear.”

Robin considers her answer for a moment. It’s times like these when she really wants to smack everyone in the cabinet over the head with something heavy. Their instinct to not include her in these discussions is typically built on a not so terrible foundation, she supposes, with the idea that if she doesn’t know something, she can’t tell the press, but it’s also unbearably stupid. She’s the president’s first line of defense, the person who’ll get the questions about it, and it’s not a good way to build trust with the public to have your press secretary be an idiot who doesn’t have a clue what the administration is planning to do. Case in point, Vickie Stewart from the Washington Post suggesting that at the next briefing, she intended to ask Robin a question about the president’s push to elect a Democratic congressperson to be Speaker of the House. Robin had laughed, actually, at first, when the reporter had said it.

It also removes her ability to tell them the actually useful thing to do, media-wise, in times like this.

“Okay,” Robin says, sliding into the seat on the other side of Nancy’s desk, “imagine this. There’s three ways this goes, one of which is a Democratic-led investigation against a Democratic President, which ultimately leads— regardless of if they find her guilty or not— to questions of if we put our finger on the scale.”

Nancy wilts, a little. “You can’t be telling me you want to put Republicans in charge of an investigation into the sanctity of Byers’ election process.”

“I’m not telling you what I want, I’m telling you what we have to do. I’ll tell you, I’ll tell Hopper, I’ll tell Byers, I don’t give a damn. It’s not about what I think, it’s about what the American people think.” Robin pushes on. This is one of the reasons she’s gotten to where she has in her career: not only is she smart, people listen to her when she talks. And she talks a lot.

Nancy quirks an eyebrow, permission to continue.

“Number two,” Robin ticks off on her fingers, “is that the special prosecutor, who, by the way, is well-respected across party lines, runs this case independently. Here, you’re just tossing the coin up in the air. You know that, it’s why none of you were backing off on Speaker candidates. I’m not saying it’s pretty, but it’s politics. You know as well as I do that if he runs a clean investigation with nobody’s help, Byers is looking at a loss.”

Nancy sighs. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell anybody.”

“She told Hopper,” Robin says, though she knows it’s futile, and Nancy scoffs.

“And he did bullshit with it, so that’s not exactly helpful here.” Nancy replies, and Robin has to concede that point. “So then, the third way is…”

“Republicans, yeah.” Robin cuts in. “Don’t look so thrilled.”

“Just seems like we’re asking to get our ass handed to us,” Nancy says, and Robin can’t help chuckling a little.

“We are,” she replies, smirking when Nancy’s brow furrows with confusion. “We’re absolutely asking for them to fuck us over, Wheeler. Keep up. I’m a member of the American public, watching the proceedings, thinking about who I’m gonna vote for, and I see a bunch of Republicans taking a break between their trips to Fox to sit on a panel for forty-five minutes and talk shit about Byers to run a politically-motivated trashing against her from Congress, during an election year?”

Nancy’s jaw drops open a little in surprise, but she quickly swallows down the emotion, the corners of her lips twisting up into a smile instead. “Christ, Buckley,” she says, after a second, “you’re fucking terrifying.”

“Oh, stop,” Robin replies, pleased as punch, “you’re gonna make me blush.”

#hey anybody watched the west wing MS storyline in this house or what #hopper is Leo and Nancy is josh btw <3 #yeah this is one of my longest shut up about it!#robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronance #stranger things #mine #ronancetober #west wing

35 notes · View notes

lets-play-pirates · 6 months

Text

Ed and drowning imagery

(I’m sorry if this is awkwardly worded. I am not, as you might have guessed, a native speaker of English, and languages are definitely not my forte)

I'm fascinated by the drowning imagery associated with Ed. It's not omnipresent, they don't hit you on the head with it, but it's there nonetheless (or at least I think so).

It's also interesting that, as far as I can tell, this theme is pretty much unique to Ed.

People die in many different ways in OFMD: they get stabbed, they get skewered by their own sword, they burn alive, they get shot, they get a cannonball in the face, they get skinned alive on one memorable occasion (RIP French Captain, you will not be missed), and so on.

The only case I can think of of someone maybe drowning in a death that isn't caused (not directly) by Ed is Ned Low - Stede throws his own fiddle at him, hits him, he falls off the plank, and it's not really clear if it was the blow that killed Low or if he lost consciousness and drowned.

It's possible that some of the partygoers in S01E05 did, but because of the parallel with CJ's story about Ed torching a ship and how the people inside burned alive, I assume that they died in the fire.

Anyway. Ed.

We get the first reference to drowning in S01E04, when he tells Stede what being Blackbeard is like: “It's just fucking hard sometimes, you know? You ever feel trapped? Like you're just treading water? Waiting to drown?”

Then, the Kraken's awakening is heralded by Ed throwing Lucius overboard; Lucius falls into the ocean, and we can hear his terrorized screams and gasps as he tries desperately not to slip underwater.

If you want, you can consider both the shot of Stede's things being dumped into the ocean at Ed's behest and Ed pushing the cake toppers off the ship as two other examples of drowning-related imagery.

The most obvious example of this theme is Ed's coma dream while he's in the gravy basket; he is thrown by his vision of his old captain - the one who, presumably, taught him how to be a pirate - off a cliff and into the ocean, with a rock tied around his waist.

Then, we have Ed trying to sink the Revenge and drown everyone on board, including himself (and I assume that the crew members who are missing after the storm did, indeed, drown).

He regains consciousness as he's sinking deeper and deeper; he tries to free himself but in vain, and he's about to run out of breath when Stede appears.

The rope unties itself, freeing him, but it's interesting that Ed doesn't swim toward the surface, nor does Stede pull him out of the water.

Instead, suddenly, as he realizes that he isn't alone - that he is loved, despite all he's done, that Stede came back for him, that he's begging him not to die, that he’s vowing never to leave him again, that there's still hope, still a future - he finds that he can breathe underwater.

The last example so far is from the beginning of S01E07 when, early in the morning after his first night with Stede, after Stede’s first real kill, Ed bundles up his leathers - Blackbeard’s, and the Kraken’s - in a net, weights them down with a cannonball and drops them into the ocean.

He consigns his old skin, his identity as a pirate, to a watery grave, and wears in their stead Buttons’s old clothes, the clothes of a man who changed himself into a bird in order to be able to properly love his “ocean deep,” because there is a limit to the love he can share with the sea in his current form, like Ed thinks he can’t properly love Stede until he’s gotten rid of this weight pulling him down, of the poison he carries within himself (the atmosphere was poisoned, the soup was poisoned, and it was his actions that brought Ned Low to the Revenge), until he’s found his true form.

How wise this decision is remains to be seen. I know from the screenshots and gifs posted online of the season finale trailer (they don’t air the show where I live, so I couldn't watch the preview) that he’ll soon fish out his leathers again, but how permanent that will be is unclear. We know that he doesn’t want to be a pirate anymore, not like that - he has been trying to find a way to escape this life since before he met Stede - so drowning this symbol of a life he doesn’t want anymore seems understandable, and healthy, at least until he’s found how to wear that skin in a way that won’t hurt him or those around him.

I really don’t know what the point of this all is. I don’t even know if there is a point to begin with - maybe I’m just fixating on nothing - but if there is, I think that the key image of this series of scenes is that of Ed in the gravy basket breathing underwater.

The weight pulling him down is gone and he’s free, and yet he doesn’t have to make his way above the waves. He’s already safe where he is. He is home.

There is no struggle, no desperate rush to reach the surface. The ocean that used to be a threat, that was going to swallow him and devour him as soon as he got too exhausted to tread water and he eventually, inevitably, let go and slip beneath the waves, is now surrounding him, supporting him as he floats peacefully, effortlessly in front of the man he loves.

More than a transformation that has already taken place, it’s a promise.

It’ll take time, more than the season finale will allow him (but, hopefully, he’ll have another season to work on himself).

It’ll take patience, too, and for him to keep examining his own failings, to keep growing, to keep looking at himself - he still has a lot of fishing to do, and the sea monster is still there, maybe a bit less dangerous now that he’s learned to sit with himself and listen, and maybe the kraken is exhausted too, but he’s still lurking in the depths, still a beast - but if he manages to find that strength within himself, he won’t drown.

He won't drown.

He can change his shape, turn himself into an impossible creature, a merman, like Stede in his vision.

(and isn't this season's logo the image of two merman skeletons circling each other?)

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #blackbonnet #edward teach #gentlebeard #ed teach #blackbeard

24 notes · View notes

oleander-nin · 1 year

Text

Late Night Confessions(Rise! Raph x Reader)

A/N: Request by @/mgmendez2305 (on wattpad), I apologize for the inconvenience and the wait. I had to take creative freedom with this one, cause shower scenes make me uncomfortable :/. I have never written for a male reader b4, so I am so sorry if this sucks. No gendered pronouns used(because I don't like them), but reader is referred to as 'boyfriend'. I tried my best y'all. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not.

Words: 2572

Summary: After training with your best friend, a talk about nightmares and doubts leads to a confession.

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, Kraang, Post-movie stuff, confessions, being in the bathroom while someone takes a shower, male reader, Uno

Raph leads me through the cool down stretches, my arms stretching over my head as sweat drips down my nose and onto the floor below. I mirror Raph, my body following his own as he switches arms to stretch the other half of his body. I can hear the rest of the turtle brothers talking loudly, all three having ditched us as soon as Raph gave the go ahead. A part of me wanted to join them in their quick dash for freedom as the workouts Raph put us through were incredibly taxing, but ditching him so soon felt borderline cruel after he put in so much effort to help me. He designed a workout specifically for my body type and was helping me through every step, hyping me up as I progressed. Even if the aftermath made my arms and legs feel like lead, I still appreciated the time I got to spend with Raph.

“Raph thinks we’re down here. You feelin’ like sleepin’ over or do ya’ want me to bring you home?” Raph’s voice cut me out of my thoughts, snapping me back to reality as I meet his kind eyes.

“If you even think about making me walk all the way back home, I’m punching you in the face.” I huff out, sitting down on the floor and falling backwards until I’ve fully spread out my limbs. I can hear Raph laughing at me, a smile spreading across my face as his head appears directly in my line of sight. Raph looks down at me, a small smile gracing his features as he lightly kicks me with his foot.

“If you're gonna’ to stay, I suggest ya’ get up and head to my room to set ya’self up. The warm water’s gonna run out soon if we don’t hurry it up.”

I nod, rolling over onto my stomach and pushing myself up. I follow Raph, staying two paces behind him as we walk to his room. The rhythmic padding of our feet was calming as I walked the familiar path. Raph’s room was my favorite out of the four brothers, it felt so warm and safe in there. Figuratively of course, I wouldn’t step a foot in there if it was actually grossly warm. Raph sits on his bed and starts to undo his wrappings while I dig through the backpack I brought earlier. I had remembered to pack a bag before I left, knowing the training might go later into the night. Or that I might just want to stay over. I mean, was I really expected to say no to spending more time with my best friends and crush? Absolutely not, I would never pass that up.

“Are ya’ gonna stay in my room again?” Raph asks, his tone is soft as he finishes taking off his arm wrappings. I will never understand how they always get them wrapped so perfectly. I tried once and it fell off as soon as I moved my arm.

“If you want me on the couch, you’re going to have to drag me out.” I say jokingly, having finally found my pajamas. Raph nods in understanding, pulling off his final wrapping. I pull out the small bottle of soap I bring with me when I stay over, sitting down criss-cross style as I fiddle with my gym shorts. “Do you want to shower first or should I?”

A wave of anxiety rolls over Raph’s face at my question, and I feel confused. Did my question offend him in some way? Was I not allowed to take a shower? I had always been able to take a quick shower after a training session, but was there some unspoken rule about today? Maybe it was just Thursdays. I had yet to train with him on a Thursday, I think, so maybe they just, …don’t shower on Thursdays? I look up at Raph and noticed he was trying to say something. I really hope I didn’t just cross some unspoken boundary we had. I had no idea how to go about this.

“Actually, could ya’,” Oh thank goodness, he’s still talking to me. “hang out with me while I shower? Just, sit in the bathroom and talk to me? Raph is uhm, Raph doesn’t want to be alone.” I watch as Raph taps his knees where his hands were resting, his ‘Raph-chasm’ deep with nervousness. I was a bit taken aback by his request, but I overall didn’t mind it. It wasn’t like he was asking me to do something outlandish. I smile at him, holding my folded clothes in my hand as I slowly stood up.

“Yeah sure! I don’t mind. It’s boring waiting for you anyway.” Raph nods at my words and we both make our way to the bathroom. I could still feel the anxiety radiating off of Raph, his usually imposing figure now hunched over as if he’s trying to hide from something. I could feel his nervousness start to spread into me. Was something wrong?

“Raph?” I ask hesitantly, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I think about my next words. Raph lets out a non-committal hum, showing that he was listening, but not fully answering. “Why did you ask me to be in the bathroom with you why you shower? You’ve never asked that before. Is everything okay?”

Raph gulps, trying to put on a smile, but it quickly drops. “Raph’s scared to be alone.” I hear him mutter and I look at him in concern. I felt bad, I hoped I didn’t make him feel worse. I reach over and pat him on the arm, trying to comfort him. I send him a small smile, him hesitantly meeting it. It didn’t fully reach his eyes, but it was a start.

“Well, as long as I’m here, you’ll never be alone again.” I say, my voice full of false confidence. Raph snorts, a real smile finally starting to grow on his face. We stop in front of the bathroom and I hop on top of the counter, quietly whistling as Raph’s steps into the shower and turns on the water. The air slowly starts to steam as the steady stream of water coming from the shower head is heard over my whistles. I start to draw on the mirror with my finger as it fogs up, making little designs. I let my whistle tune die down, it being quiet for a total of two seconds before Raph whistles a tune of his own. I let out a laugh, us both whistling back and forth, making a small song. It was nice, just us being dorks again. I always cherished moments like these, a part of me worrying it would be the last time we could do something like this. I knew his line of ‘work’ was dangerous, and I was scared to lose him.

Eventually, Raph and I both fully showered and made it back to his room. I was in my pajama pants and t-shirt while Raph was in his onesie, both of us sitting on his bed with a deck of uno in between us. I stick my tongue out at Raph as I set down another +2, making him groan out as he realizes he lost the stacking. I cackle gleefully as he grumpily draws the 6 cards required.

As the game continues, my brain keeps jumping back to what he said earlier. He was scared to be alone. I knew he didn’t like being alone, having heard stories of savage Raph from his brothers, but I didn’t think it was this bad. Why did he only ask now? I glance up at him, setting down another card to keep the game going. Raph’s face of concentration was quite funny to me, especially since this was supposed to be a short game. I set down another card before sighing. The questions were starting to feel like they were burning in my chest.

Raph looks at me questioningly when I sigh, one eyebrow muscle raising in concern. Before Raph can say anything, I open my mouth, blurting out the question I’ve been dying to ask. “Why were you so afraid to be alone? It’s never bothered you this much before, that I know of.”

Raph glances at me over his cards, a hesitant look on his face. I watch him chew on the inside of his cheek, obviously debating on whether or not he should tell me. I sit up, straightening my back when he sighs, putting his cards face down on the bed as he meets my eyes. I fold my hands in my lap, trying to convey that I was listening. I had all my attention on him. “Raph’s nightmares are getting worse.”

My eyes soften at his words, and I reach out to grab his hand. He looks at me, a soft smile on his face as he squeezes my hand gently. I knew he and his brothers were deeply affected by what happened with the Kraang, and I wanted to try and help him in any way I could. “I keep thinking about it, how they were able to overtake me so easily. A part of me is scared that as soon as Raph’s alone, I’ll lose control again.” Raph sucks in a deep breath, his hands shaking. I continue to listen, my thumb rubbing his knuckles gently. “Raph doesn’t want ta’ hurt anyone.”

I smile softly at Raph, still trying to soothe his worries as I rub his knuckles. “You’re amazing Raph, you know that? I know it’s scary, but you have your brothers to support you. You have me.” My voice is gentle as I speak, the usual sarcasm coating it has dissipated. Raph smiles at me as he takes a deep breath.

“Thank you.” He simply states, squeezing my hands gently. “I’m sorry for putting all this weight on ya’.”

I roll my eyes at him, a small laugh escaping my lips. “Raph, you’d have to physically shut me out if you don’t want my help. I love you, I won’t let you go through this alone.” The confession slips past me without me realizing. I watch as Raph’s eyes go wide before I realize what I just admitted. I open my mouth, trying to think of an excuse to what I’ve just said. I’ve never said that before, not even as a joke. Could I play this off? Did I even want to? Raph sits silent in front of me, his eyes scanning me, looking for something I didn’t know. Was he upset?

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t.. I, uhm..” I start dumbly, my mouth gaping like a fish. I pull my hands away from Raph’s quickly, almost as if they burned me. I feel the familiar rush of shame settle in my stomach, Raph’s face never changing. I felt like I wanted to puke. I hang my head, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Raph’s brows furrow at my words, his hands taking mine again when I try to turn away. I look at Raph in confusion, opening my mouth to ask what he was doing, but Raph’s words interrupt me. “Did you mean it?” I study Raph’s face, trying to decipher what he meant. Was he asking about the confession? Raph notices my subtle confusion and clarifies. “The confession. Did ya’ mean it.”

I nod my head, not meeting Raph’s eyes. A smile grows on Raph’s face, his hand tugging me forward and I’m pulled into a bear hug by the mutant turtle, mindful of his spikes. I blink twice, having not expected this reaction. I slowly bring up my arms, hugging back. I feel Raph give a gentle squeeze before pulling away to look at my face. His eyes were big and he looked overjoyed. I felt a smile grow on my face as well, hope starting to build up in my chest.

“Raph like ya’ too.” He beams, his smile seeming to split his face in two. I start to laugh, him soon joining in as I pull him into another hug. We both just sit there for a while, enjoying the other's presence and hold. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. Every worry that had built up slowly washed away, dripping off me and dissipating into the air. I hear Raph mumble something and I look up at him, asking him to repeat it. Raph’s cheeks start to burn as he looks away from me, taking a small breath before repeating his previous words.

“Will ya’ be my boyfriend?”

I feel my heart buzz in my chest as I look at Raph, his question making my entire body light up. I eagerly nod, confirmations spilling out of my lips as I hold onto him tight. Raph laughs as I throw my arms around him, leaning against him as my body vibrates from the joy flowing through my veins. I feel the rumble of Raph’s chest as he breathes, his forehead resting against mine. I wanted to pause the world, to stay in this moment forever. I felt like I would burst at the seams from how elated I was, my wide smile starting to hurt my cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask softly, looking into Raph’s eyes while our foreheads were still connected. Raph looks uncertain, his non-existent eyebrows furrowing at my question. I worried I was too forward, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’ve never kissed anybody before.” He admits shyly, his forehead still against my own. We were so close, I could see every detail of his face, every scale and scar popping against his rough skin. I let out a small laugh at his confession.

“Wow really? You mean the giant mutant turtle that’s been living in the sewers his whole life hasn’t kissed anyone yet? Gosh, who would’ve guessed.” Raph snorts at my sarcasm, rolling his eyes. I could see the red showing through his scaly skin, his skin starting to feel warm. It was nice. I tried to ignore the growing heat in my own cheeks, glad he couldn’t see the red through my skin. My voice grows a bit softer, losing its teasing edge. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve never kissed anyone either.”

Raph leans up, connecting his lips with mine and I panic a bit from the abruptness. Sure I asked for this, but I was expecting more of a warning. The fog in my rain starts to settle, leaning into the kiss as I try to remember how it’s done in the movies. I tilt my face, trying to replicate something I can’t quite picture in my mind, but my nose roughly smashes against Raph’s snout. We both pulled away, me rubbing my nose while Raph sheepishly grinned at me. I looked up at Raph, his large figure hunched over slightly as his eyes scanned me over. Our eyes meet and I just start giggling, not being able to stop. I hear raph’s chuckles join mine, both of us delving into full on belly laughs. The euphoria I felt being near this man was bubbling out of me, a grin stretched wide across my face. Our giggles start to die down, Raph wiping a tear from his eye as he meets my eye.

“Want to try again?”

My lips meeting his once more were my final answer.

#rise raph #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #raphael #raph rottmnt #raph tmnt #rottmnt raph x reader #rise raph x reader #raph x reader #male reader #raph fanfic #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fanfic #fanfic #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt x reader

81 notes · View notes

clonesimpextra · 4 months

Text

A Shattered Peace: Chapter 12

A Bit Like Home

[previous][next]

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 5.5K Chapter Rating: T Chapter Summary: Abregado, from Amara's POV. A/N: *Cries in six months since I last posted a chapter* Also available on AO3

Amara stared out the viewport of the Sagacious, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The Four-Fourteen were returning to Coruscant, finally, after a month of back-to-back missions. She should have felt relief, eagerness even. But that feeling, gnawing away at her insides, told Amara that something, somewhere, was very very wrong.

“You’ve run the systems check?”

Beside her, Commander Riv nodded. “Twice now, Sir. Everything’s working as it should.”

“And the scanners?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” In the corner of her eye she saw him turn toward her, but Amara stayed staring at the blue-white rush of hyperspace. “The Four-Fourteen’s fine, General.”

She pursed her lips. “I know.”

And she did. Nothing was wrong with her battalion. They were safe and well and on their way to a much deserved break. But that feeling … she’d never been wrong about that feeling before.

Which could mean only one other thing.

Amara raised her wrist and keyed in a code on her comm. “Comet, this is General Kora. I need you on the bridge.”

*****

Three Weeks Earlier – Somewhere Outside the Ryloth System

“I appreciate your concern, Master Plo, but the Four-Fourteen and I have it handled.”

“Even so, I’ve sen—” the holo in front of Amara flickered in and out, breaking up Plo’s response. “He’ll arrive so—”

“Master Plo?” Amara fiddled with the frequency, trying to get his projection back on the table.

“It’s no use, Sir,” Flame spoke from the control port. “We’ve lost external comms.”

“Excellent.” She glanced around the room. “Anyone have a clue what he was trying to say?”

There was silence for a beat and then, “Not so much what he said, general, but a ship just exited the nearest hyperspace lane. ”

Amara turned to the screen Captain Hall was pointing at, narrowing in on the flashing beacon. “Is that an x-wing, Captain?”

“Yes, Sir, I believe it is.”

She shook her head. Overprotective and meddling men. That’s what the entire 104th was made up of now, she supposed.

“Captain Hall, try to figure out the communications issue and make sure it doesn’t cross over to anything else. I won’t have us completely cut off whenever the Seppies finally decide to make a move.”

“Yes, general.” Hall paused, raised an eyebrow. “Is that the ship I think it is?”

“Yes it is, Captain.” Amara sighed. “I hope we have a spare bunk.”

*****

One of the very first things Master Plo had ever taught Amara after she’d become his Padawan was to never be afraid to accept help. He’d taught her through his own actions, letting her assist him on missions or with tasks that he could have easily done on his own, liaising with other Jedi to solve problems Amara knew for a fact he’d already solved in his head.

She’d questioned him about it once. When he’d let her lead them on a roundabout route across a seemingly barren planet and gotten them into a scuffle with the locals. Plo, gracious as always, set things straight and led them to safety within a standard hour.

“You could have taken over from the start.” She’d pouted, arms crossed and kicking at a patch of grass as they walked. “All my ‘help’ did was cause more trouble.”

“I don’t view it that way. Neither should you.”

Amara stopped in her tracks and stared at him until he turned to face her. “I almost got us killed.”

Plo chuckled. “Far from it, young one. The locals were merely curious. As were we.” He gestured to the area around them. “And now we know more about this planet and these people than we did before. Far more,” he tilted his head, “than we would have if I’d led us directly to our destination.”

Amara let her eyes wonder across the plains around them, pushing down the uneasiness at the way the grass against her calves echoed grass on another planet from long ago. She took in the purple blue sky, suns settling in the distance. It was a beautiful place. Still … “I didn’t plan this.”

Wrinkles appeared around Plo’s mask and she knew he was smiling. “When we accept help, we accept everything that comes with it. Expected and unexpected alike.” He turned to watch the setting suns with her. “How much more pleasant it is to view that with excitement at discovering something new than with trepidation about the unknown.”

As she stood in the hangar bay now, watching a maroon-striped x-wing settle into the space across from her, Amara tried to keep Plo’s words in mind. Help should be welcomed. Even if she didn’t need it.

Even if she strongly suspected Plo was relying on her remembering what he taught her so she wouldn’t be upset that he was being overprotective.

She grit her teeth and waited for the ship door to open.

When it did, and an all too familiar clone stepped out, Amara felt all the anger in her deflate. There were only so many people Plo could have sent that would have guaranteed a less angry response from her, and Comet was top of that list.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t still going to demand some answers, though.

She raised her voice to be heard over the hangar clatter. “He sent you before he even made the call, didn’t he?”

Comet took his helmet off, a grimace already visible. “The general or the commander?”

Amara blinked. She had meant Master Plo, but now that Comet mentioned it …

“This was Wolffe’s idea?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You pretty much did, Comet.”

Comet scratched at the back of his neck, squinting over Amara’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, General?”

Amara opened her mouth to get them back on topic, to remind Comet that as happy as she was to see him, she didn’t need a babysitter. But something in the clone’s voice stopped her.

In all her time with the 104th, Comet had always been the calm, lighthearted, happy one of the group. The first to try and put a smile on everyone’s faces. His words just now fit that category, on the surface. But Amara could feel all was not exactly right. Not at all.

She tilted her head, took in the dark circles under Comet’s eyes. The too-thin lines of his mouth trying to smile, but not quite succeeding. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked a few times, not-quite-a-smile wavering for a moment before he pulled himself up straighter. “I’m just here to help, Sir.”

Amara didn’t buy it, not for a second. Especially not when she opened up to the Force and felt something hovering in Comet’s soft yellow aura that she’d never associated with him before: shame and hatred. There was much more at stake than he was letting on.

She stopped in the hallway, and, after glancing at the passing clones, pulled them into a quiet corner. Comet avoided her eyes as she put a hand on his shoulder. “I might not be your commander anymore, Comet. But I still know when something’s wrong.” She waited until he finally looked back at her before continuing. “And I don’t need to be your commander to still care, either. Wolffe sent you for a reason. I’d like to know what that reason is.”

Comet leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. “Permission to tell you once we finish this mission?”

Amara peered at him for a moment longer, tempted to remind him that secrets didn’t make for successful missions. She would listen, she would understand. But she remembered something Wolffe had said to her as she’d watched his brothers leave a small pile of helmets on a coral reef on Tibrin, before everything had gone to shit but after they’d already lost too many. She’d wanted to go to them, to share in their grief and comfort them. Wolffe held her back with a hand on her arm and just a few words:

They don’t need you to comfort them. They need you to listen.

So she swallowed back her words, let her hand fall from Comet’s shoulder, and nodded. “Permission granted. Let’s get you up to speed, yeah?”

Comet released another breath and the Force around him lightened, just a bit. “Yes, Sir.”

*****

Despite everyone’s worries, the mission — several tricky supply runs to refugees on the neighboring planets of Ryloth — went off without a hitch. And despite Amara’s concerns, Comet had been immensely helpful. He’d let the reconnaissance skills he was so well known for in the 104th take over during the mission, and if Amara hadn’t known better, she’d have said he was perfectly fine. It didn’t help that working alongside someone she’d trained with for months instead of just a couple of weeks was easy to fall back into.

So easy, that part of her almost wanted to leave it alone. To let Comet do what he wanted so long as it meant a part of the 104th could stay with her. And maybe that’s what Commander Kora, someone who never really had to make final decisions and could rely on others to pick up where she slacked off, would have done.

But that wasn’t what General Kora, responsible for every soldier under her name, could let herself do.

When they entered hyperspace and left Ryloth’s nearest moon far behind, Amara found Comet alone in the training room, staring down a punching bag.

“You know,” she said, walking up to the other side of the bag, “I found Wolffe in exactly this position just before we last left Coruscant. Turns out he had a few things he wanted to say, too.”

“Guess it runs in the genes.” He nodded at the bag and Amara held it steady, bracing for his punches.

“I’ll take your word for it because I’ve given up trying to figure that one out.”

Comet landed his first one-two punch, eyes focused, mouth set in a firm line. Then he landed another. And another. And more until there were no breaks between the sets and Amara was relying on the Force to keep the bag from swinging into her face. She stayed in her position, regardless. Comet had something he needed to work through, and he was allowing her to exist in his space while he figured it out. She’d learned from Wolffe that such a thing wasn’t something she should take for granted.

Finally, when his punches came more slowly and his breathing evened out, Comet spoke.

“The last mission the Wolfpack was on …” he grabbed the bag and looked off to the side, the Force around him tense. “I fucked it up.”

Amara had assumed whatever was bothering him would have come from something like that. She’d looked up the mission report, chest briefly aching at the familiarity of Wolffe’s detailed writing. There had been trouble at the Nexus, a floating trading post on Quarmendy, and Plo had sent the Wolfpack to secure the planet away from Separatist control.

She moved to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “I read about the mission. Aside from the Nexus being destroyed, it seems like everything was a success. About as good as it gets these days, anyway.”

“Do you know how many people died in that explosion?”

“They weren’t able to gather exact numbers,” she let her hand slide away, “but Wolffe estimated about two dozen in his report.”

Comet nodded and stepped away from the bag, eyes still focused on the far wall. “It was my fault, the explosion. Said the wrong thing to Tambor at the wrong time.” He shook his head. “Those people … their deaths are on my hands. Most of them didn’t even have anything to do with the war.”

“The report didn’t say anything—”

“Yeah,” Comet laughed ruefully, finally looking at her, “Wolffe’s real good at not pointing any fingers. Said it was a ‘collective oversight’ so I wouldn’t risk getting a mark against me.”

Amara hesitated, crossing her arms over her chest and wondering what in the hells she could say to him. The clones were made for war, for battle, for casualties and hard choices. Despite how open Wolffe had been with her — and if she was honest with herself, he hadn’t really been all that open —, most of his brothers were good at hiding what their true feelings about everything might be.

She wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of a guilty war-time confession.

She did, however, have some idea of what Comet was feeling. She imagined it wasn’t altogether very different from how she’d felt in the immediate aftermath of Tibrin. No one had been able to explain or excuse her guilt away, and she had a feeling the same would be true for Comet.

So, despite the fact that she knew Wat Tambor would have destroyed the Nexus regardless of what Comet did or didn’t say, Amara focused on something the clone could answer.

“Then why are you here, Comet? Wolffe wouldn’t send you away for something he doesn’t blame you for.”

“Believe me, he didn’t want to.” Comet hesitated, words coming more slowly. “I asked for a break.”

“But a break is—” Amara blinked as the reality of what he’d said settled around her. Anger took over her confusion and she ignored her previous determination to be gentle with him. “What the fuck were you thinking asking for that?”

Comet looked a bit ashamed but at least had the decency to not turn away from her. “Wolffe wasn’t too happy with me either.”

Amara took a moment to calm the rising anger and horror in her chest. Of course Wolffe wouldn’t have been happy. For a clone, ‘taking a break’ wasn’t a respite or a holiday or anything that resulted in some kind of calm. ‘Taking a break’ was being sent to Kamino for secondary duty, risking analyses and tests that could result in battalion transfer or sanitation duty or something much, much worse that the clones never even wanted to talk about. ‘Taking a break’ was effectively asking to be set out to pasture and forgotten about. How the hell had Comet come to this in the two months since she’d last seen him?

The same way you almost stepped away after Tibrin.

Amara closed her eyes and took a breath. She could see very clearly now why Wolffe had sent Comet to her rather than anyone else.

So instead of a lecture full of words that wouldn’t really mean anything, Amara sat down on the padded floor and gestured for Comet to join her.

“You know … I questioned everything after Tibrin. When I blew up that last reef? I wasn’t even thinking of the people on it. The only thing on my mind was protecting my men, buying us a little more time to figure something out.” She took breath. “I haven’t told anyone this. Haven’t even let myself think it, but … I could feel when they died. I was in the water, halfway back to our reef and everything around me just lost its color for a moment. The water wasn’t that bright turquoise, the corals weren’t that dusty pink. It was all grey.”

Amara replayed that moment in her mind. Could feel the waves rushing against her chest, the agony of such an abrupt loss threatening to pull her under. When she’d pulled herself up onto the reef, she’d acted like it was no big deal, just another action in the time of war that she’d swallow down. But it had taken everything in her just to turn her back on the destruction she’d wrought.

“When one of you dies,” she finally looked at Comet then, saw him focused intently on her, “or one of the Jedi, I feel it. The loss, the pain. The freedom, sometimes. But nothing … nothing ever quite like that before. We got on the Resolute and I didn’t want to risk ever putting myself in that position again.”

Comet nodded, a rush of empathy coloring the Force around him. “What changed your mind?”

“Master Plo.” Amara smiled, thinking of the talk they’d had in one of the Temple gardens. “He told me the Republic need generals who learned from their mistakes and who genuinely cared. To take one more position away from those who might not.”

“Do you ever wish you’d made a different choice?”

Every day, a voice inside of her whispered. But Amara wasn’t sure that was entirely true. Yes, she spent a few moments every day thinking on her choices. Thinking on the paths that led her to where she was. But that didn’t mean she regretted the life she’d committed to.

“I wonder if what I’m doing actually makes a difference. If what I’m adding that’s ‘good’ balances the bad.”

Comet sighed. “I know what you mean. I’m afraid of what other guilt I’ll have to carry around. Of what else this war will make me do that tips that balance in the wrong direction.”

“Then don’t let it,” Amara shook her head, trying to shake away the truth in Comet’s words. “That guilt you feel, Comet, it doesn’t have to consume you. Learn from it. Let it make you better. Let it make you even more of the kind of soldier that maybe we don’t deserve but that we desperately, desperately need.”

They let the words hang between them. Amara wondered what Wolffe would think of everything she’d just said to Comet. It wasn’t more or less than anything they’d said to each other. But there was something different about sharing this, something she’d used to forge a connection with Wolffe, with someone else. The thought brought with it an overwhelming sense of longing in the pit of her stomach.

She swallowed tightly around the pain as Comet shifted next to her. She could think about Wolffe later. Maybe she’d send him a message, ask to debrief back on Coruscant. She could make time in her schedule for him. She would make time.

“You know,” Comet chuckled to himself, pulling Amara away from her thoughts, “I get it now.”

A smile pulled at her lips as Comet kept laughing. “Get what?”

“Why Wolffe likes talking to you so much.” He wiped at his eyes, missing the blush that rose to Amara’s cheeks.

She didn’t speak to the men about what Wolffe might or might not think about her. The conversation with Sinker that last night with the 104th was the closest she’d gotten and she was thankful for that. It was hard enough dealing with her feelings without knowing what he said about her to other people.

Still … it wouldn’t hurt to know just a little. After all, it had been nearly two months since she’d last seen him.

“How would you know that?”

Comet raised an eyebrow at her. “He sent me here for a reason, right?”

Right. That was it. Of course Wolffe didn’t talk about her with Comet in any other way. Why would he? They were just—

“And he told me to give you this after the mission.” Comet reached into the pouch of his belt lying next to him and pulled out a holo puck, guilt hedging into his smile. “I would have given it to you sooner, but I knew you’d want to talk and I just … wasn’t ready.”

He placed the puck in her palm and Amara had to remind herself to breathe. The promise of hearing Wolffe’s voice again, after so long without it, was enough to make her want to sprint back to her quarters, abandoning Comet on the training room floor. She shook her head and put the puck away safely in her own belt and eyed Comet.

“You’re lucky you didn’t lose that.”

“And risk never being allowed to return to the 104th?” He placed a hand over his heart. “No chance.”

Amara hummed, pleased to hear a bit of the old Comet back in his voice. “So … no ‘taking a break’?”

Comet huffed out a breath. “No. No, I think I’ve put that behind me.”

Unexpected tears stung the back of Amara’s eyes and she blinked them away before he could see. Maybe agreeing to be a general, agreeing to keep fighting in this war she still wasn’t sure about, had been worth it, even if just for this.

“Well, if you ever need ‘a break’ again,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “you’re always welcome here. Let that phrase mean something else from now on, understood?”

Comet nodded, face serious but the Force much lighter around him than she’d seen it since he first arrived on her ship. “Yes, General.”

“Good.”

Amara stood up, checking briefly to make sure Wolffe’s holo puck was safely tucked away, before pulling Comet up with her. He smiled, gathering up his things to leave. But Amara hesitated.

Now that she was free to run off and listen to Wolffe’s message in peace, she found that she was terrified to hear what he had to say. Her expectations, she feared, were too high. She cleared her throat and, when Comet glanced back at her, she gestured to the square in the centre of the training room where the clones usually sparred.

“The Four-Fourteen are good sparring buddies, but it’s hard to beat the 104th. Think I might be getting a bit rusty.”

Comet stared at her for a moment, clearly reading between the lines. If he’d been Boost he would have called her out on it. Sinker would have shook his head and walked away. But Comet was, despite everything, still Comet. He smiled and dropped his stack of armor.

“I did notice you struggling to hold that punching bag still, General. Sure you’re up for a round?”

Amara followed him to the square, relief relaxing her shoulders and centering her mind away from Wolffe. At least a bit.

“I said I was rusty. Not that I couldn’t still kick your shebs into the next sector.”

Comet laughed and it sounded just a bit like home.

*****

An hour later, Amara walked into her quarters, sweaty from sparring and finally ready to listen to Wolffe’s message.

Well, she looked down at her shaking hands, maybe ‘ready’ was a bit of an overstatement.

Comms with the 104th had never recovered after their initial breakdown when Comet arrived, and any contact she’d had with her old battalion preceding that had been only with Plo. Amara tried not to read into that.

She took out the holo puck from her belt and tossed it between her hands, feeling the cool metal against her skin and thinking of the last words she’d said to Wolffe, back on Coruscant.

See you around, Wolffe.

It had been a promise, small and subtle enough to ignore if they wanted. But she didn’t want to. And she didn’t think he did, either. They’d see each other again, so long as they survived. They’d exist in each other’s lives, even if that existence looked a little different than before. Whatever was on this holo had all the leverage in determining just how different that existence would be.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted, but maybe that was for the best. If she couldn’t decide between her feelings and her duty, then whatever Wolffe said, whichever way his message might lean, stood no chance of disappointing her.

Master Plo would have seen right through that excuse, but he wasn’t here. Amara was alone. And she could make that excuse her reality as much as she damn well pleased.

Settled, Amara set the puck on the shelf next to her bunk, turned it on before she lost the nerve, and curled up with her back against the wall, ready.

When the blue-white recording of Commander Wolffe of the 104th Battalion smiled across at her, a softness in the wavering depths of his eyes that she hadn’t known she’d missed, Amara let herself relax and she let herself smile back.

****

I’ll see you around, Amara. I don’t know when or in what way, but I’ll see you. That’s a promise I know I can keep.

The end of Wolffe’s recording echoed in Amara’s mind as she tried to explain to Comet why she’d called him to the bridge when she couldn’t exactly explain it herself. Wolffe would never break a promise, if he said he would see her again, he would.

Unless he’s dead. Amara blinked the voice away.

“If you’ve had any contact at all with the 104th, Comet, I need to know.”

He could be dead.

Comet shook his head, the rest of his body perfectly still. “No, General. Not since I left the Triumphant three weeks ago. Are you sure it’s not just an issue with our own comms?”

He’s probably dead. Amara stared out into the whirl of hyperspace, letting Riv answer for her.

“Comms are working fine now. We’ve sent messages back to Coruscant, requesting an update and received nothing back so far.” Riv glanced at her but Amara stayed staring forward. “But the general has a … feeling.”

The weight of Comet’s stare added to Riv’s. They were waiting for her to say something, anything. Amara couldn’t get her mouth to move.

“General,” Comet moved to stand next to her, eyes still on her instead of the viewport. “What kind of feeling?”

Amara finally looked up at him and saw all the fear she felt reflected in his dark eyes. She owed him, of all people on this ship, an answer. She didn’t have one, but she had to give him something. She was the general here, it was her job to keep the men moving, alleviate their worries, give them some hope. She cleared her throat, ready to tell Comet it was just a worry, maybe an overreaction.

And then her head exploded into a thousand pieces.

“General?” Hands grabbed at her, trying to … pull her up? Was she no longer standing? “General Kora what’s wrong?”

Amara shook the hands off, her skin sensitive with a deep-seated ache as she pushed her own hands against her forehead, trying to escape the pain. She could see everything around her in staggering clarity, but it was grey, so grey. Grey like it was on Tibrin when so many people died all at once.

It was happening again. The loss. The pain. The ache in the Force. But this time was so so much worse. She’d been naive, back then, to think she’d experienced the worse of death. This felt like pieces of her brain, of her heart, ceasing to exist. She couldn’t speak.

Dead

She could sense people moving around her, could feel the ship humming beneath her, could see the lines of worry in every face. Was that Comet? Ordering a medic to help her? And Riv, messing with the communications hub?

She couldn’t speak.

They’re all dead.

She couldn’t—

“This is a message for General Amara Kora of the 414th battalion.” Master Windu’s voice, always a solace to her, pulled her back from the brink. Amara blinked and stared at his outline on the holo table, everything else fading into the background even as the pounding in her head and chest continued. “The 104th have encountered a dangerous new weapon and we have lost contact. The 414th is to continue back to Coruscant immediately. We do not yet know how to defeat this weapon and we cannot afford to lose another battalion.” He stared at her. She wasn’t sure he could actually see her, didn’t know if this was live or recorded, but he stared right at her. The seriousness of his next words highlighted by the stern set of his mouth. “There is nothing you can do right now. Return to the Temple and we will debrief you there.”

The holo winked out of view and Master Windu’s voice was replaced by Comet’s.

“He didn’t tell us where they were when they lost contact. Why didn’t he tell us where they were?”

Amara leaned against the table, brushing off their medic, Helix, with a gentle nudge. “Because he knew if he told me, I’d ignore his orders and take us there anyway.”

Comet scoffed. “Because that’s the reasonable thing to do, General. We’re a full battalion, we can help.”

Amara stared at the empty holo table, wincing at the similar emptiness she felt in her head, in her heart, in the very core of her being. Every bone in her body was screaming at her to exert all of the 414th’s resources on finding out where the 104th was. She needed to find them. Needed to know exactly how many of them were dead.

Because they were dead. She could feel the absence of so many she’d come to know over the past months, even if she couldn’t pinpoint exactly who the absences belonged to. They were dead. They were dead. They were dead.

There was absolutely nothing she could do about that now, but she could get these men, these very alive men, back to Coruscant. To whatever passed for safety these days.

I don’t know how long I’ll last in this war. Amara closed her eyes for just a moment against Wolffe’s words before she straightened up and let go of the holo table.

She looked Comet directly in the eye, because she owed him that much. “We increase our speed as safely as possible. But we continue our path to Coruscant all the same.”

Comet shook his head, anger darkening his Force color. “You don’t mean that.”

She turned her attention to the 414th clones on the bridge and spoke with as much strength as she could muster. “Understood?”

“Yes, Sir”s echoed around her and Amara made her way the bridge door.

“General, you should come with me.” Helix blocked her exit, concern etched across his brow. “If I hadn’t watched you in there just now, I’d say you have a concussion.”

Amara shook her head, holding back a wince at the staggering pain. “I’m fine, Helix. I just need to meditate.” She waved a hand and pushed past him. “Jedi stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

She had the vague impression of Helix protesting behind her, but she continued on down the hall and toward her quarters. Her head screamed with every step, something pulled at her heart with every breath. She needed to lie down. She needed to meditate. She needed to figure out what the fuck had happened.

She needed, desperately, to let herself cry.

“Wolffe would go after you.”

Amara stopped, hand reaching out to palm her door open, and tried to focus past the pain. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Comet.”

“The hell I do, General. He would go after you. And you know it."

I miss you, Amara … It’s enough for me to know that you know.

Amara pulled her hand back and turned to face Comet, the light behind him making her squint. “No he wouldn’t. He would get his men to safety. He would—” She paused to rub at her eyes. The light was too fucking bright. “He would put everyone and their needs ahead of himself and his wants because that’s what we do. I have a responsibility to these men. Wolffe would understand that.”

“You used to have a responsibility to the 104th, too. General.”

His words hung between them, weighing the air down and threatening to bring forth the tears Amara was trying so hard to keep at bay. This wasn't the Comet she knew. Even at his worst, he'd never talked to her this way. But she could feel his pain in the Force alongside his anger and it matched her own. She was the general, he was the soldier, and she was responsible for him. Regardless of whether he believed it or not.

“I don’t think Wolffe would have sent you to me if he didn’t think I still took that responsibility seriously.” She turned away from him and opened her door. “Get some rest, Comet.”

The door swished close behind her, but not before she heard the loud thump of a fist connecting with a durasteel wall.

Pulling Wolffe’s holo puck out of her belt, Amara sank to the floor. With shaking hands, she turned on the recording.

General Kora … Amara. I asked Comet to give you this recording …

As words she’d already memorized consumed her, Amara tentatively reached into the Force, searching for his distinct signature. They were so connected, so in tune with one another that surely she’d feel him. Surely she’d be able to know for certain if he was …

A wall of pain blocked her from searching further. Her connection with the Force was too fraught, too sensitive, too overwhelmed with loss. If she tried any harder, she’d risk hurting herself permanently.

I hope that when you’re listening to this, you’re rolling your eyes and muttering something about how I didn’t need to explain it so much because you already knew.

Amara looked back at the holo, eyes tracing the quirk of Wolffe’s lips, the gentle set of his arms crossed over his chest.

I also hope you know that I’m explaining it all because I miss you.

As a sob yanked itself free from her too-tight throat, Amara covered her face and finally let herself cry.

#w: a shattered peace #oc: amara kora #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x oc #jedi oc

17 notes · View notes