#but not actually because he hardly comprehends consciousness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mineofilms · 2 years

Text

Viene una tormenta

“No problem can be solved from the same level of consciousness that created it. The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity. A human being is a part of the whole, called by us, universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” ~Albert Einstein

Both sides of the 2-sided coin that is American politics, the Republican Party and the Democratic Party really haven't handled the abortion topic well, among other things both sides bicker about, but hardly come to an understanding that benefits all mankind. One side wants choice, but with little restrictions while the other demonizes it at the conceptual level in all its forms. Both sides don't really care. The LEFT has shown the past two years they don't. The RIGHT, currently just goes against the LEFT, it doesn’t even matter if they make any valid points or not. I was under the impression the LEFT/RIGHT existed in order to make compromises that benefit the whole? But do they? That is what I started to explore in my last blog, "Emendatione ad Infantes Mortuos."

I have always believed this, but as I said in that last blog, there is a difference between belief and knowledge. Now I feel I no longer believe, but now know that both parties are poor choices for societal growth and evolution within our American culture. Choose Republican/Democrat, I choose not to choose, because both parties have proven they are bad for a free society. We will be approaching the 13,500 word mark on this subject and sub-subjects that stem from having these sorts of conversations this past week.

On social media; how do you summarize this in just a few sentences without being vague about what it is that is actually being said and splintering off, subject matter-wise? My personal stances on the abortion topic are I support a woman's choice to choose. I support choice from 0-15 weeks, all day every day, unless they come up with a better number for weeks-wise, whatever that may be just insert here. I do not support 3rd-trimester abortions, other than for medical reasons, also insert here. Simply putting "other" in the checkbox as the reason isn't gonna cut it. (hypothetical/sarcasm). The Democratic Party just brushes that right over as if it doesn’t matter and it should matter. The choice if a woman wants to get an abortion during that 0-15 weeks should not be impeded. I get why there is a timestamp on this and that, to me makes sense.

How do we not take the choice away from the women that deserve to make it and also not kill full term babies in the 3rd trimester, all along while not overly pissing off every Christian? Both sides are not talking about this. They are 0-100 with their points of view and won’t budge on them. The Republican Party have been doing demonizing of their own on the full term abortions the LEFT stands by, but what the RIGHT isn’t saying is: “statistically less the 0.5% of abortions are full term, and they are only done for fetal demise or imminent fetal demise upon birth, or potential maternal demise.” I sort of knew the RIGHT was embellishing 3rd trimester abortions too much. Still doesn't give the LEFT a pass either. LEFT/RIGHT, they do the same stuff, screw us all. That is why I said, it's hard to have this conversation in these little blurps via social media. Something is always gonna get overlooked on these platforms right? Small boxes, text limits. Social media shadow-banning comments for using specific wording. “Serenity Now… Serenity Now…”

The only reason the Democratic Party is on their side of the fence on this topic is because the other side already has this as part of their criteria to join. The RIGHT and the LEFT cannot get along on conceptual value. I loathe the LEFT, as a party, and they have either straight up lied or misrepresented data so much that I never look into their claims anymore. After this, the RIGHT is just as much on my, "stay away from toxic people" list. I swear I should make stickers and shirts that say that. I am talking about the parties, not people who follow the parties because of the lesser of 2 evils concept. Some want a voice and they vote for stupid-B over ignorant-A, but both A and B are both bad for us. I do not have a LEFT/RIGHT opinion even if it may seem that way. Most people do not think like me. Most people choose to be on one side of the fence or the other. I choose to not have a fence at all. I do not believe in the premise that I am RIGHT because I am NOT LEFT and/or vice versa. I understand that not all or even some of what I say can be taken as 100% understood, all of the time. I was writing the first blog, solely on the Abortion topic which spider-webbed to a sequel blog that is less Abortion topic and more why both LEFT/RIGHT are bad for human societal evolution. It also may better explain some of the concepts that I derive from on the logistics as to why I feel the way I do about politics and religion, in general.

I recognize that my opinions will not be shared by all, perhaps even some or the one. I make it so that; if people choose to read they can go and read. If not, it isn’t in anyone’s face. They can just keep scrolling. Even though I do not contribute to the LEFT/RIGHT ideology, at all. Both hinder a free society, both fight over our rights when they want something for themselves or the monies that support them. Both throw the Bible and the Constitution around whenever it suites them and they turn around toss them in the fire when they believe we are not watching them. We are watching… Both go backward, but try to tell us that is “progression.” Progression is when one or many pro-gress and go forward. The opposite cannot be associated with progression, yet here we are…. This 2-sided coin of beliefs is exactly why both sides are bad for human societal evolution. Hell, even the word belief I take issue with. Belief and Knowledge are not one in the same thing yet our society governs and treats it like they are. Social Media, Political and Religious Ideologies get people angry. They want to be heard. They do not know how to articulate that. They get frustrated and lash out in anger over it. Some have commented to me that I do not care for unborn children. That I must support child abuse. The differences between child abuse and what any human chooses to do with their body, that is theirs and not yours should not be a cause for anyone or a group’s concern directly. I think the miscommunication is applying one thing like child abuse, that is sort of related to another, that isn’t related, like abortion. Their greatest common attribute is one involves children and the other involves a fetus. If left to grow, it will eventually become a child, but isn’t the same thing, not literally. Not according to biology, which is science, which is the pursuit of truth…

Child abuse and getting an abortion is not one in the same, but just like LEFT/RIGHT it is played as such. Child abuse is real. People torture and maim children all the time. These children are alive in the world. They are walking/talking/breathing humans. The abortion topic isn’t about LIFE, it is about choice. One or many should never get to dictate what I, him, her, it, chooses to do with that which is theirs, solely, and not yours or anyone or any “one” else’s, PERIOD… I am not saying we shouldn’t care. I am not saying once a child is born the mother can throw said baby in the trash. I am not saying that at all nor is it hinted in my wording. If that is what one or some may get from my writings? They either read it wrong, I screwed up with how I worded it and my poor vision didn’t catch it or that person has cement shoes on their side of the fence and nothing that deviates from that ideology can be tolerated. I am saying, why should you care, it’s not you, it’s not yours, why are you worried about what someone does privately with what is theirs and not yours in general? Doesn’t matter if it is a water bottle or a thing or a person. It’s not up to you to decide that. You can care, sure. I care, but it isn’t your business, even if you agree or do not agree, it isn’t yours. I don’t agree with late term abortions, unless medical well-being demands it, but at the same time it isn’t for me to decide that for another person, nor should it. Under what demand do I need to interject myself into someone else’s life? The Bible? The Constitution? Is my name Kevin or Karen? Those things are static and do not evolve. Human society does/is/will...

The Constitution is a set of laws that protects American rights or Americans from a tyrannical Government. Notice I didn’t say human rights. The Constitution protects American rights, but not human rights. The problem is even in my carefully worded statements here, there are a lot fine lines as to that sort of freedom. I get why people are pro-life and pro-choice. We should have an interest in protecting lives, absolutely, but at what cost to people’s choices and freedoms that best suites them for their situation? At what point is too much interference, too much? Make it easier for women to choose going to term with their pregnancies over the latter, but making the choice for them is not ok, not for anyone. That is the opposite of progression, that is the opposite of living in a free society. I have seen some try to apply finding holes in this logic by mashing different subject matter together as one thing, when they only share very superficial things about themselves. One or many cannot apply that logic to other scenarios that is exactly the same as the child abuse vs abortion take. The rape victim and an unborn fetus are not one in the same. Granted a rape victim can get pregnant from the experience, but it’s almost a year from the event to full term. Again, you cannot apply logic to this as if it were the exact same thing. Yeah, they sort of have things on the surface in common, but actually don’t. Logic is not a One-Size-Fits-All approach. Politics and Government attempt to force a One-Size-Fits-All approach, another reason why both sides inherently suck at their job. That is why humans very rarely use logic in their everyday thinking. Emotional stability gets in the way for most people to make good clear decisions, but that doesn’t mean if they are depressed, sad or having a bad day we go and choose for them.

Perhaps the definition of empathy has been miscommunicated across the board to how people perceive it? Researchers that study emotion generally define empathy as: “the ability to sense other ‘people's emotions,’ coupled with the ability to imagine what someone else ‘might’ be thinking or feeling.” Keyword word here is “might.” Might doesn’t mean, will… I am gonna assume this is for living humans that experience reality. I do not think this applies to a fetus under 15-weeks of growth. If I take that as an actual concept I am not going to be so arrogant to assume that I know or even assume what/how the emotional stress and/or stability for an entity that isn’t even born yet or has a fully functioning mind. Mind you I am an empath myself. An unborn child before those 15 weeks are up is not an unborn child. That’s science, that’s biology. If science bothers you. Go take a college level biology course. What you will learn there might surprise you. You know what is also in biology that isn’t all over the place in the media is there is much sacred geometry within it. Just go and look for yourself. Ultimately, it is her body, her life, her child, her choice, her freedom. Not yours. You can care, but they second you try to force a decision on her, that isn’t hers or part of what she feels is right for her, you have overstepped your bounds as a human. It isn’t you, it isn’t yours and it certainly is not up to you to pick for her, or them if it is a family and family issue. You can disagree with that, but you are not going to convince me otherwise. I cannot and will not be sold on LEFT or RIGHT ideology. Not your uterus, not your problem. Stay in your lane…

Religion doesn’t always go hand in hand with how others look at, insert topic here. Different peoples believing that murder is wrong goes way before the Bible showed up. This would have happened around 1450 BC to 1400 BC. So perhaps about 3400 years or so ago the Bible shows up. Humans have been around in our current configuration for more than 150,000+ years. I know most will disagree with that, but it is a widely accepted concept over how the Bible describes humans. I am sure (laughs) there is some passage in that book that is extremely wide open to interpretation that will say it is a metaphor or something else, that is fine, that is fine. I do understand there are just some things the Christians will not except even though they are widely accepted and that is your freedom to choose that and that is what this is all about, that free choice for you to choose. We do not get to cherry pick when that very human choice is convenient for our faith to except or not. I look at the Bible differently than most non-believers. It should be noted that Atheism and Agnostic are not one in the same. Atheism itself is a religion, it isn’t the absence of it, but just a yang to the Christian ying. If one wants to know what No Religion looks like look more into Agnostical teachings for reference. It might help breach the gap between Agnostic and Atheist, which are not the same thing but most will say they are. I think the Bible is good, in general. It’s not great though, just good. It’s said to be the word of God, written by man. God is supposed to be infallible, yet man is fallible, very. Therefore I question the book on its validity. For me the meat and potatoes of that is, it is a good guide for humans as a starting point, but it’s only a guide, not doctrine, not even based on fact, but faith and belief. Faith/Belief, doesn’t directly translate to knowing and knowledge, but it gets treated as it is.

Again, lumping other concepts that have a very superficial commonality to them on the surface, till you actually look at said attributes much more closely. Not the same thing, but it’s the same shape so it gets the same treatment mentality. I am seeing this in a lot of LEFT/RIGHT/Religious debates. Like I said, you cannot cherry pick when it works/doesn’t work for you. You cannot take a thing that really doesn’t belong in the same conversation and then say they are the same thing and use that as, air-quotes, “FACTS.” I know purest LEFT/RIGHT supporters will not agree with that, but that is my take and I probably will not think more on expanding that on faith/religion/politics, but probably doesn’t mean definitely. See what I mean about words and how they are often used together when they mean literally different things embedded inside its meaning. People are smart enough to know that if they keep saying something over and over and over again, loudly, regardless it if is RIGHT/WRONG, LEFT/RIGHT, that people will begin to believe it. It is just how people are becoming in this society of how the flow of information works in 2022. The Constitution isn’t based on Christianity, but it does have many Christian values in there and that is ok. Because the Bible is treated like a guide and not literal. Granted some will both agree/disagree about that too. My take is, take the best parts that work, the best for humanity and use it as a guide. Do the same with the Constitution and just keep an emphasis on what doesn’t affect me, us, you, directly and is for a person to choose be left up to their choice, it is not up to us to dictate for them.

This For Me Is All About Free Will & Choice…

The second some human comes up to me and interferes with my freedom to choose what I think is best for me that is when we have gone too far. Sure there are and will be special circumstances where others do need to interject and those “special circumstances,” should be clearly defined and not a whole lot of room to miscommunicate those concepts. No, legal double-talk and huge phrases that require a team of lawyers to review for weeks on end. It should be basic and it should be logical. But let’s not miscommunicate that it simply is not our business to tell a person or dictate to a person that this choice, which is theirs, cannot be made because it frightens us, morally or religiously.

"I always say why do other humans care what other humans do if what it is they do does not directly associate, involve that person or directly affect that person, in any way?"

I cannot really break this down more than I have already in many BLOGS over the years. From something else I am working on about GOD, God, and god, all 3 are not the same thing. Each has its own definition. However, to have that conversation it would be difficult because most that are Christian come from a place of Faith, first. Faith doesn’t require proof to exist. It is actually the only thing that doesn’t require proof in its definition to exist. That is why it is hard to disprove and/or prove. It’s not tangible. I cannot hold faith up and show the class the different angles, weights, colors, all that stuff it can do, but yet humans do not question whether or not it is real. When people ask me about God, I tell them my information systems first. 1) Non-Classical Philosophy, 2) Real Science from the scientific method, 3) Logic and, 4) Non-Religious Faith. These are my personal information systems. When you ask me a question this is from where I draw from and in this order. They are unique and different for everyone. They may have less than four or more than four or none of these four at all. Faith for me is last and almost non usable for me, but I acknowledge it as something I can draw from. There are things I believe and do not actually know, just believe. Believing and not knowing, that is faith, faith is not knowing but believing. So if we talk about God, we are not going to see very much eye to eye because most pull from a data source that differs from mine and doesn’t rely on proof of life and/or evolving conceptually to exist. I do… I require it in most cases, but also understand why I have faith in my information systems to begin with. I do not know everything. I cannot explain everything. I have thoughts/feelings/rationale that I cannot properly articulate. Faith or at least believing is a good starting point to fill in those gabs. “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” Arthur Conan Doyle – this is a good way to describe how I quantify faith.

In most of the 2000s I have seen a lack of people being able to articulate what a real, and a fact actually are. A fact, by definition, is a theory which is (unproven datasets, an educated guess without verified testing by the scientific method), that is later tested to such a level of accuracy that it cannot be said to be NOT FALSE and cannot be debated as a non-fact till there is real data to suggest the fact is not a fact. It is all about data. Faith doesn’t require factual data to be real. However, a real thing in the real world does. So which is it? Fact or Faith? Both do not play well together in the sandbox at the playground.

I reason to believe the human race is going in a backward direction where natural births will be difficult in the next couple of hundred years, maybe a thousand. My insight can only go so far though. This is actually its own can of worms; because if we start growing babies in a lab, what is stopping us from making our own modifications to the human genome? We are already doing this, but what I am saying is that in the future ALL humans will be doing this or at least the higher cast humans, ones that can afford it, do not mind breaking the rules of natural selection and all that. Thought I’d make mention of that. Most Religions speak against human evolution. The Republican Party doesn’t believe in it in their criteria, yet it is widely accepted as factual.

So the RIGHT is always dictating how the LEFT doesn’t like real science and what do we see here? The RIGHT doing the same exact thing. Not enough people getting involved in putting their foot down on both LEFT/RIGHT. The average person tends to say, “the lesser of two evils.” How exactly does that hold each side accountable for their lack of vision? Caring and getting involved are not one in the same. I feel like this is a repeated theme in this BLOG… The lumping of one subject to another subject all because they have surface things in common, but actually do not have much in direct common outside of that very surface commonality. This is a trait that both LEFT/RIGHT do on a regular basis. The last few weeks it’s been heavy on the RIGHT side. For the past two years, it’s been the LEFT side. Pick your poison. I can tell you, it is poison and it will eventually kills us all. You look at two doors. One is red, one is blue. What do they have in common? They both have colors on them and they are both doors, but based on this surface knowledge are these doors the same? Do we treat them the same? Or are they even close to being the same? Do they go to the same place, in the same direction? What? Exactly makes these two doors the same?

We and even I, rely far too much on science. Like I said above about definitions. I do not harp too heavily on science, but more about what words mean, what concepts mean and how we put words to them with a definition on what these words/concepts actually mean. I wrote a BLOG not too long ago about how the democrats are at war with words, Experrectus te ipsum (Latin for: UnWoke Yourself). They literally try to change the definition of what this word means and what that word means by using the word over and over again, loudly and out of context. Eventually the word loses its original, more accurate definition, for this new definition. Like the word WOKE for example. Or the definition of what a man is or a woman is. That stuff. What concepts mean, that is science. Not science like math, but it is science nonetheless. The Pursuit of Truth.

However, I only use science to verify what I may already suspect. I use science to give a concept the power of tangibility, meaning that it exists in reality and not just in my own head, mind, personality, perception and/or knowledge and belief structures. I do have some faith here, but it isn’t of religious faith. Like faith and religious faith they are not one in the same, but often get that treatment. Just another thing that we are overlapping. Not just here, but everywhere. Both parties blur what things actually mean to fit their own agendas. Not ours, yours, mine, but theirs… They have some things in common, like faith is the belief that this is a real thing without actually having to know the thing is actually real or not. It doesn’t require that science aspect for it to be a real concept. It is both its flaw and its greatest attribute at the same time. In science we call this superposition where a thing has a state of being of both on/off at the same time, based on what/who/how it is observed by the observer. You flip a coin and it lands on heads or tails, but not on its side. Superposition says, it can and will, eventually, if you flip the coin enough times the probability that it will land on its side is a very real concept just not a practical one. It is like the differences between fantasy and reality. Fantasy is only real, where? In your mind, in your imagination. However, it isn’t real on the outside of that headspace. Tell that to the delusional… Politics isn’t always real science, but politics framed as science not the same thing. Everyone or every agency wants to be the hero of the day or have their perspective be the right one and, well, you can see what the hell happened there. In my sequel blog I talk about how poor the Republicans are when it comes to real science, they are just as bad as the Democrats. Both flip-flop with what a fact actually is and what science is to their perspective.

If it wasn’t abortion and some other topic that revolved around choice the message may be a little easier to taken in, or at least understand the perspective. I know it doesn’t seem like I have empathy and/or care about these unborn fetuses/babies. As an empath myself; I do care, but my caring should not overshadow the individual human choice that belongs to me not. I can still fuss about the reasoning behind an abortion and still respect the woman’s choice to choose at the very same time. Regardless if I agree with said choice isn’t the issue, it’s the non-respect to allow them to choose that is the problem I have, personally. It is their body, not ours. If you want power over that, then logic dictates we must enslave all women to control that aspect and I do not think that is going to happen. I HOPE that doesn’t happen… If our society focused more on giving all women more resources and freedoms that make it easier for their conscious to be clear I am willing to have faith that they will bring that child to term. Since this is a LEFT/RIGHT thing and if we are to give women that freedom and they go against our beliefs we should have some sort of compromise. Late term abortions just because she doesn’t want the child is in poor form. That I do have a problem with. 15 weeks is 15 weeks. If it is 10 or 20, whatever the number is, we should have some sort of law that protects both choice and the child after an allowed amount of time. The democrat approach is all or nothing on a timestamp while the republican approach is all abortion is bad. So the compromise isn’t a very good one for all parties included. Then throw the religion in there somewhere. Throw race, in somewhere. Throw sexual orientation in there somewhere and you see how crazy this can, has, and will get, moving forward.

Religion of any kind has no place in politics as the source of all debates in 2022 and that will increase in separation as our society continues to push forward to evolve into something more than it is now. Like the Constitution has some religion in there as a guide or starting point. I feel like the Constitution needs to evolve to something new with religion being in some respect, addressed in its principals along with the Constitution and more emphasis on what a real, free society is and what that means for everybody else. That we cannot cherry pick topics to overly involve all people in, while also combining topics that only have very little in common with the topic at hand. Just because some things on the surface seem related… Are they, actually? I see this in the political flip-flopping more than anything. If God has a problem with it, God can take care of it. If God has problems with humans making their own choices, let God deal with it. It isn’t for us to enslave other human’s choices because we simply do not agree with them morally, but to them it maybe their only salivation and we as a culture have not done enough to make this a simple choice for the woman. The outrage is real. However, it isn’t coming from a very good place due to these LEFT/RIGHT entities imposing their will on all of humanity. Evil only exists in our minds because only conscious beings dream up evil. Without consciousness, does evil even exist? Only conscious animals are evil towards other animals in general. The other non-conscious animals are only violent for survival and protection. Are their exceptions, probably.

People can defend religion as fair points, but how many people has the Christian faith straight up murdered all because they didn’t believe in what they believed? Many many more than free women choosing to abort their pregnancy for their own reasoning that isn’t privy to us from week 0 to week 15. Faith and the Bible are not the main and only information systems that humans can pull from as a guide. As an Empath, I care too much. That is why emotion is taken out of the equation with me. Once you remove emotion, all that is left is logic. People of faith have a hard time really grasping logic in that form. It looks like, on the outside, that logic doesn’t care. No, logic cares, just not emotionally. Logic is getting to the point without the emotional instability in the human experience getting in the way of making any decision that gets one or many to their goal. This is embedded in our DNA, to be overly emotional. We are far too attached to our beliefs, emotionally, and that to me is a little crazy, because belief is not based on knowing or knowledge, we only believe, but we do not know, but yet we are willing to lose our shit based on this emotional feeling; break all our rules and kill out of the hatred that burns within that belief. It is only a belief, not knowledge…

The RIGHT has changed from their own traditional beliefs to “Christian Nationalists” more nowadays and none of that really needs to be in Government as one of their core beliefs. Our society is really evolving away from that. The RIGHT hardly ever has an original idea of their own. They just counterpunch what the LEFT does and if anyone follows boxing good counter punchers can out point a slugger in most cases, but not always. Sometimes fighting rough, tough and bloody fights warrants victory. Yet, they still want to push this stuff on the lot as we are free till you do something that goes again what our party stands for and now we will demonize it and attempt to make it illegal for you to do these things. Even if and especially if there is a logical reason for it, be that someone’s choice for them or not. The LEFT wants to erase history by cancel culture. The WOKE mob trying to make us less angry or hostile. Cry me a river and pull at my guilty conscious, which is an emotional feeling, why don’t you. Some of the ideas that come out of the LEFT just make it easy for the RIGHT to counter them because of how moronic their thinking is, as a party. They are the same as the RIGHT with respect to real science and facts being facts as long as they come from them. However, the LEFT is a few orders of magnitude dumber in that regard, lack common sense and perceptional awareness. Like to the ninth degree…

I do not plan to vote for either party in the upcoming elections. I cannot, based on how I feel about both. So far I have not seen any independents that really have their act together either. Each BLOG I write furthers me from the topic of abortion and politics as the main subject. Blog 2 was more about why/how the LEFT/RIGHT destroy our ability to evolve as a society, along with the static nature of both the Bible and the Constitution. After this last one. I hope to move onto fiction. You know, horror and science fiction. If I so choose I can address some topics in those. I used to love how the original Star Trek had political commentary in it, but didn’t beat you over the head with it like they do now in Woke Trek. That is just too much. Butterfly tears my butt… Picard Season Two was awful…

I have seen how people can be on social media when attempting to tackle big subjects in these small forum setups on a major platform actually encouraging people to lose their goddamn minds over having dialogs, respectfully, on these big platforms on big subjects. It is almost like they want us to have this hard a time trying to convey an opinion without it turning into Mortal Kombat, but with a keyboard. What really pulled this train of thought together about having big conversations were the trolls. Over the years I started to notice that trolls usually do not read, respond to long winded, well thought out and well written posts. I mean, they will try, but because they do not meet the requirement of “match my effort.” One thing about writing about triggering subject matter is one can learn a lot from how people respond. All I do is try to share my very different perspective and gain new perspectives. Even if I do not agree with their perspective. That is how learning is done; that is how growth really happens. The thing about static is it never moves or changes… That is what the 2nd blog is all about the flip-flopping, politically, on the conceptual points of view about topics, and questions like this. This could be a whole conceptual BLOG itself about the use of words and definitions of those words, used in and out of context to deliver a specific meaning. The LEFT/RIGHT and how inconsistent they are with what warrants law, common sense, the Bible as law, the Constitution as law, (laws that protects Americans from a tyrannical Government.) In that respect it is law. I think both the Bible and the Constitution are good for a beginner’s guide, but we have to evolve socially/societally and both these do not evolve very well with the ultimate enemy, time. That is part of my issue with how that functions within our political environment.

A Brief Take On Human Evolution…

I am more with how 2001: A Space Odyssey delivers its explanation. That a higher lifeform of some sort, helped us along the way. Now, could that be the Christian God? Sure. I do not see why it couldn’t. It could also be something else or nothing at all. Or something so out of our realm of perception we cannot quantify it in terms of generalized understanding. If I am being hypothetical here in my creative description of this. Take the 2001 example and now these ape-men are smarter, but they may still not understand what higher lifeforms actually are. To them, they might not see mechanized entities using powers they do not understand. Their only technological advancement was using bones as tools/weapons that was provided, conceptually, to them from the Monolith. The real-world example would be the very first time the Indians of the America’s saw those first ships coming over the horizon. It was so radically new, alien and different their perception of it might not even make any sense to someone. As humans evolved, we got smarter, even smarter conceptually. However, something happened on Earth about 12,000 years ago that goes with the last Ice Age where humans began to build, all over the world, these megastructures. I will just mention the Great Pyramids of Giza.

After those Great Pyramids; building got smaller and less sophisticated. It was almost like humans got dumber. Then right after they stopped building these structures we begin to see Christianity start to pop up. I just find it fascinating that this isn’t really how they teach world history, but I get it. It would be confusing to a growing mind that is, say, 14-17 years old, getting all this information and it not making sense. People are always talking about what is at Area 51, or Area 52 now. I am asking let’s have a look inside the Vatican. They probably have some really deep dark human truths in there that most humans couldn’t even imagine. The Vatican is like in the perfect place in time to have many answers that we do not even have questions for yet. They were there after the first civilizations, but also have been around right up to a point when some of these prior civilizations were just fizzing out. They probably hide all those secrets so future societies, like ours, couldn’t. Of course, for our own protection… Right… Yeah, a lot of Modern Religious Figures shouldn’t have the power they do. I feel like if they were true to their faith, they would be treating it as it should be said within the principals in the Bible. I do question the Bible, but not for what it represents. More how it is to be the word of God, and God is labeled as infallible. The book was literally written by Man, who is fallible and corrupt. God cannot be these things as God is perfection and that, at least in concept, makes sense. So what I am saying is the Book itself, written by corrupt and fallible Man, perhaps not all the information in it, is accurate, perhaps… It is a good guide, but eventually it must evolve if we are to evolve. We are going in a direction with or without religion and religious faith. These generations will have the most difficult time. Just imagine when the south started freeing slaves. There is always an adjustment when radical change occurs. If we are not careful the Bible will just be another piece of history like wheels made of stone. Just a thought.

In order for humans to literally evolve from primordial ooze the amount of probability is almost zero. Just think about all the things that would have to go right for that to happen. The Earth must be able to sustain life first, the perfect balance of where Earth is in respect to the Sun and the Sun being a yellow dwarf and say not a Red Supergiant or some other variant star that would not allow Earth to support life that can evolve from the ooze. So yeah, I mean, I am not going to say whether or not it’s Aliens or a God, or Gods, or anything, but yeah, I seriously doubt that humans just popped up from primordial soup over billions of years and now we are here. Even if that were true. What about all the mass extinctions. All those rocks that hit the Earth that wiped out life, ten times over. All that has to be considered and still it is like. How did all that happen to make little ole us?

It is the 2nd greatest question. The first would be, what is the point of existence at all? Is it the Universe doing what the Universe does? Or something else? Also what about the giant-impact hypothesis of Theia? This was a hypothesized planet the size of Mars crashing directly into Earth 4.5 billion years ago. What was left became the moon. Now without the moon, humans may very well not exist either. All that had to happen. So another reason why I have faith in my information systems without having religious faith, per-say, is that I do take a true Agnostic approach to it. Without getting crazy about the difference between Agnostic and Atheist. Agnostic doesn’t necessarily say or believe the Christian God doesn’t exist, but more like, we lack the fundamental understanding of how a God can exist. We do not have the sciences to have enough data to make a real determination whether or not God is real or not. That is at its core, what Agnostic is, but there are a lot of misinterpretations on the concept. That is why it gets lumped into with Atheism which of itself is its own religion. Agnostic says, we just do not have enough data to say either way so we just keep looking. It’s not a question of conceptual proof, or belief, but more physical proof. It should also be noted that some of these themes have been discussed in science fiction over the years. About humans not being able to see the whole spectrum of what physics is. We know a lot about physics, but many have stated that a huge chunk of it is missing from our point of view. That once we are able to detect/understand these aspects of the Universe and how it works that we will gain even more perspective. Ok, jumping onto the next thing here. Like I said, this could be its own topic.

For these reasons and more I just do not look at the Religious faith in the same context, but that doesn’t mean that I do not respect it and what it offers to mankind as a whole. I mean, is living by what the Bible presents so bad for humanity as a group? No, but it’s not for everyone or any one. However, though, mankind has totally blown that message out of context to a point that they somehow justified being able to dominate, segregate and murder mass amounts of other humans. Maimed, killed, raped, pillaged whole civilizations, because they believe in something else that wasn’t what the Bible represented. That I got a huge problem with. Any religion that preaches and practices that cannot be from the word of any God. Like I said about God, that would be a separate deal to chat about, because my concept of God is much bigger than just how the Bible portrays God. I also believe in GOD (creator of the Universe). This version/definition of GOD would be outside of the Universe. We would not be able to detect this GOD in the literal sense; because it would be outside the bubble of the Universe. Anything inside the bubble can never be outside the bubble under our current understanding of how astrophysics works, and the Universe is expanding; but remember what I just said about what we know about physics, so yeah, that is really up to debate on what is possible, right now and what may be possible in the future. The other concept of god I speak of is “god” equaling nature/spirit itself and to have that conversation we’d be diving into sacred geometry. Sacred geometry covers things like the real world information systems that are embedded in the shapes of: the Vesica Piscis, the Seed of Life, the Egg of Life, the Fruit of Life, the Flower of Life, the Holy Trinity, the Star of David which is called the Genesis Pattern/Seed of Life, Metatron's Cube, and the 5 Platonic Solids. See the section on Sacred Geometry in my BLOG, Kummituksia (Finnish word for Ghost) for a better breakdown of what that means. It should also be noted that a lot of sacred geometry is embedded in Christian imagery. It’s all over the place.

For Believers and anti-believers of God, the religious God, spelled capital G and little o,d. If I have to pick between God is literal and real or not I then would lean toward anti-believer with an asterisk that says, “not enough data available to make a decision.” However, human evolution is real. Current man, did start as more ape than man. Why that is debated still is part of this static information system that doesn’t change. Evolution is just a fancy word for change. Instead of Christians getting mad over it, they should be asking why the Bible is inaccurate. That, hey, if that is wrong, then what else could be wrong? If a thing is proved to be factual, it stays factual till there is data to suggest the factual is no longer factual. Not to sound like an ass but its, cough (sarcasm), kind of factual about human evolution. Perhaps not from a bowl of soup, but from something simpler than what we are now and that was ape like. If the Bible doesn’t explain why this is, then it is either wrong or incomplete, either/or is not justification for it to be in our core essence as part of Government. Especially if it is wrong/incomplete I might add…

Perhaps the question about evil is whether or not living creatures require some sort of mental evolution in order to comprehend it. It very well may not be a behavior pattern of all species, but just those that have a certain level of evolved complexity to them. I mean, take love. We know sort of what love is, conceptually. This even may be contradicting; because as I have said, I do not strictly believe in ying/yang as the only methods in which the Universe operates. Like Good/Evil, Up/Down, Left/Right, Yes/No, Zero/One, On/Off. I believe that the 2-sided coin of choices is a forced perspective, because on the massive scale the 2-sided equation makes sense. However, when we go deeper we see a 3rd state inside nature, that is quantum mechanics and superposition where the state of on/off has a third state of on/off simultaneously. This occurs in nature, but only at the extreme small levels of reality. We have yet to really see this in the macro world. So my point is, if a species of animal, be it us or something else can love, then we can hate. So maybe there is something to that on a deeper more profound level. Another reason why I still have faith in my information systems. It has also been discussed what if LOVE is a tangible law of the Universe? That love is just as powerful and important a force than say, gravity or the electromagnetic force in the Universe. Maybe that is where humans need to evolve more that we can tap into love as a real power source, if it is indeed a real force like that of gravity and light.

Why LEFT/RIGHT even exist as a major part of our society? That is what blog 2 is all about or at least tries to flush out. I am writing this BLOG, so obviously I had some unfinished thoughts on this. To think ALL THIS is stemming from thinking about abortion… Just something to think about. Keeps us nice and distracted from the things that are happening that affect us all, not a small portion or even a whole gender or race. All this subdivision is part of the problem. The lesser of two evils reasoning... That is why I feel the two party system hasn’t imploded yet. I think eventually people are not going to do this anymore. Probably not in the foreseeable future, but I feel like we need to really shake it up if we are going to try to grow within this current system. I have already went over and pointed out what/how I do not agree with this system in 2022 – moving forward. Both sides use the Bible, Religion, the Constitution as an excuse to legislate. When we are not looking, they wipe their ass with them and throw them over their shoulder like a piece of trash whenever they see fit. This is what irks me the most about both sides. Using those power-plays to tug at those human sensibilities most of us have.

I had so much left over from these two BLOGS I had no choice, but to try and write a third. I was like, “you cannot have these conversations in these little blurps, because one always misses something that is really important to the topic” and that is how people start going after each other. Just sets it up all that much easier. I cannot really do that. As you all can tell, I am long winded. You have topic ABC and then start breaking it down, A, then B, then C, then realize you have D, E, F that can go along with it. All too often people use the social media method to try and win a discussion based on nothing but opinion because they cannot, type, speak, write, enough into the little box. It’s almost like social media doesn’t want people to have real opinions, so they limit how they can deliver said opinion into these little blurps. It is the main reason I do not really post anything on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, in relation to real topics. What is the point there? LEFT/RIGHT both tug at people's heartstrings, to further polarize and outrage us, the masses.

The Government has given us more reasons not to trust them then to trust either side blindly anymore. The 1950s America peeked and since then we have made strides forward in a lot of areas and gone backwards in a lot more, especially values… Will we ever be what we were? I don’t know, not looking good. They cover up way too much stuff. We have Left, Right, FBI, CIA, Nancy Pelosi, AOC, people like them, the President and his people. It’s like they are all working against each other or independently and are just waiting around to take power from each other at some unknown day when the latter fails. Biden is a miserable failure at President and all these other agencies do nothing, but wait to see if they can seize that power for themselves. Oh, a storm is comin’, Viene una tormenta… I do not know how much longer before it isn’t “cool” anymore to be LEFT and/or RIGHT, at that point, when people are that fed up, then maybe we’ll see some real change in the right direction.

I cannot say if this will be my last stab at politics in 2022. Before the abortion situation was ruled on I had said I was done with it for the year unless something major happened. I hope nothing else, “major” happens. I know the country hasn’t felt normal in a minute but it’s been hours since I have when compared. I hope to get back to working on fiction and telling unique and creative stories with depth and enough for the mind to wonder about, over worrying if they are going to vote, LEFT/RIGHT…

“Hell is other people… By the mere appearance of the other I am put into a position of passing judgement on myself as on an object, for it is as an object that I appear to the other.” ~Jean-Paul Sartre

Viene una tormenta Spanish for A storm is coming Link to 1st Blog: Mortui Infantes Link to 2nd Blog: Emendatione ad Infantes Mortuos by David-Angelo Mineo 7/1/2022 8,844 Words

0 notes

siennahrobek · 3 years

Text

“He’s holding me back,” Anakin snarled as Obi-Wan carefully paced a cup of steaming tea in front of him. He had come to the older master quite readily after he and Qui-Gon had joined their crew. Getting picked up by a fleet of venator class destroyers could either be incredibly embarrassing or quite impressive. Obi-Wan isn’t entirely sure which Anakin thinks. He had steeped Anakin something sweet and calming; exactly what the young knight needed. It was pretty much what he needed all the time, to be honest. The boy had more than just a bit of a temper.

Being around Qui-Gon Jinn didn’t exactly help.

The man rather indulged him.

Obi-Wan shrugged as he sat down on the opposite side of the thin table, shifting the cup towards Anakin and pulling his own closer. He made direct eye contact as he took a sip. Usually, it would prompt Anakin to do the same. In the company of certain people, Anakin sometimes mirrored others’ actions. Obi-Wan was one of those people. “Perhaps. But you are no longer a padawan. A knight in your own right,” he assured gently. He honestly doubted that Qui-Gon was actually holding Anakin back; Obi-Wan was fairly certain no one could really hold him back.

Sometimes however, he could be convinced to step back once in a while. It was a rare occurrence, but it had happened before.

“He’s jealous of my power,” Anakin snapped, nearly cracking the mug his fingers were laced around. Obi-Wan gently put a hand over his to stop it and pull it away. Anakin’s fingers were trembling in the jedi’s own and Obi-Wan gave a gentle, assuring squeeze before he pushed the mug a little further into Anakin’s purview.

In the end, Obi-Wan had actually snorted. The concept was rather ridiculous, his master being anything of the sort. Anakin was thinking things, perhaps even told things like this, but it couldn’t be the truth. “Doubtfully,” he muttered, something low but able for the younger man to hear rather clearly. He cleared his voice to continue. “Qui-Gon Jinn isn’t jealous of anyone, least of all you, Anakin. Take a sip, you will feel better.”

He hesitated but Anakin did so, mirroring Obi-Wan. They drank in silence, but the air was turning more comfortable. Tension bled from his shoulders as they released, and he slumped down a little bit. Anakin’s temper always seemed to be running high these days and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he could help in a way that Anakin really needed. He only, currently, had momentarily solutions to a bigger issue.

“A bit better?” he asked. He knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Anakin admitted begrudgingly with a sigh, shaking his head. He glanced over down below the balcony and then back at Obi-Wan, something sad but fiery in his eyes. It was a rather strange combination, Obi-Wan had to admit. “I should be out here, with you. In the war. Fighting.”

“It is not as glamorous as you are thinking it is,” the older jedi just hummed, taking a sip of his own tea and once again, Anakin took his own sip. He wondered if the younger man realized what he did.

“I know that.”

“You don’t,” Obi-Wan refuted but it was kind and patient, shooting a look to project that when Anakin stared at him, a bit angry at his counter. He didn’t like people contradicting him or telling him what he knew. Usually he wouldn’t, but Obi-Wan knew that Anakin had no idea what war was actually like. Not like this. Obi-Wan just tried to keep himself as serene and enduring as ever, to deal with Anakin’s irritated and frustrated disagreements. “I would not expect you too, either. Master Jinn is right about one thing, we shouldn’t be fighting a war.”

“You agree with him?” Anakin sputtered, surprised. The concept was befuddling to him and Obi-Wan wondered what exactly he knew about the war. Master Jinn was certainly not favorable; he couldn’t imagine the older master saying anything nice about it. Perhaps he even spun falsehoods. “Then why do you?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan looked over the ledge that sat about the rest of the mess hall, off to the side. Down below them was the rest of the mess hall and cafeteria, littered and crawling with troopers. Obi-Wan could feel them, he could always feel them. They filled him with such warmth and care, it made it just a bit easier to get up each morning and fight in a war that he could not stand being in. Yes, it was to protect innocents, but he reminded himself everyday that he could do what he had to protect as many as them as well. “Reach out and tell me what you feel,” he added. It was more of a suggestion than a demand but rarely did Anakin see that kind of difference.

Anakin sighed and rolled his eyes, staring at him intently. “You are not my master, Obi-Wan.” This much was true. Anakin was a knight, he no longer needed – or wanted for that matter – a master telling him what to do, but Obi-Wan had a point. At his core, he always knew he would be a bit of a teacher. He always had a point.

“Humor me,” Obi-Wan glanced at him with a kind smile.

The younger man just sighed again, loud and dramatic, and eventually complied. He looked over, beyond the railing, down in the large room that harbored so many soldiers. Some of them were in their amor uniform, usually sans helmet and others in blacks. Officers had their own uniforms that they were hardly out of, whether they were clone or not. A minute passed. Two.

Obi-Wan just waited patiently.

But then. “What do you feel?”

“They are warm,” Anakin acknowledged, his voice starting to soften, just as Obi-Wan spotted his eyes doing the same. “Brighter than I expected them to be. “They are strong, loyal, determined. Doing their best and being their best. They care about one another such certainty and persistence.” His smile was gentle and kind, lacking the fiery passion that usually inhabited him.

He could make friends here, Obi-Wan thought.

But Obi-Wan just nodded and Anakin looked back at him. He was still in a bit of a daze, probably from seeing and feeling all that warmth and light, but he was still listening, probably expecting Obi-Wan to tell him his point for the exercise. Whether or not Obi-Wan would say anything, he knew that Anakin didn’t quite regret what the older master had asked of him. “They are living and breathing beings. Sentients with hopes and dreams, whether they admit it or not. Whether they consciously know it or not,” he started. Many times, had he heard that the soldiers only dreamed of the survival of themselves and their brothers from one day to the next and didn’t think of the future that they may have afterwards. Although Obi-Wan believed them, when they said such things, he also thought they had subconscious desires and dreams for that future. Hopes for it. Even if they hadn’t been able to quite realize them yet. He truly hoped he could help them get to that point.

“I know they are,” Anakin added quietly, staring down at his tea before taking a small sip, unprompted. Obi-Wan counted it as a win. It was hard enough for Anakin to drink tea, even when he knew it helped him.

“They are a large reason why I do this. Why I must,” Obi-Wan responded, just as soft, staring down at the gently swirling liquid in his cup.

Anakin glanced up at him, his head turning a bit. “What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan pointed to the corner of the mess hall, a small table inhabited by non-clones and non-jedi. There weren’t many of them, but Anakin had a thought that it was rather on purpose. They packed together, rather tightly and did not move away from their specific table, keeping together and not milling with anyone else around. “What do you feel from them?” he asked, a bit abruptly.

Anakin groaned again but it was light and only half-hearted, but did so, taking a breath before letting his eyes sweep over the room and then settle on the table in the corner. He closed his eyes briefly and reached. With a frown, he started to speak, to explain what he felt. It didn’t appear that he liked what he was feeling, what he found in them. “They…aren’t happy. But…not in the sense of war, not in grief or sadness but like, they are dim, displeased, annoyed. They feel…disgust? Indifference?”

Obi-Wan nodded. He had felt it.

“Do they…are their feelings because of the clones?” Anakin asked, startled at the thought and pending realization.

“Sometimes, yes. Those few right there think of the troopers much like the rest of the galaxy sees them. As though they are droids encased in flesh; worthy only to be cannon fodder,” Obi-Wan explain, only sparing those men a quick glance. He looked back at the troopers that made up most of the room and Anakin could feel him softening again.

Anakin’s lip curled as a snarl escaped out. The thought made him angry.

“They do not care so much for casualties, only absolute victory, no matter the cost,” Obi-Wan continued. “If they jedi were not here to use tactics and ideas that wouldn’t decimate the numbers…I imagine it would be much worse,” he sighed, shaking his head with a deepening frown. “The clones are so willing, so eager, so loyal. I do not quite understand how anyone can meet them and not love them.”

“You are trying to save them,” Anakin said and felt pushed around by the appreciation and care for the troopers. It was interesting to feel. Jedi were known for their compassion and kindness, their wiliness to help others, sometimes even at the cost of their own lives, but it felt a bit different with the troopers. Anakin was beginning to understand why the jedi may have chosen to enter the war; if only to try and help in any way they could. There was something different about these beings. Like they were somehow intertwined with the jedi. Made to be friends, to work together, made for one another in a way that was profound, and one Anakin couldn’t quite understand or comprehend in words. He wondered if others had noticed this.

“I am not so naïve to think I can do so,” Obi-Wan replied, breaking through Anakin’s thoughts. “But I want to get at least as many as I can through this war. They…care about us in a way we don’t generally see associated with the jedi. The least we can do is try to get them through this and return the favor the best we can.”

“Do other jedi feel this way?” Anakin hadn’t even realized he had spoke for a moment, verbally saying what he had been thinking just seconds prior. Sometimes he felt so different than others, like he was the only one who could connect on the level that he did. Like he was an exception.

Master Qui-Gon thought he was an exception.

Obi-Wan nodded and there was absolutely no hesitation to it. “Not everyone of course, but most, at the very least. Even if we hadn’t been drafted into the war, I think the Council would have done the same.”

“Drafted?” Anakin blinked.

“Yes.”

“Wait. So, the Order was forced to join the war?” Anakin asked incredulously because…that was not what he had heard. Over a year in and this was the first he had heard of such a thing.

Obi-Wan hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should be the one giving this information, like he wasn’t sure if he should be the one having this conversation, but his brows furrowed, and he nodded. “Yes, Anakin,” he replied slowly. He had to be careful with how he spoke. Anakin’s friendship with the leader of the Republic was not exactly a secret and everyone knew how protective Anakin was of his friends. “The Chancellor made it…very clear we did not have much of a choice.”

“Master Qui-Gon said you chose it,” Anakin responded, and he sounded numb, his voice just kind of dropping off in surprise.

You, Obi-Wan mused with darkening thoughts. Had Qui-Gon meant Obi-Wanspecifically chose this or was Qui-Gon distancing himself from the jedi already? Had his old master turned Anakin against the jedi; made him see himself an exception for everything? Chosen one or not, Anakin was a jedi. That was not to change unless Anakin chose to change it. But one could not continue to truly be a jedi if they thought of themselves as exceptions to the rules, to the guidelines, to the faith of their culture.

“No, Anakin,” his voice came out nearly as a croak. “The Order was drafted.”

“But Master Jinn…” Anakin drifted off, staring down at his tea. There was barely any of it left. “If the Jedi were drafted, not everyone is involved. Master Jinn, he…he’s not a part of it.”

“We found a loophole for him,” Obi-Wan confessed and it felt a bit different when he spoke it. He found a loophole for his former master; to ease the mess. He couldn’t imagine what Qui-Gon would have done or said if they hadn’t kept him out of it. Whether or not it was the right choice, Obi-Wan knew, even if they could get Qui-Gon to work within the confines of the war, he would almost certainly have become Obi-Wan’s problem. And Obi-Wan dealt with his old master enough as it was. “He was rather vehement in his stance on the war, so we claimed his injury and ability would make quote useless on the battle field,” he explained.

“His injury?” Anakin echoed.

“From Naboo.”

Anakin nodded in sudden understanding but his gaze was far off, nearly vacant, like there was something happening in his mind, wheels turning that not even Obi-Wan could fathom or comprehend. “I guess that is smart. He wouldn’t have listened anyways,” he confessed. It sounded rather fond, which wasn’t surprising. Anakin’s soft and often blind spot when it came to Master Jinn was always apparent. He loved Master Jinn’s blatant disregard for rules, to follow what he thought and believed was the will of the Force. Whether or not it actually was the Will of the Force, it hardly mattered. It was the will of Qui-Gon Jinn.

Qui-Gon often seemed to believe that he was the only one who really understood the will of the Force.

At this point, everyone was too tired and too busy to even try to argue with him. Not that anyone wanted to argue with him because it never did anything, never got anywhere. One could not change Jinn’s mind, could not shift his perspective or make him think in any other ways.

“Quite,” Obi-Wan agreed.

“I wasn’t forced,” Anakin realized quietly after a long moment of the two sitting in silence, sipping what was left of their tea, not lukewarm. “I wasn’t even asked,” he added.

“That is partially my doing,” Obi-Wan confessed. He knew he would have to have this conversation at some point, and he had been dreading it ever since it had been done.

Anakin surged in anger and Obi-Wan could feel it. It was fairly certain everyone could feel it. The troopers in particular seemed rather sensitive and knowing of a jedi’s moods and projections. “Why?” Anakin demanded. “Did you not think I’d be good enough for-?”

“Anakin, calm down,” Obi-Wan said, quickly slipping in his own before things could get any worse and his projections stronger. “Take a sip of your tea.”

There was not much left but there was enough. Scowling, he complied.

“Qui-Gon was already going to disown me, and I knew how you feel about him, and you were still a padawan at the time…I didn’t want the same to happen to you,” Obi-Wan started. He wasn’t sure how to explain this but he would do his best with what he had on hand.

“I’m not you.”

Ouch, that stung. It was true, of course, in many more ways than Anakin knew, but that hardly made it hurt any less.

“That came out wrong,” Anakin nearly winced.

“You aren’t wrong. You aren’t me,” Obi-Wan said, which, of course, was always true. Lucky him, the master thought. He didn’t say that Qui-Gon loved Anakin in a way that he was still incapable of caring for Obi-Wan. It wasn’t either of their faults and Obi-Wan knew a lot of the blame could be found on Xanatos and the Chosen One prophecy, but that hardly made it any easier to live and deal with. It could very much be exhausting. Anakin didn’t see it, not yet, and Obi-Wan still isn’t entirely sure if he ever would. “But that does not mean he would be happy with it. You know how he feels about the war, about my part in it. About the jedi’s part in it. I didn’t want you to have to go through that. Something even remotely like that. My apologies, I wanted to keep you out of the war best I could. You are so young.”

“I am an adult! A knight!” Anakin’s voice rose into a near screech. So ready, so adamant to prove that he is mature and capable and an adult. Of course, he was capable, but his maturity wasn’t nearly as rounded as he liked to believe, and he often just did not think. He reminded Obi-Wan of Master Jinn this way. It was his way or no way at all. But unlike Master Jinn, at least in the present some of the times, Anakin was also just a bit more inclined to listen to Obi-Wan. Not all the time, of course, because Anakin always thought he was right, but with the right care and nudging and so much patience, Obi-Wan, on occasion, could get through to him on certain subjects.

“Anakin,” he said his name with as much fondness and softness and patience as he could muster. Which, when it came to this boy, was quite a bit. “War is….it is not like any mission you have been on. It is constant and it does not end. There is a goal, but it does not finish there. There is always something else, something so time sensitive. You don’t get to go home after one mission is done, there is always another, linked swinging from one to another. There is so much more violence and death, and it chips off pieces of yourself every moment. It stays with you, long, long after the conflict may be resolved,” he said, and Anakin seemed rather enraptured in what Obi-Wan was saying. He couldn’t understand all of what Obi-Wan was referencing and he wouldn’t understand how this would stay with those who fought in it. Conflict like this, although not to scale, was something Obi-Wan knew, at times, rather intimately. “It is an experience, a pain, a dirt you can never be clean of,” he insisted, swallowing hard. “War is messy, and nothing is so clean cut as people often make it out to be. You keep giving things up; your ability, your mind, your emotions, your morals, your soul, loyalty, trust…. until there is nothing left of you to give. It becomes written in your bones until it is hard to imagine you were anything else. It takes the best things of life, of ourselves, and only gives back the worst and most destructive for us to figure out how to live with.”

#I'm A Boy No I'm A Man #Gotta love them song lyrics #I love Treasure Planet okay?#Anyways #Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Obi Wan Kenobi #clone troopers #au #alternative universe #Qui-Gon Lives #this one isn't super friendly to him #I have others that are #I know #I'm rather strange

20 notes · View notes

lilhawkeye3 · 4 years

Text

At Arm’s Length

Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: He may not accept you as part of the 104th, but you’re still one of the Pack— even if you prove so at the highest price.

Warnings: angst and injury

Part 1/10

~~~~~~~~

You may be a senior Padawan, but you still work alongside your Master with his battalion. After all, where better to assign a proficient healer than with one of the GAR’s main aid regiments? You weren’t about to complain.

Or rather, you tried to see the best in the situation and not complain, because you’d seen the hardships of the many people your Master’s battalion had helped... even if your fellow commander hated your guts and thus kept you apart from ever truly getting to know the men you worked alongside with.

He’d been like that since the very beginning, even when his colors were red instead of gray. Never speaking to you more than needed, always with a fierce scowl and usually only when on duty. Only calling you “Commander” or “Padawan,” never even using your last name. His coldness has caused many of the men to consequently be wary of you and avoid interacting outside of duties. Sure, you did have a few of them you considered friends— coincidentally, some of them the men closest to Commander Wolffe— but it still hurt to be kept apart from the rest of the battalion.

You tried not to let your Master see how much the isolation wounded you, especially after you’d accidentally walked back into a briefing room after forgetting your datapad and seen Master Plo with his hand on Wolffe’s shoulder, calling him ad.

No, you’d survive the Commander’s punishment by yourself, even if you didn’t know what you’d done to deserve it. He was the true leader of the battalion, anyways— you shouldn’t even be there.

~~~~~~

This day starts out similar to any other.

You and Commander Wolffe are jointly leading a delivery of food and medical supplies to the outskirts of a war-torn city on a Mid Rim planet. The people there are easier to work with than most and hold no hatred towards the Jedi, so you’re able to take charge with the medicine distribution as you work through healing the most severely injured brought to you. It’s gratifying work, and you’re happy to see the spark of hope that you’re able to bring to your patients’ eyes.

You’ve just wrapped up with the last of them and have fallen back into a more supervising mode as you try and catch your breath. Healing is strenuous work, and you’d recently found yourself pushing further than you really should. The exhaustion rarely ever leaves your bones anymore.

It seems you’ll be unable to have any reprieve, however, and you try to hold in a sigh as you see Commander Wolffe approaching you. “Commander?” You ask, trying to fix your stance to hide your weariness.

He doesn’t seem to notice it. “Got any reason for just standing around?” He huffs, and you can clearly hear the poorly hidden ire in his tone. “Tryin’ to make the place look pretty?”

His scornful addition only serve to further frustrate you, and you try to keep yourself calm, knowing he’s probably looking for a fight. “I only needed a moment to myself, Commander. I Force-healed more civilians today than I have in the same time frame before...” You trail off for a moment to catch your breath, but he takes advantage of your pause.

“You think you’re the only one who’s working your shebs off right now?” He growls, leaning slightly towards you. “Well, suck it up—”

Your eyes narrow and you take a step towards him. “Excuse me, as I was saying, if I try to help any more right now, I will suffer from Force-exhaustion and pass out. Either way, I’d only get in the way if I try to help the men now.”

He begins to speak, his frustration palpable both in his bright Force signature and his low voice. You’re unable to focus on what exactly he’s saying though, as something on the outskirts of your senses catches your attention. You look around discretely, trying to figure out where it’s coming from.

“—are you even listening? You can’t even take this seriously—”

And then you feel it— something on the edge of your senses, a warning through the Force. Your reaction is instinctive and while you start moving before you fully comprehend why, your mind is at peace with your path.

You throw yourself in front of Wolffe just in time to take the shots meant for him.

His helmet may be on, but you can feel the tidal wave of shock and anger and, to your surprise, fear course through him as his arms wrap around your waist when you begin to fall forward into his chest. He cradles you against his plastoid armor as he drags you toward the ground, out of range of any following shots. It’s a good thing he does, as somewhere above the growing static in your ears, you hear the sound of more blasterfire erupting.

The fire spreads through your chest with every breath you suck in, and you find your eyes locking onto the gray paint strokes on his helmet as the Commander barks out orders to the men. You try and focus on that as the pain threatens to make you cry out, and consequently it takes several frantic shouts of your name— your actual name— for you to hazily move your gaze to where you know Wolffe’s eyes are staring back at you.

“You’re going t’be fine,” he says, shifting his hold on you so that you’re tipped more securely against his chest. “General Plo is clearing the path for us to get you out of here.” His fingers slightly tighten on you. “You stay with me, yeah? Just keep fighting, y’hear me?”

You don’t have the energy to give more than a slight nod, but you’re still able to sob as Wolffe stands and begins to run with you in his arms. Each step jostles you against his armor, making the pain worse. He tries to counter it with a constant low murmur of apologies and repetitions of your name to ensure you’re still awake, which you desperately grab onto as a distraction.

It becomes too much at a certain point, and you must pass out in agony somewhere in his flight, because the next thing you’re aware of is opening your eyes to find the duristeel ceiling of a LAAT/i above you as you’re lifted onto the craft in a cot. A moan escapes your lips unbidden as consciousness returns the pain at heightened levels, and you shut your eyes tight in an effort to keep your tears from spilling. You’re their commander. You can’t show the extent of your injury. Your men have suffered worse than this.

And yet, as each breath becomes shallower and more difficult to inhale, you find yourself crying out desperately and weakly. “Wolffe...”

Your left hand has begun to clench tightly at your light gray robes as you swallow the worst of your cries, but time stands still once more when an armored hand gently eases your hold on the fabric and weaves their fingers through yours instead. Their other hand finds your forehead and rests there lightly. The comforting gestures don’t lessen your agony, but they offer a mental reprieve from it, if only for a few moments.

The rational side of you knows this isn’t the Commander. He would never abandon his men while they’re still fighting, and besides, he can hardly stand the sight of you.

But the other half of you that can feel yourself dying takes control of the moment as it tries to distract you from your fear by letting you pretend that for just a few seconds, Wolffe was with you and he cared.

Besides, who would it harm? As your eyes began to flicker shut despite the frantic shouts of the trooper clutching your hand—Comet, you recognized— you doubted you’d be opening them again anyways.

~~~~~~

Do y’all want a part 2? This is only the beginning of their story but idk if anyone is interesting in reading it lol. Let me know!

PART 2

#commander wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #gender neutral reader #oops the angst is back #star wars the clone wars #the wolfpack #104th battalion #padawan reader #jedi healer #fanfiction #star wars fanfic #hawk’s drabbles #tcw #cc 3636 #at arm’s length

399 notes · View notes

pancake-man · 3 years

Text

PRUMANO SECRET VALENTINE

My gift for @canadiatuxedo for @prumano-week‘s secret valentine!! I went with the prompts Bakery and Fantasy AU, which turned out less fantasy and more medieval times? Anyways, sorry it’s late, I really hope you like it!

AO3 link

The world is a vast place, and Gilbert had travelled the whole thing round three times before he stumbled on a town named Lumin. It was nestled in tall mountains, and so small it hardly deserved a name. Normally it wasn’t the sort of place Gilbert would stop at, but one does grow tired of large fantastical cities eventually, and so he decided to try his luck somewhere more… quaint.

(This was his excuse, anyways. What actually happened was that Gilbert ran out of money halfway to the great city of Aveni and the carriage he hitched a ride on had unceremoniously dropped him in the middle of nowhere and driven off without looking back. Gilbert was stuck there until he earned enough money to grab another ride, but who knew how long that would take in a town that relied more on trade than money)

A small town, Gilbert thought, was the perfect place to start his fortune. So he had set forth with nothing but the clothes on his back and his flute, eager to entertain the town with his beautiful voice, stories, and musical skill.

Now he sat on a fountain in the town square, exhausted from a day of playing his heart out. His poor flute seemed just as tired, sitting quietly on the stone beside him. In his cap he’d only received a few copper, not even enough to rent a room, let alone buy himself a ticket out.

As Gilbert began to reason a back-up plan, his nose picked up a smell drifting on the breeze. Rossinia has one main street with the town square, the church(which doubled as town hall), a small inn, and a small number of shops. Gilbert gathered his things and stood, following the scent to the bakery. He counted his coins. Four copper. Enough for a roll, at least. Maybe a sausage if he was lucky.

Gilbert pushed open the door to the bakery and was immediately greeted by the warm scent of baked goods. He hadn’t realised how chilly it was getting outside until he was surrounded but hot ovens and warm rolls. His mouth watered. He went to the counter to order and-

“Fuck off, we’re closed!” Came a cry from the back. Gilbert leaned around the counter and saw the back of a young brunet working the oven. He had a large iron rod and was poking at the coals. He leaned over to add more and Gilbert’s mouth watered for a different reason.

“Um, I just need something small?” Gilbert looked around for a menu with prices, but there wasn’t one to be found. Of course not, because that would make sense.

The man in the back room cursed again, threw the door to the coals shut, and wiped his hands on his apron before stomping out to the front. He looked about ready to tear Gilbert a new one when he paused and gave him a once over. Gilbert stood up a little straighter and pushed his silver hair back self-consciously, and gave the man an eye himself.

He was short, even compared to Gilbert, which didn’t happen often, and seemed only a few years younger. He had dark curly hair and tanned skin, and the brownest eyes Gilbert thinks he’s ever seen(and he’s seen a lot of eyes). His lips and eyebrows seemed permanently pulled downwards, but with his pudgy cheeks it was the opposite of intimidating. He wore a green short-sleeved tunic and an apron, both of which were covered in flour and served the added bonus of showing off his (very nice) arms. Really, he was pretty cute.

“You’re not from around here,” the man said with a scowl.

“Eh, yeah, I’m just dropping by. Travelling bard, yaknow how it is,” Gilbert hefted his flute as evidence. The stranger’s scowl didn’t let up.

“What kind of dumbass comes to a town like this for money? You’d be better off in Aveni or something.”

“Oh, this is just a stop. Consider yourselves blessed to get to hear my amazing playing,” Gilbert winked and leaned on the counter.

The man calmly pulled a rag from the pocket of his apron. “Hair and eyes like yours don’t seem like a fucking blessing.” He whipped Gilbert’s arm off the counter with the rag. “And nobody wants to hear your shit music.”

Okay, ouch. Both the rag and the comment. Gilbert jingled his cap. “I’ll have you know I earned four coppers today, thank you very much. My music is awesome.”

His cap was snatched from his hands before Gilbert could react, and the man poked through the change before handing it back with an eyeroll. “Yeah, you can get about jack and, let me check, shit for that. I might have a stale bread roll in the back for that much.”

Now Gilbert’s easy air fell. That was a high price, though he supposed it made sense considering how far they were from any actual people. “That’s… it?” He poked through the coins again. “I can work for a bit more or something. I’m not very strong, but I’m smart. I’m Gilbert, by the way.” He stuck out a palm as a way of calming the stranger’s (frankly unwarranted) dislike of him.

“Tch,” the man batted Gilbert’s hand away. “Don’t care.” He stretched and looked around the room. “I guess I can give you a fresh one…” he started.

“Oh! Awesome!” Gilbert grabbed the man’s hand anyways, shaking it vigorously. “That’s really nice of you, yknow I’ve had a pretty tough week and it’s good to know there’s nice people even in a weird town like…” and on he went.

The man looked taken aback, too stunned by Gilbert’s sudden change in demeanor to comprehend any of his babbling, let alone retrieve his hand. “Oi!” He finally snapped, cutting Gilbert off mid-tangent. “I’m not your damn friend, capiche? I’m just giving you extra because you look like a fucking ghost and it makes me feel bad. I mean shit, when was the last time you ate?”

Good question. Gilbert had snacked plenty on stolen goods from his ride’s bag, but it had been a while since he’d gotten a proper meal. He shrugged. The man threw his arms up. “You see! I hate people like you, wandering from town to town and expecting people to take care of your dumb ass because you can’t take care of yourself. You’re lucky you’re cute, for fuck’s sake! Even with the weird eye thing, I mean seriously what the hell is up with that? It’s fucking weird. And-”

It was Gilbert’s turn to cut him off. “You think I’m cute?” he asked, feeling his ears start to go red.

There was a pause before the man was shaking his head, clearly flustered. “No, I didn’t mean- I barely even know you! That’s a weird thing to say to a complete fucking stranger! What the fuck, Lovino?”

There was practically steam coming out of Gilbert’s ears as he attempted to parse what just happened. He’d been hit on before, sure, but never by anyone this pretty, and never so outright. The red eyes usually threw off anyone who actually found him hot, and even without them Gilbert wouldn’t consider himself ‘conventionally attractive’, whatever that meant. The only thing his mind managed to pick up on was “Lovino? Is that your name?”

Lovino was working his fingers through his hair and looked up at that. “Yes?” he squeaked. “I mean! No! Fuck you!” He grabbed the nearest baked good, a warm pretzel covered in butter, and shoved it at Gilbert. “It’s free! Fuck off!” He said and pushed Gilbert towards the door.

Gilbert was still tasting the name Lovino on his tongue and went on instinct. He ended up outside, pretzel in hand, wondering what the hell just happened. Turning, he could see Lovino (Lovino, he thought again) hurriedly closing the place up. It was bright inside the bakery. The light spilled through the windows and into the quickly-darkening street. Gilbert looked up to see the last bits of sun dip behind a mountain.

By the time he turned again, the bakery was dark, and the door to the back room was closed. There was still bread on the shelves and flour on the floor, but apparently Lovino had decided that was enough and the day was done. A chill blew down main street, and Gilbert stuffed the warm pretzel into his mouth. Maybe he could find a stable to sleep in… Or even better, a barn.

The next day found Gilbert again in the main square, cap on the stone before him and flute pressed lightly to his lips. Today he caught the children headed home from a day of school, and they were eager to gather round and listen to his stories. Being children, they only had two copper between them, but they more than made up for it with sweets, shiny rocks, and marbles. This brought Gilbert up to six coppers and enough sweets to make a meal(anything adults say about ‘vegetables’ and ‘health’ is a lie).

Even while doing his bit, Gilbert only needed to glance up to be able to see the bakery across the street, and Lovino inside, very pointedly ignoring him. The butcher, the cobbler, and even the bishop were kind enough to step out and listen to Gilbert’s tunes, but Lovino kept his back to the windows whenever possible. It was cute, Gilbert thought. The more he watched the man, the more he felt a tightness in his chest.

Six copper… Hardly enough for a carriage, but a perfect place to start saving. Gilbert chewed on his lip as he counted out his day’s earnings. The sun would set soon, and most people had gone home or were in the process of closing up their shops. Surely he could spare a few coin, right?

Gilbert went into the bakery.

Immediately he was greeted by a snort, and “You again? I told you I don’t do handouts! And also to fuck off!”

Gilbert grinned and deposited his earnings on the counter. “No handouts, today. Turns out your town actually enjoys my awesome music.”

Lovino poked at the copper like it was a venomous spider. “You didn’t steal it?” That was actually rather insulting. Gilbert’s eyebrows knit together. “Of course not! I was out by the fountain all day. If you’d bothered to look up, you’d have seen me.”

There wasn't a response, instead Lovino stared at Gilbert. Or right behind him, it wasn’t clear. Gilbert looked about and back to Lovino. He had such deep brown eyes, Gilbert could write songs about them. "You have hay in your fucking hair," he said, in a voice that was absolutely melodi-

"Eh?" Gilbert raised a hand to pat at his hair. "Where?"

"It's right- no, you're missing it. Just, shit, let me-" Lovino leaned across the counter, his dark fingers combing through Gilbert's hair, and Gilbert forgot to breathe. Lovino pulled back with a large clump of straw, and the two looked at it for a moment.

"Huh," said Gilbert. "I dunno how I missed that."

"Haybrain," Lovino scowled, and turned to toss the straw in a wastebasket. "How the hell did you get that much hay in your hair anyways? Sleep in a fucking haystack?"

"Uh, yeah, actually." Not far outside of town, Gilbert had found a nice barn to sleep in. It was small, and brown, and missing a door, but it still had a good haypile, and not too many bugs, so he counted as a win. "I've slept in worse places though, no big deal."

The coins made a scraping sound as they were pushed across the counter to him. "So you're a hobo," Lovino said and began packing a bag full of rolls. "How much shit have you eaten since that pretzel?"

Gilbert's ears turned red again. "I prefer awesome travelling bard, but yeah, sure, hobo. And I'll have you know," he turned up his nose, making light of the situation, "that I recieved a fortune's worth of candy from the schoolchildren today, and it has fed me quite well."

"A haybrain hobo who steals from kids, sure." A smile twitched at the corner of Lovino's lips if Gilbert squinted just right. The baker closed the bag and handed it over. It was still warm from the oven. "I don't do handouts. You owe me." Gilbert began to go on his grovelling spiel when Lovino held up a finger to stop him. "Nope. I'm serious. Go play your dumb songs until I'm closed, then I've got a place for you to stay until you fuck off to Aveni or wherever. But you work for your keep, capische?" Before Gilbert could respond, Lovino pressed his finger forward and into Gilbert's lips. "Capische?"

Gilbert nodded. Lovino pulled away, satisfied. "Okay, then help me clean this shit up. Nobody gets a proper dinner or sleep until this place closes, and it's gonna take a while since somebody fucked me over last night. So stop fucking distracting me with your pretty, stupid face."

"My what?" Gilbert managed to ask.

"Your pretty fucking stupid face. Here." A broom handle was shoved into Gilbert's hands and he was directed into the back room to sweep the hearth. In the time it took him to clean the ashes, Lovino had put up all the unsold items, washed all the dishes, wiped down the counters, and shut the blinds and locked the door.

Gilbert wiped a sooty arm across his face and smiled. "Anything else, Lord Lovino?"

Lovino frowned at him. "How in the fuck did you manage to get that covered in soot?"

"I've never had to clean a fireplace," Gilbert shrugged. Lovino groaned.

"Fine, I might have a shirt or something that would fit you."

The only thing left to do was blow out the candles. Lovino made him resweep the shop front anyways before he deemed the bakery clean enough to close, and put out the lights. He led Gilbert upstairs to a small living quarter. There was a fireplace with herbs strung to dry above it, a small shelf lined with jars, a trunk, and a table with one chair, but Gilbert's eyes were drawn to the bed. The only bed. The small only bed. Now his whole face was red.

Despite Gilbert's best efforts, Lovino caught this, and his eyes widened in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, I didn't- I didn't even think about that," he blustered through a series of surprisngly curse-void apologies while digging through the trunk. "Just, here," and he threw a tunic at Gilbert's head.

Gilbert caught it easily. It was a plain red linen tunic, and seemed only a bit too big. He looked at Lovino. "Aren't you going to turn around?" A squeak of shame and Lovino turned his back. Gilbert slipped off his sooty clothes with a promise of "I'll wash them tomorrow," and put on the tunic. "Okay, you're good."

Lovino looked back and froze, bottom lip between his teeth. Gilbert pulled one of the sleeves up from where it had slipped off his shoulder self consciously. "Is there still hay in my hair?"

"Nope!" Lovino said, far too quickly. "I mean. No. You look great. I mean fine. I mean you look like shit. I'm going to bed." He swiveled on his heel and went back to the trunk, procuring a pile of furs, probably saved for cold winter months. "The floor should be fine enough, at least better than a hay stack, for fucks sake. Figure yourself out." With that, Lovino threw himself into the bed and turned his back to Gilbert.

"This'll be fine, thanks," Gilbert began, but it was clear Lovino was ignoring him. Eh. He put his flute and his cap on the ground and spread out the furs, then laid down. He wasn't used to sleeping this early, so instead he studied the eaves of the ceiling above him. He rolled over, stared at the back of Lovino's brunet head.

Lovino was an interesting person. Gilbert had met lots of interesting people in his travels, but none quite like this. People were generally either kind or not, but Gilbert had never met someone kind enough to open their home to a complete stranger, who then pretended to hate everyone and everything. He didn't understand. He wanted to understand. It was weird.

"Lovi?" He asked the back of Lovino's head. Silence. Then:

"The fuck did you just call me?"

"Why do you live alone?"

Another pause, this one longer. Gilbert almost asked another question to break the tension before Lovino responded. "Cause my family all had better places to be. Why do you travel alone?"

"Cause I left my family behind," Gilbert answered, easily. Lovino shifted in his bed. "Are you lonely?"

"No. Are you?"

"Yes." Lovino stiffened. Gilbert rolled onto his back. "I was never really close with my folks, even before I left. It's hard to miss what you never had, but I miss it anyways."

Quiet stretched between them. Gilbert could hear Lovino's breath slow, to the point that he almost thought him asleep. "Are you cold?" came Lovino's question, whispered so softly Gilbert hardly heard it.

"Yes," Gilbert lied.

He heard the sound of blankets shifting, and when he looked over, Lovino was staring back, his blankets open in a welcome. Neither said anything. Gilbert stood from his nest and shuffled into the already warm bed, pressed himself against Lovino's warm body.

"Fuck!" Lovino shouted, kicking away his feet. "Your feet as cold as balls!"

Gilbert laughed and shoved him back. "That's just because you're too warm. Sorry, Lovi."

Lovino rolled so his back was too Gilbert, his legs pointedly pressed to the wall and away from Gilbert's. "Fuck you," pause, "Gil."

(I realised only afterwards that this would’ve been better from Lovi’s perspective but, eh. Two lonely losers who managed to find each other. Gilbert ends up staying in town and working at the bakery, probably also teaching music lessons or something. Lovino gets to buy a bigger bed. It’s gay. Sorry you didn’t get a kiss. Happy Valentine’s Day!)

#hetalia #hws #hws prussia #hws romano #prumano #prumano secret valentine #prumano secret valentines #my writing

20 notes · View notes

frostsinth · 4 years

Text

Deals with Demons - Pt. 2

Prologue | Part 1 | MasterList

Hey! Just hit 200 followers. So have another part to the demon story as a thank you! CONTENT WARNING: This part is 18+, but not for smut. There is some graphic violence and pretty psychological nasty shit in here. I mean, he is a demon after all. So please read with that in mind. The worst is at the end, so please feel free to skip to the next part if you need to. Part 3 has another... ahem, “feeding”...

Your comments and love give me life! I read every single reblog/reply! Thank you to my regular followers! And a big “Welcome” to my new ones!

“A deal with a demon is not so easily broken by either party,” He assured me, “I cannot forge another until ours is complete. Until then,” He squeezed me against him, “I am yours to command.”

My breath caught in my throat, but I nodded curtly. I placed my palms on his chest and pushed myself back. “Fine. Then open the door.”

....

With a flick of his hand, an interdimensional portal similar to the one I had first passed through split the air before us. My eyes widened at the effortlessness of his magic; it had taken nearly all the strength of our ten most senior members to open the one I had used the first time.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but otherwise did not hesitate to step through. He followed hardly a breath behind, ducking his great horned head to fit through the doorway.

We emerged in the ceremony room, with its high arched stone ceilings and windowless walls. I looked about cautiously, but it was empty. And dark, save for the light from Abhilash’s flickering flames. The door closed behind us on the altar, and I slowly stepped down from the raised platform to the stone floor.

“Ahh,” The demon sighed heavily, stretching and flicking his tail. “It feels good to be back on this plane.” I checked over my shoulder and saw him licking his lips. “So much…. opportunity.”

I didn’t feel like he wanted any particular response, so I turned my attention back to the room we had entered. I felt hot anger stir inside me as I looked about the abandoned chambers. The Mothers had sent me to what they had assumed would be my death. Then they simply left. Without a second thought; without any remorse. No prayer group or wake in gratitude for my sacrifice. No vigil. No sermon. Simply abandoned the room and sealed it shut. Hiding away their shame. And they would return only in another ten years, with the next sacrificial lamb for slaughter. Their tender words of comfort seemed like hollow lies now.

But had I ever expected them to be anything more?

I started to walk forward, towards the doorway, my bare feet slapping softly on the cool stones. I stopped suddenly at the sound, looking down at my naked form.

“Shit.” I swore silently, looking about again. But the room was completely empty.

“What troubles you, lamb?” Came Abhilash’s purring, rasping voice from behind me.

I turned to consider the demon, and found his huge form hardly dwarfed by the large chambers. I felt a short wave of shyness at the sight of him. At the memory of his touch, I felt my cheeks flush. Another small part of me was tickled to see him standing there, at the foot of the altar that had once led to his prison. I was eager to see the holy Mothers’ faces when they saw him.

I wasn’t nearly as eager to be seen as I was presently, and I sighed, running one hand through my hair and crossing the other over my chest. Quite the impression I would leave on the Sisters dressed only in what the gods had given me on the day of my birth.

“I left my robes behind,” I told him, “And can hardly skirt around the halls naked, looking for something to wear. That’s not the image I want to start with.”

He chuckled, stepping closer and tucking his large fingers under my chin. “Then put something on.” He said simply.

I stiffened at his touch, but looked up at him, frowning a little. Wondering just how much the demon remembered about the mortal realm.

“What exactly am I supposed to put on? There’s nothing here.”

His grin split his lips slightly, showing a flash of his pearly white teeth beneath. “There is you,” He pointed out, “And your new power.” His thumb traced the point of my chin. “Remember, little lamb; you are limited only by your own imagination.”

My eyes must have widened slightly in surprise, because he chuckled again. I pushed his hand away, turning and looking about to hide my irritation. Trying to figure out exactly what his words meant. Only limited by my imagination? I knew no spells, had never used magic before. How did one even begin to pull something out of thin air?

His words echoing in my mind, I closed my eyes. I pictured a dress; a simple white dress, that draped loosely from my shoulders down to my ankles. I imagined what it would feel like, how it would brush my skin, how it would move when I moved.

There was a slight tingling sensation, and I could hear the rush of my blood in my ears. Followed by a soft whoosh like air passing through a window. When I opened my eyes and looked down… the dress I had seen in my mind’s eye now covered my body.

My mouth dropped open, then morphed into a huge smile. I touched the fabric, pinching it between my fingers. It was soft, and silky, just as I had imagined it. Dropping the hem, I brought my hands up, turning them over, studying them. They tingled as I stared at them. I hesitated, then focused again, imagining sparks dancing between my fingertips. Without delay, little zaps of electricity passed between my digits. I yelped, shaking my hands in surprise. Then I laughed, grinning like a fool.

“You are a natural,” Mused Abhilash, and when I turned back to look at him, he had a knowing smirk on his face. “Now, what else will you do with your newfound power?”

I looked back at my hands, thinking. Turning it over in my head. What would I do? There were so many possibilities! So many things I wanted. So many things once denied to me. But what first? I could hardly decide. I almost danced on my toes in eagerness.

In the distance, I heard the soft toll of the midnight bell. It jerked me away from my thoughts, and surprised me. I had left in the morning, before dawn’s light had hit the steeples. Had it really been almost a full day since I had been sent through the portal? But the sound of the bells also twanged a deep rooted anger inside me. It bubbled and boiled in my gut, steaming into a hatred and rage that threatened to consume me. I took one menacing step back towards the door, feeling my blood rushing in my ears again.

The Mother Superior! And all the other Mothers. How they had preened and prodded at me all my life. How they had tried to take my spirit and mold it to their will. They had caged me, berated and belittled me. Tried to force me into their beliefs, and their rules. Played games with my mind and emotions. And when that failed, resorted to more physical methods of reinforcement and punishment. They had kept me chained to this place for no reason other than their own selfish purposes. And when I had become too unruly? When it seemed they could not break me? They had orchestrated my conscription into the role of sacrificial maiden.

My anger at my mistreatment burned hot inside me, and I let it simmer through my veins. I felt the magic tingle at my fingertips, and looked down at them. Wondering how satisfying it would be to crush my oppressors between them.

The weight of a huge hand slipped over my shoulder, surprising me. But before I could react, the demon spun me to face him and bent down, pressing his lips against mine. My eyebrows shot up, but I didn’t move. He ran his hand over my jaw, burying it in my hair as he pressed into a deeper kiss. His touch burned, though not with heat. It was an odd sensation, and it sent sparks zipping underneath my skin. I felt an alien eagerness tickling at the edge of my senses; felt it pressing against my own consciousness like a thin tendril of smoke. I couldn’t quite comprehend it, but I knew it was there. Knew that it was not a part of me.

My vision spun, darkness tinging the edges, and I felt the same weightlessness I had before back in the dimensional pocket. My eyes closed of their own accord, and I surrendered to his touch, his long tongue burrowing into my mouth, his lips working eagerly against mine.

It only lasted for what felt like a few moments, but when he finally drew back, I had to blink stars from my eyes. I swayed slightly before I settled back onto the balls of my feet once more. As if remembering how to stand again. I blinked a few more times, then frowned, looking up at him.

“Apologies, lamb,” He said with a wicked grin, “Your rage… it was just too tempting to pass up.”

I pushed his hand away again. “You fed on me?”

“As I am wont to do,” he replied, still grinning, “You are at my beck and call, no?”

I shook my still swirling head, spinning around to put him at my back again. “Keep your end of the deal, and I’ll keep mine,” I muttered, and took a few purposeful steps towards the door to the chambers. His kiss had left me frazzled, and it took me a moment to regain my previous train of thought. “...I have decided what I want first.”

“And what, praytell, is that?” He purred, following behind me.

I unlocked the door and shoved it open. “I want the Abbey.”

“The Abbey?” He echoed, still no more than a step behind me as I walked out into the hallway beyond the ceremonial chambers. “What do you want with it?”

The hallway was actually a long bridge, with stone railings on either side and a triangular roof overhead. It was worn, and in disrepair. After all, they only needed to access the chambers on the side of the peak once every ten years. I paused, looking down at the temple below. The Abbey was small, but grandiose, built from pale grey stones with dusty red clay shingles for its roofs. There was a main building, several stories high and rounded in the middle with a square base, and several smaller out buildings as well as pointed steeples for bell towers. There was more than the eye could see, as the temple was built into the cliff face, looking as if the mountain itself had begun to swallow it back up. A high stone wall was built around the outside of the small green courtyard, and there was only one narrow path that led to it from the outside world.

“I will make it my castle.” I told him, tapping one finger against the stone railing. “My personal home in the mountains, though-” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye “-There appears to be an infestation in my new house.”

He chuckled darkly, coming to stand directly behind me. There was barely enough space for air to pass between our bodies, and I felt myself quiver a little at the thought of his touch.

“My, that is unfortunate,” He hissed, and his tail flicked like a whip beside us. “Would you like me to take care of it, little lamb?”

“Don’t call me that.” I grumbled, tapping the railing again. Thinking. The bitterness in my chest gripped at my throat. “Bring me the Mothers. Especially the Mother Superior. The rest of the Sisters will be given a choice; worship and serve me, or meet their death.”

“Hmm. Sounds fun.” I could hear his grin in his rough voice. “And then what?”

I walked down the long hallway, lit solely by Abhilash’s fires, kicking aside loose stones with my bare feet. My anger bubbled in my chest again, and I gritted my teeth.

“Then I want to repaint this temple with their blood,” I breathed, “I want to hear their screams, I want them to beg me for mercy.”

“Will you grant it?” He purred eagerly into my ear, closer than I had thought he could possibly be.

I narrowed my eyes, glancing out over the railing again. “Did they ever grant it to me?”

His laughter echoed around us, peppering the otherwise still and silent night air with its wickedness.

“Your wish is my command.” The demon bowed low, his sharp teeth gnashing in excitement.

“I will be in the Inner Sanctum,” I told him, “Bring them there. Oh, and Abhilash?” I waited until he turned to look at me again. “...Make a show of it.”

I hadn’t thought it possible for his grin to grow wider, but it did. He licked his lips greedily and his beady black eyes seemed to glow. Once more, the demon bowed to me. Then turned, disappearing into a puff of black smoke.

As I was descending the stone walkway carved into the mountainside, I heard the screaming start. My own grin tasted positively wicked indeed.

...

I walked down the long center aisle of the Inner Sanctum, breathing deeply the familiar scent of incense burning on the large altar before the massive windows that took up the back wall. The screams from the rest of the Abbey were a distant echo here, but I could still enjoy them as I moved towards the altar. Moonlight filtered through the glass, settling the huge room into a silvery glow; the smoke from the incense making it seem almost mystical. Ethereal.

Lies. I thought to myself bitterly, glaring at the pews set up facing the raised, open faced pulpit. How many times had the Mother Superior stood atop there, preaching down to the huddled sisters? How many lives had she twisted with her words?

I came to stand at the foot of it, the golden altar behind and at its base glittering. I scowled, feeling a bubbling rage in my chest at the sight. My blood felt hot, and I raised up my hands before me. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I swore I could feel them pulsing in time with each beat of my heart. As if I could see my own blood moving beneath the skin. I suddenly recalled the flames Abhilash wore, and imagined such a fire from my own hands.

At first, it was just a flicker, but as I focused, it grew. And grew. Engulfing my hands and licking up my wrists. But it didn’t burn or sting. It felt nice, like a silk scarf skimming over my hands as a wind played through it. I grinned, watching it for a moment. Then I looked around.

The pew nearest me was the first victim, and it flew backwards a few feet from the force of the fireball, splintering and shattering into a million blazing pieces. I fired another at the pew on my other side, then swept my hands in a wave. Willing the rest of the wooden pews to be forced back from the center of the grand chamber with a loud, sickening crash. They snapped and burned at the edges, surrounding the stone passageways that lined the Sanctum. Throwing the huge stone pillars into a brilliant orange glow.

I considered that, then turned back to the golden altar and raised pulpit. I scowled deeper at it, and imagined an entirely different setting; a throne. A golden seat at the top of beautifully carved stairs of dark polished wood. I felt my blazing hands tingle, and flicked my wrist at the pulpit. The flames shot out, licking up and around the altar. Melting. Twisting. Deforming the images and idols there. Reforming it into the vision in my mind’s eye.

It wasn’t quite what I had imagined. Not quite so sleek, nor imposing as a grand throne for a King’s hall. But I found I liked the way the heat twisted and warped the wood and metals, creating instead a masterpiece out of jagged edges. I grinned at it, willing the flames to recede to its edges. They melted back obediently to my will, and I almost laughed out loud. My heart raced and my face was starting to hurt from how much I was smiling.

I decided I loved the way the new dais looked, raised slightly above the long center aisle. The gold seemed to melt off the edges like old candle wax, and the stairs were a little less polished and more charred. But I walked up them, considering the huge golden seat I had formed merely by the strength of my will. It seemed more like a bench, with almost no back to speak of, but still with grand arms formed from warped gold. Set before the huge windows behind it, bathed in the glow of the fires of the burning pews? Now that looked ethereal. Mighty. And frightening.

There was the sudden smell of sulfur amid the burning ash filling the room, and I turned to look down at the aisle behind me. Abhilash stood there, considering my handiwork, a wicked grin on his face.

He bowed deeply, his great horned head almost sweeping the floor. “I come bearing gifts.” He told me, and yanked a magical black iron chain that seemed to shed ash with each movement.

The women attached to the chains gasped, staggering forward. Some fell to their knees, others fell into each other. All were disheveled, mostly in sleeping gowns, with their hair in disarray and splatters of blood covering them. Their eyes were wide as they looked about, gasping and whispering prayers. A few even cried.

But my eyes fell on the center most woman, who’s long, tapered nose was wrinkled up to her brow. She too was in her nightgown, with soot and blood staining the white cloth. Her hair was clumped to one side, with wild strands shooting this way and that. Not her usually poised visage. When she saw me, her eyes widened in sudden recognition.

“YOU!” She snapped, then twisted in her chains. “How dare you! You wicked, wicked child!” She yanked at her chains again, and even took a step forward. “I should have thrown you out when I had the chance! Blasphemy! Sacrilege!”

I scowled, turning as gracefully as I could manage, and settled myself comfortably on the bench. I rolled my fingers on the cooling golden arm, letting my nails tap a quiet rhythm amid the crackling of the fires. Abhilash stood beside the gaggle, looking more than a little amused.

“Perhaps you should be nicer,” I began, crossing one knee over the top of the other, “to the person who decides your fate in this world.”

Her eyes went so wide I thought they might burst out of their sockets. She spun to the demon, pointing at me with one long finger. “Demon! I command you! Kill the girl! Take her as the sacrifice she was meant to be!”

Abhilash crossed his arms over his broad chest and gave her a wide, toothy grin. Her face went a little pale, and she spun back. Glaring at me with her brow knotted. Then she looked over her shoulder at the cowering Mothers.

“Take them!” She offered, turning back to the demon. “Take them as payment! Do what you wish with them, but honor your agreement with me, Demon!”

The Mothers screamed and wailed at the Superior’s words. Some cried out to her directly, some dropped to their knees in prayer. Some were simply dumbfounded to silence.

I traced the bumpy gold beneath my fingertips, smirking. “Unfortunately, Mother Superior,” I chimed in, my lips twitching as I resisted the urge to smile, “Your agreement was broken once the demon crossed over to this plane. Or should I say, your cage?”

She looked at me, then at him. His grin grew by a few more sharp teeth. Shaking her head, she stomped one foot angrily.

“No! You can not do this to me! I am a Prophet of the Gods! I am Their will on earth!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, so hard that I had to wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “Perhaps you have been pretending for so long, Mother, that you have begun to believe your own lies.” I stood slowly, turning to address the rest of the women behind her. “Now you see!” I told them. “Now you see your Mother Superior for who she truly is. An impostor. A selfish old hag who plays with the same dark arts she preaches against. A hypocrite and a liar.”

“NO!” She shouted, and flung herself forward as if to strike me down.

But Abhilash merely raised his hand and the chains tightened, jerking her back. She lost her balance and fell to her knees at the foot of the stairs. She glared up at me, teeth clenched.

“I have only done what I must! To save this world! To make it a better place for all within it!” She snarled. “You know naught what you do, child! Releasing this evil into the world!”

I looked down at her, my eyes narrowed. Anger was building in my chest again as she spit and spat her lies at me. Even at the very end, she sought to control me. Sought to force me beneath her heel like she had done so many others.

When she saw my face, saw the coldness icing my veins as I looked down at her, I saw her hesitate. She looked back over her shoulders at the Mothers. Then back up at me. Her jaw squared, and she straightened herself as best she could.

“What will you do with me, Theodosia?” She asked, her voice soft, “I, who took you in when no one else would. I, who fed and kept and dressed you? Who tried to instill faith in you so you would never be alone?”

“Who cast me as fodder for demons for daring to speak out against you.” I returned, tucking my hands together before me as if I were not a seething pit of hatred inside. But then I paused, cocking my head to the side. “I will do nothing to you.” I waited until her shoulder slumped a little in relief, then let a coy smile slip across my lips. “Nothing you have not done to me.”

Her eyes went wide again, and I saw her quivering slightly. Behind her, the other Mothers had fallen into a huddle. Clinging to each other. Whispering prayers and whimpering softly. I considered the Mother Superior, then turned to Abhilash.

“Are you hungry?” I asked him pointedly.

His sharp teeth split his face in two, and his long tongue lolled out. “I am always hungry.”

The Mothers squealed quietly, staggering backwards at his words. I had to admit, he looked quite intimidating. Towering over us all at nearly 8 feet tall, with his broad shoulders and head engulfed in flames. He tilted his great horned head to the side, blinking his four black eyes in succession. Sending the women into a twittering mess.

I turned back to the Mother Superior, looking down at her. “Then I shall bestow upon you the same honor you once gave me; you shall feed the demon who I have made my own deal with.”

Her face drained of blood, and she looked frantically around. She spun, reaching out towards the other Mothers.

“Help! Help me!” She begged, clasping her chained hands together.

They screamed and staggered backwards. Struggling to get as far away from the doomed woman as possible. I looked over to Abhilash, who glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. I nodded to him, and with a growl, he quickly prowled over to the foot of the stairs. The Mother Superior tried to run, but he caught her by one leg and easily hoisted her into the air. The screams of the other women became deafening, drowning out the Mother Superiors own pleas as the demon’s jaw unhinged. His flames seemed to grow, spreading down his arms and over his back. Up his spine and legs from the tip of his tail. Blazing like a bonfire. Licking up towards the high steepled ceiling. Blinding the room to his might. Spewing thick, lung choking black smoke.

But I was unaffected by the light and smoke. I had a perfect vision of him as his form warped and twisted, as his pointed teeth gnashed and his jaw widened. He managed to fit her down in one huge bite. Well, most of her.

His jaw snapped shut with a huge, audible crack like thunder. Blood splattered across the room as a few errant body parts dropped from his maw. The remaining Women screamed even louder, their throats ripping for the force of their shrieks. What little strength they had left fled them, and they became a quivering heap of sobs and cries on the floor.

I stared at the mess on the ground, unsure what I felt at that moment. My rage had subsided at the sight of the carnage. But it didn’t make me feel quite as ill as perhaps it should have. Instead, I felt a strange numbness settling over me as the demon’s flames subsided back to their normal flickering core and his jaw slowly rehinged. He licked his long tongue in a circle around his face, smacking his lips together in delight.

“Do you not see!” Screeched one of the Mothers. I glanced over at her, still lost in myself. “Do you not see what you have done, child!”

I recognized her as one of the Mothers who had coached me on my impending encounter prior to the ritual. I felt a scowl forming on my lips as she stood shakily, pointing one quivering finger at me.

“You must never make deals with demons! Your soul is lost! Your own suffering shall come on swift wings!” She dropped to her knees, wailing and shaking her head. “You have let evil into your soul, poor child! And your torment will be endless!” Her quivering gaze turned to Abhilash, and she began to shake from head to toe. “You cannot trust a demon! They speak nothing but lies! They cannot be bound to any mortal! You should have listened to us, Theodosia Greystorm! You should have not let yourself be tempted by sin!”

I didn’t answer for a moment, considering what to do with the remainder of the Mothers. Certainly something had to be done with them. But I found I couldn’t quite find the same pleasure at the idea of another such display. For the moment at least. I didn’t look at the demon as I slowly moved down the steps.

“Put them in your old cage.” I told him, my voice flat. “We will deal with them later… if they are still alive when I decide to do so.”

“As you wish.” He purred, and I saw him bowing his head slightly out of the corner of my eye.

...

UPDATE: Part Three is HERE

#monster x human #demon lover #demon boyfriend #monster lover #monster boyfriend #demon deals #Deals with Demons #OC #update #exophilia #terato #slow burn #dark romance #dnd

145 notes · View notes

spicyfloaty · 3 years

Text

Give & Take | Chapter 9

pairing: kacchako

genre: slowburn/fluff

words: 4.5k

summary: Ochako's grades are slipping. Bakugo is dangerously nearing suspension, or worse, expulsion. A certain twist of fate pairs them together for tutoring sessions. He teaches her math. She keeps him from getting suspended. A simple exchange, but what if this only brings them closer than necessary?

header credits: @alexbenedetto

[READ ON AO3]

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine: Mornings with Bakugo

Ochako was a morning person, the kind who purposefully wakes up before the sun does just so they could witness the day start. She had always loved early mornings back at home since it gave her the chance to cook her parents breakfast and see them off to work soon after. Getting a head start to a new day was a principle and routine she had stood by before her father got hurt on the job.

Ever since her father’s injury, Ochako somehow morphed into the night owl she never thought she’d become. Despite this, the only reason you would catch her up late at night was either because she just got off of work or because she was finishing up some homework, both being tasks she was not too happy to do. She rarely got the chance to enjoy being a morning person, since late nights would require late mornings, which were much different from the early mornings she used to love.

Today was a blessing. Ochako had spent her entire Sunday holed up in her room to study for all her subjects, finishing all of her homework early on before it gets the opportunity to steal away precious hours of sleep later at night. Those precious hours, she made sure to spend them wisely by actually sleeping early that time.

Ochako takes another crunchy bite of toast, looking over to watch the first rays of sunshine spill from the rows of tall, glass windows. A soft, honey, morning glow bathe the dorm’s kitchens, tables, and common area. She takes a deep breath, basking in the comforting silence of the empty dining hall. She closes her eyes and groggily smiles into another sleepy bite of her toast, It’ll be awhile before I get a time like this again.

“Hey.” A familiar voice huffs.

Ochako drops her toast and almost jumps off her seat, a surprised squeak escapes her as she whips her head to see Bakugo standing beside her. He had both hands tucked in the pockets of his sweatpants, red eyes peering down at her waiting for a response.

“God,” Her whole body sags in relief as she brings a hand up to her chest, “You almost gave me a heart attack.” She breathes out.

His eyes narrow, the rest of his expression unchanging, “What’s the derivative of cosine?”

Ochako tilts her head as her eyebrows knit together in confusion, “Good morning to you, too?”

“You’re still not answering the question.” He says impatiently.

The cogs in her mind have yet to completely wake up in order to fully function and comprehend what’s going on. Bakugo doesn’t usually wake up until much later so why the sudden change in schedule? Ochako rubs her tired eyes to double check if she’s seeing things right, but alas, Bakugo was still standing in front of her, proving that she was in fact not hallucinating.

“Wait, what is this again, exactly?” She asks.

His lips curl in disdain, “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m obviously quizzing you.”

“At six in the morning?” She hears the morning rasp in her voice. How, where, and when did he get the idea of doing this on the earliest crack of dawn and on top of that, how is he managing to not sound or look like someone who just woke up?

“So?” Bakugo prods, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m barely awake, Bakugo.” She says hoarsely, her words slow and steady much like how a person still coming out of sleep would sound like.

Two seconds hardly pass after the last syllable of her sentence when Bakugo swiftly leans towards her until their faces are mere centimeters away from each other.

“Hey!” Ochako yelps, hastily leaning back before their noses could touch.

“You look pretty awake to me, round face.” He deadpans, the space between their faces still a finger’s width apart.

She places both hands on his chest to push him away, which unfortunately didn’t do much since she might as well be trying to move a statue, “Okay, jeez, I get it!” Her face turns to the side to hide the deep shade of red flooding her cheeks. “Personal space, Bakugo, have you heard of it?”

“Answering the goddamn question, have you heard of it?” He fires back, finally stepping away to give her some room to recover.

“Fine,” She drags her fingers through her unkempt hair, Ochako’s self-consciousness wasn’t awake enough for her to care how haggard she looked in front of him, “What was the question again?”

Bakugo folds both arms across his chest, “Derivative of cosine.”

Ochako looks away for a moment, squinting her eyes in concentration as the tiny Ochakos in her head scurry about in her head rummaging for an answer. Her eyes find their way back to his expectant ones once she has the right one, “Negative sine.”

Bakugo nods, walking away to head for the kitchens. A sigh of relief escapes her lips as she thanked her lucky stars that she somehow managed to give the correct answer without being a hundred percent sure of it.

She picks up the piece of toast on her plate, taking another bite while her eyes follow Bakugo’s movements as he moved around the kitchen, grabbing some items from the fridge and cupboards. His back was to her as he settled in front of the stove, grabbing a pan in preparation to cook a meal.

Ochako’s thoughts wander to more obvious questions such as why Bakugo was up this early in the morning when he usually wakes up around the same time Kirishima does, which was much later than now. Bakugo was the type to sleep early, so maybe he had coincidentally woke up and got hungry the same time as her today? Did she somehow mess up her alarm’s volume, accidentally setting it off on full blast, thereby waking Bakugo up since they’re on the same floor? No, that’s not it, she would have woken up the entire fourth floor if that were the case.

She drops the thought soon after, deciding that it was none of her business. Her eyes shifted to Bakugo once again as she took another crisp bite of her toast. From afar, Ochako notices the dampness of his hair, its usual explosive nature had it spiking through every direction, but now they were more down than up. He must have just gotten out of the shower before he got here.

Ochako’s gaze drop to the shape of his back, his muscles flexing as Bakugo reached for one of the spices on the top shelf. It was easy to look at since his tank top left the skin on his arms and most of his back bare. She wonders how much of his free time was spent training since it would certainly take a lot of time to sculpt and tone muscles like his.

Her eyes widened as she realized how inappropriate her thoughts were getting. She shakes her head free of those unnecessary thoughts, bringing her attention back to her breakfast and calls out to him, “So was that the last question or...?”

“No.” Bakugo says, setting his spatula aside, “I’m quizzing you the whole damn day, round face.”

“The whole day?” She sputters in disbelief. Ochako had thought that this was just something he planned on doing this morning.

“What did I just say?” He bites. She doesn’t need to see his face to know that he was frowning, she could already hear the scowl in his voice.

“When?”

“When I say so.” He says with finality. Bakugo turns around, holding two plates of the meal he had just finished cooking. She had expected him to move past her to sit at one of the tables behind her, but instead, he places his meal beside hers and takes the seat on her left.

“Um, Bakugo?”

“What.” He asks through a mouthful of rice.

“Why are you sitting next to me?” Her question was out of genuine confusion and had no intention of sounding rude, but it seemed to come off that way nonetheless.

“The hell kind of question is that?” He bites, shooting her a nasty look, “You got a problem with me being here?”

“No!” She shakes her hands nervously, “It’s just that, um, you usually sit over there.” She says sheepishly, pointing to the tables behind them.

Bakugo’s eyebrows draw together, his lips twisting to a frown, “I can do whatever the hell I want and I--” He scoots his chair nearer to the table in protest, “feel like sitting here.”

“Why--”

“What’s the derivative of negative cosine?” He interrupts.

“Sine.” She instinctively answers.

“Good.” He says, returning to his meal. Ochako chooses to do the same since he had made it quite clear that he wasn’t answering any more questions from her. She thinks about how Bakugo could have done this whole quizzing thing of his during their sessions instead of breaking off of their regular tutoring schedule. Come to think of it, Bakugo and her don’t usually interact that much outside of their sessions, so him eating breakfast with her is definitely something new.

Ochako hears a strained yawn coming from the staircase and sees Kaminari stretching his arms in the air. He walks past the kitchens, eyes widening to the size of saucers when he spots the both of them. Kaminari’s face morphs to that of someone who had just uncovered the holy grail, his mouth forming the beginning of a sentence only to be interrupted by Bakugo.

“Keep walking, Dunce Face.” He hisses, eyes not leaving his plate.

Kaminari turns to Ochako and she shrugs as if to say, “I don’t know what’s going on either.”

He walks towards the couches, wide, questioning, eyes still trained on both of them, “That’s all your gonna eat?” Bakugo asks, pointing his chopsticks to the piece of bread on her hands.

“Yeah?” Ochako’s breakfast had always consisted of the cheapest alternative, but it’s not like she was starving herself. She thinks back to days when she’d be eating costly food like tuna and salmon whenever she’d receive an especially good tip from patrons the day before. Ochako’s mouth waters at the memory.

A pair of chopsticks place a helping of fish on her plate, “Tch, You’re an idiot if you think that’s gonna last you through the day.” Bakugo sneers.

“Oh, you don’t have to.” She quickly tries to decline, that is very expensive looking fish.

His eyes stare daggers into her soul, “Do you really want to argue with me about fucking fish?” He snaps.

“No, but--”

“Then just take the damn thing already, Jesus.” Bakugo grumbles.

Ochako hears a faint squeal coming from behind them. She turns to see Mina with Kaminari peeking from the couches, both of them whipping their heads back to the television as soon as she catches them staring. When did Mina get here?

She directs her attention back to the meal before her, unwrapping the spare chopsticks on the table before starting to pick the fish apart.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Bakugo suddenly bites, his face scrunching up at the sight of her work.

“No, I’m not.” She protests. She was just preparing it just as she’s always done before and as far as she knew, there was nothing wrong with it.

“Yes you fucking are.” He argues, “You start here and work your way to the tail.” Bakugo's arm brushes over hers as he leaned towards her, pointing to the back of the fish’s head to its tail. He turns to her, “Got that?”

“Yeah” She mutters, ignoring the slight contact of skin. Ochako does as she’s told, working her way to the tail. She takes her first bite of fish and her eyes widen twice her size, “This tastes amazing.” She takes another bite before turning to him, “How did you do that?”

She knew he could cook, but she didn’t know he was this good at it. She scarfs down another couple bites of his cooking, her taste buds bursting with joy and delight.

“Why the hell do you look so surprised?” Bakugo’s face scrunches up in confusion, “It’s basic ass seasoning.”

Ochako can’t help but close her eyes and smile as she savors every single bite with gusto, “Weirdo.” Bakugo mutters with a bewildered expression on his face.

She starts to debone the rest of her fish under Bakugo’s guidance when she hears another strained squeal from behind them, this one being louder than the last. She turns to see that the couches were now occupied by Kaminari, Mina, Kirishima, and Sero, watching them as if they were a newly opened attraction at the zoo. Kirishima slaps his hand to his mouth as four of them whip their heads back towards the TV.

She feels Bakugo bump her shoulder, “Focus.” He snaps impatiently, “You’ll end up choking on a fucking bone if you don’t do this properly.”

Both of them eventually finish their breakfast, with Ochako making a conscious effort not to get distracted by their peeking audience. Bakugo collects his empty plates, standing up from his seat, red eyes landing on hers.

“What’s the derivative of tangent.”

Ochako sighs, “Secant squared.” I almost forgot about that one.

---

“You two have gotten really close, Ochako, ribbit .” Asui observes, sitting beside Ochako’s desk, Hagakure in tow. She didn’t notice her approaching since she was preoccupied with a practice question on her textbook. Yes, I study during free periods in between classes, sue me.

“Who?” She asks.

“Bakugo.”

“Oh no, not really.” She replies dismissively, “We don’t really do much other than argue and study.” She chuckles nervously. She wasn’t lying, the only reason why they seemed so close was the fact that they were studying together, no more, no less.

“He literally ate breakfast with you!” Hagakure squeals, her uniform bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Come on, Hagakure that doesn’t mean anything.” She looks away, her hand scratching the back of her neck.

“It does when it’s Bakugo!” Hagakure insists.

“She’s right,” Asui agreed, “Bakugo usually sits alone during breakfast ribbit.”

Ochako shakes her head in response. It was just breakfast, there was no subliminal message between two people eating together, plus Bakugo probably just sat next to her so he could do his little quizzing plan with ease.

“You should see the way he looks at you all the time!” Hagakure adds, her skirt vigorously swishing from side to side.

“With annoyance and distaste?” Ochako quips. She couldn’t exactly recall a time when Bakugo had looked at her fondly or even longingly, so it's puzzling for her to be hearing such claims from her friend.

Before Ochako could add to her argument, she’s startled by a voice that booms from the back of her seat, “Oi.”

She whips her head to face the frowning blond behind her, “You have got to stop sneaking up on me like that, Bakugo.” She exhales.

He squints his eyes at her, ignoring her remark, “The limit of one over x.”

Ochako narrows her eyes right back at him. This was the eighth time, probably more, that he had come up to her unannounced to randomly quiz her. He wasn’t even asking questions at this point, it was just an unfinished statement waiting for her to fill in the missing blank, “X is approaching what?” She asks.

“Zero.” He continues to stare her down, as if to pressure her into spitting out the wrong answer.

She lifts her chin, immune to his intimidation tactics, “The limit doesn’t exist.”

Bakugo nods and wordlessly heads back to his seat. Ochako only then notices the dumbfounded looks on their classmates’ faces.

“Is this a new kind of flirting I haven’t heard about?” Kaminari asks, eyes shifting back and forth from her to Bakugo.

“I don’t know, looks pretty hot to me.” Mineta shrugs, leaning against Kaminari’s desk.

“You’d think a lamp post was hot if we put a skirt on it.” Kirishima retorts, giving Mineta a genuinely concerned look.

The purple-haired student crosses his arms in mock offense, “Oh shut up, I have taste.”

Boisterous laughter erupts from Mina and Jirou, both girls’ arms grabbing at their sides as Jirou almost falls from her seat, “He says he has taste!”

Thankfully, the spotlight shifts to Mineta, away from her and Bakugo, as he continues to defend himself. She glances at his direction to see that his eyes were already trained on her, an unreadable expression hanging on his face. Ochako quickly turns away to face her friends once more, sputtering a new topic for them to talk about. Despite this, Hagakure’s words still echoed from the back of her mind.

Ochako had definitely seen the way he looked at her.

---

The resounding ring of the lunch bell marks the end of fourth period. Ochako put away her books and started to make her way out of the classroom when Midnight suddenly calls her to the teacher’s desk.

“Yes, Ms. Midnight?”

“Uraraka-san, would you please be a dear and bring these papers to Aizawa,” she gestures to the stack of paperwork bundled in her arms, “I have to rush over to a meeting with Principal Nezu in five.”

“Of course!” Ochako takes the papers off her hands without hesitation, a bright smile stretching over her face, “I’ll bring it to him right away.”

“Thank you so much, dear.” Midnight purrs. Ochako gives her teacher another warm smile before heading outside, “Fabulous job on your essay by the way!” She calls out from the classroom.

Ochako looks back at the grinning brunette, “Don’t tell anyone, but I gave you an A plus!” She adds, bringing a manicured finger to her lips as she winked at her.

She chuckles at this, Midnight had said that quite loudly for someone who meant for it to be a secret, “Thanks, Ms. Midnight.”

Ochako rushes to the hallway to catch up to her friends. She nudges Iida with her shoulder since both of her hands were occupied as of the moment, “Uraraka! There you are!”

“You guys can go ahead without me,” she gestures to the bundle of paperwork she was carrying, “I’ll be at the teacher’s lounge for a bit.”

“Sure, we’ll be waiting.” Deku says, offering her a small smile.

She musters an awkward, tight-lipped smile before heading towards the other direction. Ochako had only gotten a few steps in before feeling a tap on her shoulder. She turns to see Bakugo, fierce, red eyes zeroing in on her once again.

Ochako was somewhat glad to know that he had learned to not sneak up on her anymore.

“Cosine of pi.” He says flatly.

Her lips curl into a smirk, “Negative one.”

“You guys are the weirdest couple ever.” Kaminari announces as the rest of Bakugo’s friends caught up with him and as if on cue, both him and Ochako objected.

“We’re not a couple.”

“Aw, they’re so in sync!” Kirishima gushes, “You sure you didn’t rehearse that beforehand?”

Bakugo sends a spine-tingling glare to the redhead’s direction, “Kidding, kidding.” He says, laughing nervously.

Ochako turns to Bakugo, “Got anything else you want to ask?” She urges. He might have another question ready to throw at her for all she knows.

“Yeah, what the hell is that? ” He barks, gesturing to the stack of papers in her arms.

“Let me rephrase,” She began, “Got anything else you want to ask nicely?”

Bakugo rolls his eyes, “What’s that?” He asks through grit teeth. All three boys behind him bring their hands to their mouths to stop themselves from laughing, “Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo hisses at them.

“Some papers for Mr. Aizawa,” She smiles, satisfied with the change in his tone, “and speaking of, I gotta go.”

She turns to Bakugo, “If you have any more questions, you know where to find me.”

Ochako quickly waves them goodbye as she briskly walked towards the faculty room’s direction. It wasn’t a long way from where their classroom was located, but the journey felt like forever because of the weight on her arms. This was a heavy stack of papers.

She finally reaches her destination when she feels another tap on her shoulder. Ochako half expected to see Bakugo’s frowning face again, but she turned to see a tall, lanky boy with a seemingly crooked nose smiling at her, “Uraraka, right?” He asks.

Her eyes shift to the shorter, pudgier boy beside him, then back to the lankier one, trying to recall if she knew them, “Yes?”

“It really is you!” The shorter one beams at her.

Ochako smiles nervously, “Can I help you?” Her eyes were still shifting back and forth between the two boys, her mind trying to figure out why they looked so familiar. Had she seen them before at the sport’s festival? Or maybe walked past them in the cafeteria one time?

“This is Shintani,” The tall one gestured to his friend, “And I’m Kai.” He turns to her, still smiling, but something about the glint in his eyes tells her that he had something else up his sleeve.

“You’re in Class 2A, right?” Kai continues, “With Katsuki Bakugo.”

Bakugo? She thought to herself. Why bring him up all of a sudden?

“Yeah, I am.” She replies cautiously, the first signs of suspicion snaking its way to her gut. Ochako still couldn’t put her finger on where she had seen them before, but now with the sudden mention of Bakugo, she had all the more reason to stay on alert.

“Must be tough being classmates with someone like that, huh?” Shintani says sympathetically, like he felt the need to console her as if she had been dealt the worst hand of cards in a game.

“What are you talking about?” She asks quizzically.

“Oh, come on,” Shintani sniggers as if she had told him an inside joke, “You know how that animal gets.”

Kai nods in agreement, “A borderline savage, if you ask me.”

“But nobody asked you.” Ochako retorts, blinking back her shock afterwards. She hadn’t meant to say that, but a couple of strangers badmouthing Bakugo was getting on her nerves.

He turns to her, the kind smile on his face slips into a smug, lopsided grin, his facade instantly crumbling to partly show her what his true colors really were, “See this?” He asks, pointing to his nose, “That bastard did this to me.”

Ochako’s steps back, eyes widening in realization. The students from Class 2C. That’s why they looked so familiar. They were the ones she saw in that fight with Bakugo.

“I don’t even know why this school still lets him stay in the hero course.” Shintani adds.

Kai laughs before turning to her once again, “He only gives the rest of us a bad image, don’t you think so?”

Ochako’s grip on the stack of papers tighten as she takes a step towards them, “If both of you think that I’m going to join in some petty rant about Bakugo, then you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

She attempts to walk past them, but Kai steps aside to block her path, “You were matched up with him during last year’s sports festival, weren’t you, Ochako?”

“He was truly out of line treating you like some ragdoll he can throw around so easily.” Shintani adds.

Ochako’s face twists in annoyance, “First of all,” she begins, turning to Kai, “Do not call me by my first name.”

“Second,” She turns to Shintani, “He was fighting me seriously. That’s what you do in a competition.”

“And a piece of advice,” She steps closer to Kai, shoving a finger onto his chest. She didn’t know where she had gotten the strength to be able to carry the weight of Ms. Midnight’s paperwork with one hand, but it was there. “Don’t talk about someone like that when you don’t know the first thing about them.”

“And you do?” Kai challenges.

“I may not know Bakugo from head to toe, but I have enough decency in me to not walk up to random strangers to badmouth somebody I don’t know.” She bites back venomously before turning the other direction.

Before she could get any farther, Kai grabs her arm, his ironclad grip almost making her wince in pain, “Hey!” She protests.

“Come on, just hear us out--”

In a blink of an eye, Ochako is suddenly pulled away from his grasp. A tall, looming figure stood in between them, shielding her from both students.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.” Bakugo growls.

Ochako stares at him, wide-eyed. Bakugo’s back was to her, his shoulders rising and falling along the furious rhythm in each of his breaths.

Kai and Shintani fall back, fear and surprise flashing in both students’ eyes. Despite this, Kai nervously grins and takes a brave step forward, “Speak of the devil!”

“Shut the fuck up and piss off while you can still walk.” Bakugo snarls, his voice seething with malice.

Shintani follows in his friends footsteps and also steps towards Bakugo, “You’re all bark and no bite.”

“Walk away or I break your nose next .” He threatens. Ochako places her hand on Bakugo’s shoulder, her grip firm, “Bakugo, let’s just go.”

Bakugo doesn’t move, his body still rigid with rage, “You heard your girlfriend!” Shintani calls out.

“Unless you want to hit me again, I’ll show her what a real man looks like!” Kai taunts, making sure to look behind Bakugo to give Ochako a suggestive grin.

She feels him tense up even more under her palms as he begins to pace towards them. Ochako takes his hand and for the first time, Bakugo looks back at her, his expression livid, “They’re not worth it.” She warned, adding weight to every word she spoke.

Ochako holds his gaze as she gives his hand a gentle squeeze and for a moment, the anger in his eyes subside.

Kai takes another step forward, ready to hurl another insult at him when the door to the faculty’s office opens, “What seems to be the problem here?” Aizawa asks, hooded eyes flickering between Bakugo and the two students from 2C.

A bright smile works its way back to Kai’s face, “Nothing at all, Mr. Aizawa!” He beams, “We were just about to leave!”

Kai paced towards Bakugo, pausing so that he was directly beside him. “One of these days, when you least expect it, you’ll get what’s coming to you, Katsuki.” He says, barely above a whisper, but loud enough so that only Bakugo and her could hear it. Cold eyes still aimed forward, Kai walked away, Shintani in tow.

Aizawa turns to Ochako, his tired eyes dropping to Midnight’s paperwork, “Those must be from Midnight, bring them over here.” He instructs, walking back inside the office.

She feels Bakugo let go of her hand as he walked away, not even giving her the chance to talk to him. Ochako’s hand fold inwards as she stood there with a million questions swarming in her head.

“Uraraka.” Aizawa calls out from inside.

“Coming!”

33 notes · View notes

sun-daddy-yoriichi · 4 years

Note

Can I ask for number 14. "Did it ever occur to you that you're hurting me, too!?" For Tanjiro? I love you writing! Ready for some angst! Rip my heart out!

Alright, alright! One order of Tanjirou angst, coming right up! Hope you like it, lovie♡

▬▬▬

Warning(s): Angst, spoilers (hope ya'll brought tissues), this lowkey makes no sense

Tanjirou Kamado x Reader : "Did it ever occur to you that you're hurting me too?!" [Angst Prompts #14]

Tanjirou was floating, through a hapless, black abyss. Not a sound, nor a sight, or even the slightest smell. Even with his eyes open, Tanjirou fell through the darkness infinitely, as if floating through a black ocean. It was calming, almost. It lulled him in and out of sleep, never changing, never faulting. The calm masked the helplessness that he felt, having no means to find his blade when nothing but darkness filled his vision.

And then, all at once, the serenity came crashing down around him. And Tanjirou fell with it, the abyss slowly fading to white as he tumbled increasingly downward.

He stopped, falling headfirst onto an invisible sort of platform. While the fall must have been hundreds of feet, he didn’t feel anything more than mild discomfort.

While the black abyss had been calming - comforting, even, the white expanse of nothing provided nothing but a foreboding feeling to Tanjirou, the hairs at the back of his neck pricking as he slowly regained consciousness, having hardly felt the fall beforehand. A dull, distant thump was heard, and Tanjirou chalked it up to his blade completing the fall from the sudden gravity. He didn’t know where he was, if he was anywhere at all.

Slowly, he sat up, not quite knowing what to do now that he was weighed down, weaponless, and alone. A soft ringing permeated his ears, and he found it annoying. Where was he, anyways? He had never seen a place quite so empty and strange. Not in his lifetime.

Perhaps, this was limbo. The world between life, and death. How long would he be stuck here, if there was any time limit at all. Oh, he hoped that it wouldn’t be forever. An eternity in a place like this would surely spell chaotic boredom for the redhead.

Vaguely, Tanjirou remembered that there was something he had to do. Something rather important, despite his apparent forgetfulness. However, it couldn’t have been that important if he had forgotten it, right? There was logic to that, he was sure.

It wasn’t until something heavy hit him on the back of the head that Tanjirou actually began to think again, surprised at how long his brain had stopped comprehending. Even while he had been awake, he hadn’t truly gauged just where he was until that very moment.

And something had hit him in the back of his head...?

“Just why are you here?!”

Tanjirou jumped at the sudden voice, almost terrified to turn around. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. Two years, at least, since he had last heard that voice. And to hear it once again, when he had forgotten that he missed it so dearly, was anguish.

“(Y/n)...”

“You know what this place is! You can’t be here!” The girl stormed to stand in front of him, his Nichirin sword clutched in one hand. Everything about her was the same as how he had last seen her, from her kimono, down to the tiny freckles that dotted her knuckles. Still, he couldn’t get the sight of her blood-addled form out of his brain, even as he gazed upon her once again.

“Am I dead?” Tanjirou asked, rather foolishly. He was clocked in the head once again by the scabbard of his blade, the young girl growing more and more irritated by the second.

“Of course you aren’t!” she shouted, voice echoing through the nothingness, “But if you don’t wake up, you will be! And you cannot die yet, you hear me?!”

“Why?” Tanjirou muttered, staring up at her form in question, “I want to go with you, (Y/n). Can we go to heaven together?” He dodged another swing from the girl, who seemed to grow increasingly tired of this attitude of his.

"You can't go because that means you die, idiot. You have a job to do, y'know. Finish it."

Tanjirou remembered the job that was to be done. How could he forget it, after all he had done to put an end to Muzan? But the demon king had died, had he not? Tanjirou had put an end to him as soon as the sun rose. But, then again, why did it feel like he still hadn’t died?

He was apart of Tanjirou now, wasn’t he?

(Y/n) whacked him with his sword scabbard again.

“I know that face,” she said, her hands on her hips as she stood above him, “and I’m not going to let you hurt yourself just because you think it’s the right thing to do. Trust in the people you love. Nezuko, and your friends. I’m sure they will find a way to fix this mess.”

Rather than meet her gaze, Tanjirou lowered his eyes to his hands, scowling. “I’ve hurt them enough,” he told her quietly, voice thick with remorse, “I should already be dead. You know that.”

He was sure that the girl was going to whack him again, discipline him for not agreeing with her, as that’s how she always was. Stubborn. Tough and confident. She was quite like Inosuke in that regard, though Tanjirou was sure that they would not have gotten along if they had ever met.

If they had ever met...

Which was why he was quite surprised when she dropped the sword in front of him, falling to her knees. The familiar wisteria kanzashi was still placed perfectly in her hair, and Tanjirou felt as if he was floating once again.

As always, she did not cry. Rather, she frowned at him even more, crossing her arms despite her evident sadness.

“You hurt people. I know that. I understand. But that is no reason to die now. You’ll go to Hell if you die now, and the Tanjirou I know would never go there.”

“You don’t know me anymore-“

“Bullshit!” Tanjirou was surprised at her outburst, jumping as she nearly punched his lights out, “You say such horrible things and hurt yourself with your own words! Did it ever occur to you that you’re hurting me, too?!”

Stunned into silence, Tanjirou watched as she picked up his blade and stood, thrusting it into his chest forcefully. He wasn’t sure when he stood up, but he was soon on his feet, facing her head-on. The girl he fell in love with was the same as ever, but he had never seen her like this. So angry and desperate.

“You will survive, Tanjirou Kamado. I’ll make sure of it.”

(Y/n) grabbed him by his haori, dragging him with her forcefully. It wasn’t until the invisible ground underneath them began to slant that Tanjirou realised; she was going to throw him over the edge.

“Wait, (Y/n), stop! I don’t want to leave just yet! I want to stay here with you!” The girl did not stop, however, using the slope to her advantage. Even if he wanted to fight out of her grip, Tanjirou found himself unable to, weak to her touch, as foreign as the day he had met her.

He missed her. She had died a long time ago, but he missed her.

“I don’t care what you want,” the girl told him, turning to face him once again, “I’m dead and you’re not. Therefore, you’ll live until you can’t anymore. And then, when you die, I’ll be there for you.”

She smiled. Tanjirou felt his heart cave at such a smile, wishing with everything he had that he could hold her one last time. That she would let him stay for even a few more minutes, to truly say goodbye to her.

“I love you,” he cried, spilling tears that only she would see.

“I love you,” she croaked, eyes glassy and sad, unable to restrain the emotion she felt.

With one last shove, Tanjirou found himself falling once again.

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny headcanons #demon slayer #demon slayer imagines #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kny imagines #kny oneshots #demon slayer headcanons #tanjirou kamado #tanjirou kamado x reader #kamado tanjirou #angst #death #spoilers #this lowkey makes no sense but i stopped caring halfway through

110 notes · View notes

threadofdestiny · 4 years

Text

The opportunities we may take

(The Picture was a comission I odered from a friend. Check her out -> Fantasiamind_art)

SinbadxOC

Soulmate AU

Part 11

Praise our glorious king

---Sindria's castle---

The first thing that came to her mind when Salome woke up the next morning, was that she hadn't slept as deeply the past few days as she had the previous night. She couldn't remember when she got so tired that she actually fell asleep yesterday, but she had been able to sleep until after the sun raised over the horizon. Accordingly, she felt far more relaxed today, than all the previous days combined. She would probably have slept some more if she hadn't heard the dull voices of people discussing something she couldn`t comprehend through her door. This made her slowly regain consciousness, but not enough for her to start to worry about the sounds outside her room.

With a sigh she snuggled deeper into her blanket, breathing in the smell of sea salt and oriental spices, still not ready to wake up completely. The smell lulled her in so perfectly, like it was made for her to get relaxed in an instant, when she was surrounded by it. Thinking nothing of it, she slowly drifted back to sleep after she managed to block out the sounds outside her room. However, this relaxation did not last long because Salome's eyes opened in surprise, when she felt a muscular arm suddenly wrap around her slim waist, before her body was pulled against a hard, well-toned chest afterwards. Startled she looked into the mans sleeping face, realizing that it was the king of sindria that snuggled her against his body. He was lying on her own pillow, a few centimeters away from her. She gasped in surprise when she realized that it was his smell that had lulled her in. Blushing, she glanced over his relaxed features, completely perplexed that the King of Sindria was lying next to her in her new bed. If her heart hadn't started beating wildly beforehand, it would certainly have done so at this point at it's latest. Long forgotten was the tiredness that had been in Salome's limbs until a few moments ago, now pondering over various thoughts which flooded her mind. Why was Sinbad lying next to her? Hadn't he planned to go back to his own room? Had she fallen asleep before he had left the room? Why couldn't she remember? At some point in the night Sinbad must have slipped under her covers because his legs were entwined with hers, keeping her from being able to move away from him. But if she was being honest, she wasn't sure if she wanted to move away from him either way. His closeness made her feel incredibly secure, but at the same time also at least as nervous, because she had never been in such an intimate embrace with another person, who wasn´t a family member. In the end it strangely felt like she belonged there in the security of his arms. Was it because of the bond they shared? Just how strong was it actually?

When Sinbad ran his hand over her spine, her breath caught again. Her body reacted with an incredibly strong shiver that ran down her back, while it also ensured that the fine hairs on her skin rose up all over her frame at the same time. Swallowing, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to calm her heartbeat. Footsteps and soft cursing could be heard outside her room, but the farther the people went away from it, the quieter their voices got. Salome was to distracted to notice what was happening outside of her chambers. She watched him carefully when she felt Sinbad start to stir next to her. Alarmed and with heated cheeks, she observed him how he slowly opened his eyes, before his pupils turned to the young woman, a little disoriented. They watched each other in silence for a few moments, until she suddenly felt his hand dig into the fabric of her nightgown, grasping her firmly for a moment. Shuddering again, Salome winced and sat up abruptly, slowly pushing the man's hand off of her torso. "What are you doing here, Sinbad?" Asked the young woman, while she nervously pulled the blanket up over her chest. When she discovered that Sinbad's torso was naked, by stealing her blanked from him, she blushed even more. Sinbad cleared his throat as he ran his hand through his messy hair and looked apologetically at the dark-haired woman. "I must have fallen asleep. My appologies!" He replied, yawning, before giving her a careful smile. For some reason, a satisfied expression spread across his features after he looked at the young woman for a moment. Salome, however, was too bewildered by the fact that the man next to her was mostly bare, asking herself how he undressed himself, if he had fallen asleep by acident. But before she could ask him, he took the opportunity to speek up: “I'm glad that you look much more rested this morning. I have to admit that I helped a little...”, the King of Sindria admitted and guiltily stroking the ring on his right hand. Forgetting her previous train of thought, the young woman's gaze wandered to Zepar's vessel when she realized why she had suddenly become so tired yesterday. Sinbad had told her what his Djinns could do on the ship a few days ago, but she hadn't expected Zepar to be that powerful. She hadn't even noticed that the man had used his sound djinn on her.

Salome observed how the Rukh fluttering around Zepar's ring, chirping happily, while she pondered over her revelation about the subject. After a short moment the young woman began to nod slowly. "I see ..." she murmured as she raised her eyes again, to give the man a questioning look: "But why?" "I saw that you have hardly slept in the past few days and wanted to help out. Are you angry with me?” Sinbad asked carefully, while watching her closely. Salome was silent for a moment, thinking about his question, before she slowly shook her head: "No ... I don't think so. After all, you meant well...", she started to answer, but paused briefly when she heard Sinbad exhale quietly before she continued:"But, I would be glad if you didn't do things like that without my consent!“, she added in a calm but firm voice.

Sinbad nodded in acceptance before he sank back into the pillow and smiled mischievously at her. "I haven't slept so well in a long time! There is nothing better than waking up next to a pretty lady.”, He cheekily tried to change the subject, whereupon Salome had to laugh, shaking her head at his antics. With a smile she pulled her legs up to her body before wrapping her arms around her knees. With a sigh, she put her head on her arms and looked down at the man next to her. "Now at least I have a clue why Yamraiha had warned me about you. You don't even have the decency to stay fully clothed, let alone leave my bed when I fell asleep.” The young girl chided before swinging her blanket over his head to cover him jokingly, while she tried to hide her blush. "How am I supposed to think that you fell asleep by accident, if you had the time to undress yourself?" Continued Salome while she watched with a smile as the man pulled the blanket from his head, to look up at her with a pouting expression, "It wasn't like that. I really do fell asleep by accident. I have a habit of undressing myself in my sleep. I'm doing it subconsciously, I swear!” Sinbad explained as he sat up again, letting the blanked pool over his lap. She was aware that her cheeks were still red due to his nakedness, but she tried not to show how impressed she was by it. Salome raised her eyebrows doubtfully, but couldn't help smiling when she saw that he was trying to convince her of his statements with a puppy-eyed look.

Outside her room, the swearing and hurried steps became louder again, this time managing to alert Salome and Sinbad. Now that Salome had heard the noises in her full consciousness, she recognized the voice of the king's consultant, who seemed to be looking for the king himself. Immediately Salome glanced at Sinbad, who was already began to climb out of her bed, cursing silently and hurrying to gather his things together. Salome also got up to help him when it knocked against her door. "Miss Salome? Are you already awake?” Came Ja'far's dulled voice through the wood.

"Y-yes. O-one moment, please!“, she answered hastily while she pressed Sinbad's turban and his necklaces in his arms, before she led him towards the balcony. Just before he let himself be pushed out of her room, Sinbad turned around to whisper softly to the young woman: "May I come back tonight?" Surprised, Salome paused briefly and looked up at the young king in disbelief . "You want to come back to me tonight? You do know that's not very respectable, do you?" Salome asked in a low voice, shaking her head, before speaking again after glancing at her door in panic:" But this is really not the right time to discuss something like that!", she added and began to push him out of her room again.

Sinbad stepped outside and took a careful look over the balcony to make sure no one could see them from their position before turning back to Salome:"Actually, I don't really care. I want to spend more time alone with you!”, He replied quietly, grabbing her arm to keep her from turning away.

"Please?" he added in a low whisper. Salome looked up at the purple-haired man, not knowing how to react. Should she let him? She had allowed it last night, but should she allow him to do so again? What if people noticed and interpreted something wrong? But is there something to interpret in their behavior at all? What should she interpret in his request?

"Miss Salome, is everything alright? I am sorry to disturb you, but it's quite urgent!” Echoed Ja'far's voice from the hallway as he knocked again. Flinching, she looked over her shoulder in panic. Her heart was pounding wildly against her chest as she hastily searched for her voice to answer.

"Just another moment, please!" She called hurriedly as she looked up at Sinbad again and bit her lip nervously. Sinbad looked at her and waited to see if she agreed or not. Not bothering that his consultant urged to open the door to her room. Nodding hesitantly, she chewed on her lower lip before pulling her wrist out of his loosening hand.

"All right, you can come back tonight. But you should really go now!”, She whispered before turning around and closing the balcony doors behind her without another word. She hurried to the door to open it a crack. Out of breath and with flushed cheeks, she greeted a rather stressed Ja'far. His pale skin was also flushed, but not out of shame, but from walking around in a haste. Clearing his throat, Ja'far studied the young woman's appearance discreetly without appearing suggestive. There was something disparaging in his gaze, as if he knew very well that she had something to hide. However, he tried to hide it with an apologetic smile when, shortly afterwards, he started to say a gentle greeting: “My apologies, Miss Salome. I hope I have not woken you up, but I have to ask you whether you have heard of his Majesty this morning because he is not to be found at the moment."

Swallowing, Salome considered how best to answer him without embarrassing herself. Not that she was fundamentally uncomfortable that Sinbad had been in her room a short time ago, but he was the king and was known for being a womanizer. She didn't want people in this castle to get the wrong impression of her. But should she really be lying about it? Did she have to be ashamed that Sinbad had been with her? They didn't do something indecent after all. Pondering over the subject, she peered over Ja'far's shoulder to see if there was anyone else nearby, but she could only see a few guards a little further away who were patrolling the hallways. "I'm sorry. He's not here, sir!”, she dodged cautiously, hoping to get away by dancing around the subject without having to lie. Ja'far frowned for a moment as he adjusted his keffiyeh. At the very moment when the advisor wanted to start a new question, Sinbad appeared at the end of the corridor and greeted his friend from afar, as if he hadn't slipped out of her room before.

"Ahh, good morning Ja'far. I was wondering if you were already looking for me!“, The king greeted his friend calmly as he ran his hand through his purple hair. Turning away from Salome, the king's adviser looked up at Sinbad with flashing eyes as he accused him with a finger: "Where have you been?" “Oh, I've done a little exercise and now I wanted to freshen up for the day.”, Sinbad lied without blinking an eye and topped it all off by greeting Salome with a curt nod, as if he wanted to wish her a good morning. The young woman almost started to laugh, becouse the situation seemed so absurd to her, but she caught herself quickly enough and cleared her throat for a moment before speaking up:“Well ... well, I would go back into my room to freshen up, if I am no longer needed.” Immediately, Ja'far's aggressive stance changed as he turned to her and bowed slightly.

"Of course, Miss Salome. Please excuse the disturbance!“, the ash-blonde man apologized before nodding one last time to say goodbye. Glad to have gotten off lightly, Salome closed the door before turning around with a sigh, leaning her weight against the sturdy wood for a few seconds.

After that, a small smile stole on her lips until she finally started to laugh softly. This place was bursting with vitality. It was really hard not to be comfortable in Sindria. Inspired by this thought, Salome went deeper into her rooms until she came to a stop in front of her bed with the aim of turning to the chest that stowed her clothes. Smiling as she opened the chest to pull out one of her robes, she wondered how to spend the day. Maybe she should ask Malik if he would like to explore the city with her?

When Salome thoughtfully closed the lid, she caught sight of something golden that flashed between her blankets. Curiously, she dropped her thoughts for a moment while the young woman came closer to the sheets in surprise to pull out a golden sword, which turned out to be Baal's vessel. She immediately remembered how Sinbad had put the sword between them and apparently accidentally left it there. With a smile, she stroked the symbol of the eight-pointed star that shone on the sword scabbard as she approached the window of her balcony doors to take a look outside.

For a moment she watched the people outside the castle walls decorating the streets with various garlands, indicating that the maharajan was near.

"Hmm, maybe I get the opportunity to bring you back to your king, baal!"

It seemed that Sinbad and Salome had slept through the regular time for breakfast, so it was no wonder that Ja'far had searched in an angry haze for his king. After all, a king certainly had a lot of tasks to do. Salome, who had no urgent tasks yet, had made her way to the dining room, hoping to get something to eat without having to make more work for the staff. On the way there she had met Masrur, who had led her to the kitchen, after she told him about her plans, where he went to steal a few little snacks, before sitting down with her in one of the gardens.

It was pleasant to be in Masrur's presence. The younger teenager had a very calm personality, He may did not speak much, but was incredibly friendly and helpful. It was easy to sit next to him and to enjoy the silence. Despite this, Salome had used the time together to learn from him what Sinbad's and his general's daily routine would look like today, before taking a few hours to work on her Djinn control. There she had learned that the king and his generals would be courting in the afternoon to hear the concerns of Sindria's residents. She had spent some time thinking about whether to take Sinbad's sword to the throne room in between or later, but no matter how she turned the thoughts in her head, it seemed too sensational or inappropriate. But since hearing about the upcoming event, the Rukh seemed to be convinced that she should also be there. So she decided to ask Masrur if the court would be a public event and if she could actually attend to it. So it happened that a few hours later she actually found herself in the throne room, where she had settled on the edge of the room next to an open balcony door, on a chaise lounge, to watch the king and his generals work from background. Malik had accompanied her in silence and sat down next to her with a book in his hands. His appearance had caused quite a stir among the residents of Sindria when they entered the hall, but Malik seemed to put it off with his calm manner while skilfully ignoring the looks and whispers.

Her brother's head was lowered toward his reading material most of the time, while his eyes were still covered by his mask. Only in more interesting cases did he temporarily raise his head, indicating that he was following the conversation for the moment. Salome, however, sometimes found it difficult to follow the discussions of the generals, since the Rukh repeatedly responded to the requests and questions of the people and shared their knowledge with the young woman. Rubbing her temples, Salome watched her brother raise his head again when two traders emerged from the crowd.

One accused the other of having spoiled his wine to destroy his business. His counterpart denied this and tried to explain that the accuser wanted to harm him, but the latter put one piece of evidence after the other and thus invalidated the statements made by the accused merchant.

Frowning, Salome listened to the rukh, her eyes on the two men before she turned to her brother, shaking her head in denial. "The accuser is lying!" She whispered in shock as she clenched her fingers in dismay in her lap. Malik turned to his sister in surprise before buzzing thoughtfully.

"Hmmm, then you should inform the king.", he replied calmly before turning back to the arguing traders. Pondering how best to share this information with Sinbad without causing a sensation, she looked at the King of Sindria with a thoughtful expression. She heard the other trader vehemently deny that he had done anything, but unfortunately all the evidence seemed to speak against him, which is why the generals began to think about the punishments he would face for his crimes. Sinbad sat leaning against his throne the whole time, thoughtfully rubbing his chin, while keeping his silence. Panic spread through Salome, at the thought that the man would be wrongly accused, which is why she eventually threw away any discomfort to cause a stir, and stood up abruptly to quickly reach the pedestal on which the king and his generals lingered. Surprised, Sinbad looked to the side when he noticed in his peripheral corner that someone was hurrying towards the rows of seats of the Sindrian leadership. A low murmur broke out in the crowd as the young woman fell into a deep curtsey before the first step of the pedestal, while respectfully lowering her head for a brief moment. Perplexed, the generals began to remain silent as they watched Sinbad look down at the young woman, who slowly raised her eyes again, silently asking for allowance to come closer. Blushing, Salome felt the soft murmur spread in the hall and now all eyes seemed to lay upon her. The two traders also stared at her in shock, but she tried to ignore all of this to concentrate only on the king, who reached out for her and indicated that she was allowed to approach him. To late to turn back now, the young woman immediately got up and climbed the stairs just to lower herself on the floor next to his throne, before she locked her gaze with the king.

"I am sorry!" She whispered quietly as he leaned over and shook his head smiling to indicate that she didn't have to apologize.

"What can I do for you, my dear?" He asked casually, as if they weren't surrounded by innumerable prying eyes at this moment.

"The trader who accuses the other is lying...", she whispered so quietly that only he and maybe Ja'far and Masrur, who were both sitting next to the king, could have heard her voice. Realization flashed in Sinbad's eyes as a mischievous grin crept onto his lips as he leaned closer to Salome. "Did the rukh told to you that?", he asked surprisingly satisfied, as if he had already known. Salome nodded cautiously as she watched Sinbad cast a triumphant look at Ja'far, who then nodded, before turning to Yamraiha to whisper something in her ear. Sinbad, as casual as before, leaned back in his throne, grabbing the young woman's hand to stop her from going away, while he turned his attention gravely back to the two traders. Salome discreetly tried to pull her hand out of his grasp, which Sinbad prevented without blinking, so she had no choice but to kneel next to him for the time being.

What was he doing? Why didn't he let her go? Confused and at the same time incredibly embarrassed, she looked up at Sinbad questioningly, but he didn't pay attention to her.

The two gentlemen bowed immediately, when they noticed that their king's attention was on them again.

"Well, you, Mr. Yasir, accuse Mr. Fahad of destroying a large part of your wine supply a few days ago by putting some of his herbs in the wine barrels, making them inedible?"

"Yes, your majesty!", The merchant named Yasir lied quite credibly, lifting up a cloth with the local herbs to reaffirm his statement. Fahad, the herb-trader shook his head desperately, when Sinbad suddenly turned to Yamraiha, who stood up eagerly and cleared her throat: “Now the evidence clearly speaks against Mr. Fahad. Everything that Mr. Yasir had said had refuted your statements...“, the young magician began, halting in front of the steps that lead from the pedestal. The poor herb-trader looked to the side, in a lost manner, before Yamraiha started to continue her speech:“Nevertheless, we would like to play it safe and would perform a ritual that can show us exactly what had happened. It can be used to identify whether or not you are actually the culprit.”

"WHAT? Why this all of a sudden? He has already been found guilty! Everything is already completely plausible?!”, snapped the wine merchant, while the herb-trader suddenly began to look more hopeful.

"To perform the ritual, I only need a small amount of blood from both of you. A cut in the finger is all it takes.", she explained way to motivated, while she walked towards Fahad, who was already willing to come to give her the sample, while he murmured in relief:"Of course, Lady Yamraiha!"

"I refuse to allow myself to be part of such magic tricks. The evidence has been completely clear. This is not necessary!”, complained the angry wine-merchant with a reddening head, while he impulsively throwing his hands in the air. Suddenly it seemed as if sweat was forming on the man's forehead, when Sinbad addressed him with a serious look:“Well, what is needed is up to me and not you. If you have nothing to hide, such a test shouldn't be a problem!"

The wine merchant hesitated, taking a step back as his gaze shifted wildly between the other trader, his king and Yamraiha, until his eyes finally landed on Salome, who was still kneeling on the ground next to Sinbad. Angrily, he pointed his finger at the young woman before he started cursing furiously: “This woman whispered this to you, right? How could she have known that? Nobody saw us doing it! WITCH!"

Flinching, Salome's eyes widened as she looked with a puzzled expression at the wine merchant. The man immediately fell silent when Sinbad rose dangerously slow from his throne, pulling Salome to her feet as well.

"This young lady didn't tell me anything I didn't know already, Mr. Yasir!" Sinbad said firmly. Surprised, Salomes head snapped in Sinbad's direction, completely shocked to hear these words from his mouth. The king, however, did not pay attention to Salome at that moment, while he waved to his guards casually. "Take this man away!" Sinbad said sturdily, before turning to the herb merchant: "You have been cleared! I will order men to determine what exactly lies behind this story.”

Overwhelmed by the turn of events, most of the community remained silent. Only a few whispered softly to their neighbor, not understanding how the tides could have turned so quickly.

The herb-trader nodded immediately after bowing several times to thank his king:“Thank you from the bottom of my heart, your majesty. Thank you very much!", The man repeated again and again before turning his gaze to Salome, thanking her too:"I would also like to thank you, as well. You too were convinced of my innocence, milady!“, he breathed.

Salome was about to tell him that it was not worth mentioning, when Sinbad spoke again, adressing the people who were present: “My loyal friends. Let me seize the moment and introduce you to the latest addition to our ranks!” Tense silence spread across the room as they waited for their king to continue speaking. An uneasy feeling spread through Salome when she noticed how the rukh started to flutter wildly around them. When she realized what Sinbad was up to, she turned to him, to shook her head with wide eyes. The rukh were telling her, what he was going to do and she wasn't sure if she was ready for what to come.

"No ..." she breathed, but Sinbad, who honored his title as the man who shaped destiny according to his needs, calmly ignored the young woman protests, as he laid his hands gently but firmly on her shoulders, to turn her body to his citizens. “Many people from Sindria originally come from the fallen island of Dalmasca. Some of you are probably standing here in front of us. We look back with sadness in our hearts at the tragedy that occurred seven years ago and commemorate the sacrifices that each of you had to make. But today I can proudly announce to you here and now that the holy Solomon has blessed us! The lady of the rukh has returned! Please greet her with me, Lady Salome!”

Speechlessly, she looked at the partly shocked, partly uncomprehending expressions in the crowd, before she turned her head over her shoulder to stare at the King of Sindria. Sinbad however, looked down upon his people with triumph in his eyes. A loud murmur broke out in the ranks of the people when suddenly an old lady came out and pointed at the young girl with a trembling hand: "I knew it. I recognized you immediately when you entered the room, but I didn't want to trust my old eyes. The prophetess has returned and is now standing with our chosen king!"

Salome's heart was racing, when she turned her head back to the crowd, looking at the old hag as she watched other people emerge from the crowd. Loud emotional murmurs and praises gradually filled the huge hall. "The lady of the rukh!" "Is she really the prophetess?" The people who didn't come from Dalmasca looked around in confusion and watched the spectacle that was taking place in front of them. Some of the ignorant asked former citizens of Dalmasca what was happening at the moment when suddenly some magicians working under the guidance of Yamraiha broke from the masses and fell on their knees in front of the platform. An older magician, who was in the middle of the group, pulled out a gold amulet with an eight-pointed star under the collar of his robe, while his younger companions imitated him.

"Praise our King Sinbad! He was most blessed by Solomon himself who sended his beloved prophetess back to this earth!" Exclaimed the oldest magician, who seems to be a former priest of Solomons temple, before his colleagues and the other former citizens of Dalmasca agreed:"Praise King Sinbad. Praise Solomon. Praise the Lady of the Rukh. Cheers to the glorious Sindria!" Speechless, Salome pressed her hands to her chest as she let her gaze wander over the numerous people when her gaze fell on Malik, who was just as shocked and speechless at the turn of events. A tremendous number of Rukh gathered around Sinbad and Salome as if Solomon himself wanted to celebrate with them, but Salome was too overwhelmed to think clearly. Did the Rukh know that this was going to happen? Looking for answers that the Rukh did not want to give her, she turned back to Sinbad, who smiled smugly at her. It was then that she remembered that he had announced that he knew the wine merchant had been lying. Had he actually known that she would try to help the other man? Did he realize that the rukh would tell her about the lie? Was he just waiting for the right moment to drop this revelation? A look in his satisfied, golden eyes, was all she needed to get the answer to her last questions. Yes, the reader of the waves had clearly expected this and deliberately took the opportunity to bind her and the former citizens of Dalmasca further to him. The only question she couldn't answer was: why did he saw to take such a step?

#Sinbad #sinbad magi #Adventures of Sinbad #magi #magi labyrinth of magic #magi kingdom of magic #SinbadxOC #not the artist of the Picture

14 notes · View notes

hansgruberimagines · 4 years

Note

What about Aberama Gold x reader where the reader is hurt and she doesn’t trust him and tries to fight him on it but he takes care of her anyway? So cool that you’re writing for him!!!

Hey! So this is an imagine set in S4, premise is that reader is the lost Gray daughter so cousin to the Shelbys. Like the rest, she's received a black hand from the Changrettas. Mistakenly thinking they wouldn't actually bother with a woman who's hardly been involved with the family since reader only unearthed her family records recently, she doesn't listen to Tommy's warnings and winds up getting shot in the arm by the Changrettas, more as a warning to Polly to play her part. (But Tommy doesn't want Pol to find out for fear it will mess up the plan.) (And reader doesn't want to cause stress for the mother she hardly knows.) (And Aberama comes to help - this is very much based on him fixing Finn's arm in S5. Anyway here we go x) (tw: violence, implied sexual assault)

"Tommy," she sobbed, hardly able to breathe as he picked her up. At her scream, handcuff tugging, he looked over his shoulder. The man with him had found the keys, passing them over, keeping an eye out.

"He - he - said -" She couldn't speak, drowning a scream of pain in his coat, still reeling from the shock.

"Later, Y/N. Any idea if they're still here?"

"No, it hurts - it hurts - please, Tommy."

She knew she was hardly making any sense, but her options were babble or scream. Tommy, ever the gentleman, passed her to the other man without so much as a word. He supported her weight, a hand around her waist, his other ready to fire at the sight of an Italian.

"Shelby, if they'd set this up as an ambush they would have killed her."

"I'm goin' to fuckin' kill them."

"Tommy, the hospital," she cried, "please."

"'Please', how much of a family relation is she?"

"Enough. Y/N, this is Aberama Gold. He's acquainted with Polly too. Now, if you could be quiet while I check -"

He looked out the door, checked it was clear, and motioned for them to follow. The building was quiet, tense with fear. She could hardly manage the stairs, swaying unsteadily, caught by Aberama. Tommy looked up, his dead eyes at last glinting with concern.

Aberama's grip tightened on her collar, again at her waist as they ran outside and ducked into the car.

"I don't want Polly to know about this, Tommy," she sobbed from the backseat. He ignored her, listening to Aberama as he leant forward to talk logistics. Murder this way and that, and something about a match, and something about the hospital...

Y/N's eyes fell on the gun Aberama had left at her side. She picked it up, thinking it would be easy, so easy, to end it all. She wouldn't have to bear Pol's judgement, or the knowledge she carried within her, that maybe, if only she had done something, anything differently maybe Luca wouldn't have done what he did -

In a moment of impulsivity she brought the gun to her temple, and before it even grazed her skin it was snapped away from her. Wordlessly, Aberhama sat beside her, gun out of sight. She was shaking uncontrollably. Tommy was still talking. He hadn't seen.

"Y/N. Y/N."

"What?" she demanded.

"What was the message?"

"He said you've been delivered half the pain caused to his mother and won't stop til it's tenfold."

"Yeah. He shot you in the fucking arm, yeah."

"No shit."

"That all? It's not all is it?"

"Don't tell Polly. Don't tell her I'm here. I'll leave, I will, she won't have to know about it."

"Answer the fuckin' question, Y/N."

She shut her mouth, refusing to say the words, gazing out the window. The silence between the two men was heavy. How had they known? Was it written all over her face, like a brand?

"I'm going to kill him, Y/N."

"This isn't the way to the hospital," she mumbled, frowning. She scrambled for the front seat, unsure of how she would stop Tommy, only knowing that she had to.

Suddenly Aberama pulled her back down, holding her still though she struggled, crying out when her wound flared up.

"Can't take you to the hospital, Y/N. Michael was there and now he's on the run. We can fix you up ourselves in half the time."

She made a sound between a laugh and a sob as the car drew to a stop outside Polly's house, Aberama and Tommy leaping out. She kicked at Tommy as he opened the door, but he caught her ankle and pulled her to him, carrying her to the door.

"I said don't tell Pol -"

"Shut your mouth. What are you going to do, run away with a bullet in your arm? At least the Changrettas can't say they knocked the fight out of you, eh?"

He pushed the door opened, calling over his shoulder to Aberama. "Where d'you want her?"

"Couch. Get me some booze. I need your knife."

"Take her a second, then."

Tommy dropped Y/N to her feet, only to push her into the arms of Aberama Gold yet again. She could hardly struggle with him and Tommy knew it. Plus, her strength was fading, torn between weeping and screaming, her coat sleeve sodden with blood. He sat her on the couch and before she could comprehend what he was doing he tore open her sleeve and she howled with pain at the sudden surge through her arm, made worse when he gripped it and squeezed. She howled, struggling in vain to be free of him.

"Get off, get off, don't fucking touch me!"

Tommy was back, sitting beside her as she cowered away from Aberama, but he was reaching for something at the coffee table and Tommy grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Pol isn't here tonight, chicken. You can yell all you like. Sit here, beside me. Ignore him. You can apologise to Mister Gold for the insult later."

"What is - he doing? Why - why - haven't we gone to the hospital?"

"Because I want to keep you safe - ignore Mister Gold, look at me."

"Why would I trust you? It's - all - your - fault -"

Y/N's eyes widened, stuck on Aberama, shrinking against Tommy as he approached, shaken by a panic attack. He changed tactic, waiting for her to breathe calmly, speaking in a soft tone, since he'd lost the element of surprise. Her panic mounting by the second, she was about to kick him again to keep him and that knife away from her. He crouched down before her instead.

"You needn't worry now, my girl. I've done this many a time before. You'll catch less infection from me than a hospital. It will hardly scar."

She was calm for a moment, then shook her head as he moved towards her.

"Shh, shh my dear, my dear, you hold onto Tommy."

"I don't know - if I'll be able to keep still - I don't want to look - "

Aberama's eyes held hers, a hand on her knee. "Tommy'll hold onto you, I'll hold onto your arm. You look at me or him, and shout whatever you like - just don't bite down on your tongue. Hear me?"

"Hear him, Y/N? You don't want stitches all over. Now get some drink into you."

The whiskey burned down her throat, force fed gulps by Tommy until she coughed. He let it spill onto her arm and she whimpered into his chest, feeling Aberama grip her arm before she could pull away.

"Bullet could have hit a worse spot, eh?" said Tommy and she glowered up at him.

"Tommy, go fuck your -" She was cut off by her own cry of pain, burying it in Tommy's shirt, wanting to tear her arm away from Aberama but knowing it would make it so much worse. Her arm jerked a little on reflex, but Aberama's grip was a vice, cool against her burning skin.

The pain was worse than the shot itself. If she had anything in her stomach she would have thrown up. In seconds there was an ease in pressure but the world was still on fire with it.

"Y/N."

She shifted against Tommy, raising her eyes to Aberama who held a bloodied bullet before her, throwing it into the ashtray. "Small one."

"Mmm," she mumbled, eyes fluttering, trying to move. Tommy held her where she was. "Let go," she mumbled, eyes still on Aberama. She could feel Tommy's grip relaxing, but only because her own strength was fading, sinking against him. For a moment she blacked out, still hearing but totally underwater in the dark.

"Quieter than I thought she'd be, considering."

"She's a quiet one, when she's in the mood," Tommy murmured, shifting her weight to prop her up better, her eyes fluttering again. He noticed, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Fit to tear out a man's throat otherwise. En't that right, Y/N? Quiet little soldier now."

"It's - over?" she mumbled, dredging the words up with effort, hardly able to keep her eyes open.

"The worst of it. Mister Gold just needs to find out if you need stitches."

His words hardly reached her, head reeling. "Tommy?" she mumbled, letting her eyes close.

"What is it?"

"I remember, you know, think it was you, or maybe John, I was always climbing trees and you got in trouble because you were always daring me to go higher and higher. And then one day I fell."

She frowned, feeling Tommy's sudden absence. Again, with effort she opened her eyes, flinching as Aberama sat beside her, no energy left to resist him as he applied pressure to the wound, her chest rising frantically up and down. He was talking to her, knowing she was too far gone to reply, but his words calmed her down, the pain easing a little as she went slack.

"There we go, good girl. No need to struggle, hmm. No need. Breathe easy now. There we go."

Again she opened her eyes, her breath steadying, counting them in and out in her head. The alcohol was dimming the pain somewhat, making her dizzy in the process.

"Well, Mister Gold?"

"I'll need those. You stand behind her, just in case she starts again."

Her eyes snapped open. Tommy had deposited a sewing needle in front of Aberama. She shut her eyes again, grown numb after so much blood loss, overloaded by the alcohol and so much pain. Her eyes fluttered again and it went dark, slipping in and out of consciousness

When she next came to she was curled up, the trembling slowly easing off as the two spoke in low tones growing more natural, thinking she was either passed out with the pain or rendered past her senses because of it. She was hurtling towards the latter, but the sound of their voices took her attention from it.

"'I would wonder at the threat of tenfold, Tommy."

"He comes anywhere near her again, I won't wait for him to speak before I put a bulllet in his head. She'll be safer here than at the hospital. But she doesn't want Polly to see her like this and for both of their sakes I want to keep this quiet. She trusts you - Pol."

Y/N could almost feel Tommy's nod in her direction.

"What are you asking, Mister Shelby?"

"I want you to stay here overnight. This was vengeance for treatment of his mother, and I don't want to take the chance of his escalating it. Just - you stay here the night. I'll make it worth your while. Goes without saying, you lay a hand on her head and you're as - "

"Dead as Luca Changretta."

"So we understand each other. You'll be letting her sleep, and leave with her before the maid gets in. Take her on the road. I'll leave the car with you, and meet you tomorrow in Charlie's yard. At six, just before dark."

"And what will you do, in the meantime?"

"Make progress. Kill the bastards. Girl was hardly aware she was a Gray. Practically a civilian."

She roused at this, calling "Tommy," weakly only for him to snap as he left,

"You know I broke your fall, when you fell out of that tree?"

She nodded, remembering the collision of body against body, sore but softer than the unforgiving ground. He stopped her crying but her mother - Polly Gray, towering over them, saw the bruises. She couldn't remember beyond that.

"So you stay right there, Y/N, and don't slip away from Mister Gold or the Changrettas will be the least of your worries. Next time when I tell you to wait, you wait. Welcome to the family."

The front door slammed. Another shockwave of pain hummed through Y/N's arm and she whimpered, hardly registering Mister Gold, then suddenly all too aware of his presence, though he hardly moved, sitting in the armchair opposing her. He saw her flinch, raising a hand in a gesture that read 'calm down'.

"You're safe."

The world spun for a moment with the alcohol in her system, but she cleared her throat, achored her eyes on him.

"Thank you, Mister Gold. For... you know, what for. Everything."

Thoughts of the car ride flashed before her eyes, of how close she had been to ending it, closer than ever, since the means had been right there in her hand.

"Sorry for giving you trouble."

He smiled thinly. "I've gotten worse kicks from horses, believe you me. Now sleep, won't you?"

She hardly needed the suggestion, her head already against the cushion. She welcomed dreamless sleep until she felt the barrel of a gun at her back, Luca's voice in her ear - and then the pull of a trigger, an explosion of pain that followed her as she awoke with a yelp, the world on fire. She gazed around her, safe in Polly's house, and yet her body screamed with pain, heart racing.

Aberama Gold turned up the oil lamp on the table between them. He looked like he had been half-asleep in the armchair. She had screamed, she was certain of that, but he made no mention of it, motioning outside.

"Close enough to dawn, Miss Gray. Let's go."

She looked at him uncertainly, unsure if she could trust him further than she could throw him. But he had helped her. She took the hand he offered her.

#aberama gold #tw violence #tw implied torture #tw implied noncon

14 notes · View notes

piccolosniccolo · 4 years

Text

Conversation in the Afterlife

Creative writing practice. Discussions of death, but nothing graphic. 2442 words.

A sharp sting. Faint pressure. The desperate whispers of a friend. She could hardly register these things as her consciousness faded away.

She knew there was little to be done. The strength to keep her eyes open faded away. Her breaths became lethargic. Her fate was settled and a peaceful slumber beckoned her forwards. She no longer had the willpower to fight it off. As her body teetered between life and death, her thoughts shifted to the girl she pushed out of the way.

The reaction had been immediate. By the time she comprehended what she had done, it was too late to think twice. Her head was struck and she collapsed onto the ground. She did not regret this, no, not at all. What she regretted was not being able to journey with her friends any longer.

With that, Amara let out her last breath.

****

“Hmm, I wagered I wouldn’t see you for another ten years.”

Sound. Sound came back to Amara first. A voice, familiar, but coming from a person who was very dead. Somewhere in the background, she could hear the rise and fall of an ocean.

“I just lost fifteen bucks.”

Touch. She was lying down on something grainy, presumably sand. She dragged her hand to the back of her head, and to her surprise, the wound no longer stung.

“I hope you’re happy. There’s no currency here and I’m already in debt.”

With that, Amara’s eyes blinked open to the pouting face of her very dead friend, Adam.

“Gambling in the afterlife?” Amara narrowed her eyes and slowly pushed herself off the ground. “I’d have thought you’d be haunting some innocent soul.”

“I haven’t figured out how to get out of this realm yet.” Adam flopped onto the sand and gazed out in front of him. She followed his eyes and spotted the massive ocean stretched out in front of them. Amara had never considered that the afterlife may be a picturesque beach, but she certainly wasn’t complaining.

“So the only thing you do here is gamble and plot to escape?” Amara questioned.

“What else should I do?” Adam rolled his head and turned to Amara. “Quiet reflection? Narrate the story of my life to everybody and anybody?”

“You tell me! I just got here.”

“Hmph.” Adam looked forward and his eyes glazed in silent contemplation. “Well, there’s walking. Lots of that. Land stretches out for miles and miles in any given direction.”

He laid back on the ground and put his arms behind his head. “I don’t think there’s a limit.”

Amara tilted her head and glanced back at the ocean. The waves in front of her reached for her feet, but they fell short and crashed against the sand each time. She looked up to the sky to see the sun blocked by massive, fluffy clouds. Birds dotted the blue and dove from the heavens into the waters below. An ocean breeze brushed past her hair and blew stray ends into her face, no doubt tangling it in the back.

If what Adam said was right, that this ocean went on forever, she was certainly in for a treat.

“At least it’s a lovely view.”

“Of course it is! You can’t enjoy death without a spectacular view of the mountains, Amara!”

She opened her mouth to agree, but Adam’s words stopped her right on her tracks.

“Mountains? Where?” Amara turned her head and checked behind her, but there was only some type of tropical forest. She looked left and right, but to no avail. The only thing in sight was an endless ocean.

Adam tugged on her wrist and pointed randomly at a patch of water. “Right in front of you, you goose! Did you die of a head wound or something or something?”

“Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be more empathetic in the afterlife? With the whole, eternal rest eternal reflection thing going on?” She rubbed her eyes to check if her head wound had indeed distorted her vision. Still, no mountains.

Amara threw sand at him. “And who’s to say you’re no messing with me!”

“Just because I’m at rest doesn’t mean I can’t call out your bullshit!” Adam accepted the challenge and tossed a handful of sand at her face. Amara quickly scooched away before she could actually lose her sight.

“Hmph.” Mountains or no mountains, Adam was still as much of a jackass as he was when she last saw him.

They sat in silence, either in what was a few seconds or a few hours, with Adam possibly looked at mountains and Amara staring into her ocean.

Eventually, out of the corner of her eye, Amara saw Adam lean towards her.

“Have you found them, yet?” He asked quietly.

“The only thing I see are miles of ocean.” A small grin formed on her face. “Perhaps you’re the one with the broken head. I can clearly hear the sound of the waves.”

“Hmm…” was the response she got, and with that, Adam turned back to his view.

“Do you know if other people see different things?”

Adam frowned. His brow pressed together, possibly in an attempt to put some amount of effort into finding an answer. “I don’t think I’ve asked.”

“‘Nice weather we’re having’ was never a conversation starter?”

“More like ‘where have I met you’ or ‘so what’s your damage?’”

“And these are the same people you make bets with?”

“Nah, not to randos. You never know who knows who. I think I’d get slapped if I told someone’s grandma ‘I bet Steve will be here in five years.’” He paused to snicker to himself. “I learned that the hard way. You would have thought things wouldn’t hurt here. Some woman and a sandal told me otherwise.”

Amara shook her head and laughed. “Only you could find yourself in that situation, Adam.”

She closed her eyes and laid back on the sand. Or grass, if that’s what Adam saw.

“So, what brought you here, Amara?”

“Head wound.”

“Oh…so I was right! Wait, I mean…whoops.” For once in his life, Adam sounded sheepish. Who knew.

Amara rolled her eyes and smiled despite herself. “You’re good. Wasn’t the way I wanted to go out, but it’s not like I can change anything.”

“You have a preferred way to go out?” Adam sat up and rested his head on his hands. “Tell me, what did Ms. Amara want on her gravestone?”

“Not ‘annoyed to death by Adam.’”

“Hey! That’s a great way to go out, especially by yours truly.”

“I’ll take the headwound.”

“Hmph.”

Adam fell back onto the ground, and once again, they both stared into space before Amara’s thoughts got the better of her.

“Adam,” Adam glanced at her and narrowed his eyes, “what is this place?”

Never in her life had Amara heard of such a depiction of the afterlife. She had always expected to see, well, her mother. Her past friends and family. Adam, yes, but why was he the only one she could see? Why did they see such different things?

“I’ve been calling it the in between.” Adam said, drawing her from her questions. “I don’t see fire; I don’t see cherubs. I only see mountains, but apparently, they might just be a part of my imagination.”

“So, some form of Purgatory?”

“Maybe? I mean, we’re not being told to walk towards a paradise.” He stretched his legs out onto the ‘shore’ and stared at the ‘sand.’ “I guess we just make it as we will.”

“Hmm…” Puzzled, Amara sat up and walked towards the shore. Even with a higher viewpoint, she could still only see miles of ocean in front of her. She squinted and attempted to spot some island in the distance, but the sea was empty.

“Perhaps,” she started, “perhaps the answer is right in front of us? Maybe I have to swim across my ocean, and maybe you need to climb your mountain to reach the ‘other side.’ Maybe-“

“Oh my God, Amara,” interrupted Adam, “chill!” You’ll give me a headache by thinking to hard about whatever this is.”

Amara shot him a nasty look. “Adam. We are in the literal afterlife! Aren’t we supposed to do something? Like, I don’t know, watching over our friends? Throwing some kind of heavenly party?”

She stomped up to Adam, “You’ve been here a while, five years in fact. You cannot seriously tell me that you have not asked, or have not questioned anyone about this place?”

“What do you want me to say, Amara?” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know. No one knows. I’ve told you everything I know, and I’m not the type of guy to ponder my existence… death… whatever it is! Until you showed up, I haven’t even thought of having an existential crisis. Don’t you dare give me one now!”

“I-“

Adam threw his hands to his ears. “Blah-blah-blah, I’m not listening!”

With that, Adam shut his mouth and closed his eyes. Amara was left to, once again, stew in her thoughts.

***

“…I stepped in between Clarisse and falling rocks.”

Adam cracked open an eye. “Huh?”

“To answer your question, I got hit on the head by falling rocks when I pushed Clarisse out of the way. Only the shirts on our backs to clean up the mess, I guess.” She rubbed her hand across the wound and brought her palm to her face. No blood, no pain, no sign that she had been injured at all.

“Clarisse? Who’s she?”

“A friend of mine. You would have liked her. Everyone did.”

“Except those rocks.”

Amara whirled around. “Adam!”

He put his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Amara picked up another pile of sand but found herself beginning to laugh with him. For a few moments, they laughed as if Adam hadn’t insulted Amara’s sacrifice and instead had made some awful dad joke.

“Ha, I’d forgotten how rude you could be.” Amara shook her head and smiled. “Go back to the way you were in my mind, I think I like you better there.”

“Hey! And here I thought you befriended me because of my wit.”

“Sure…. I remember, when you died-“

“I’d have preferred the falling rocks.”

“Oh, you hush! I remember that you intentionally made your last words sound heroic. Something along the lines of ‘it is time for all of you to see another dawn in my place as I cannot go on any longer.’”

“Please tell me that made it to my gravestone!”

Amara shook her head. “You and your public image! Your death may have been preventable if you hadn’t stopped speaking!”

“It was fifty-fifty, I wanted to make sure I went out with a banger!”

Amara glared at him. To this day, she had never been as frustrated with Adam as she was then.

“So that’s a no?” Adam asked, hesitantly.

Amara nodded her head. “I had no control over your funeral.”

“Ugh, all that work for nothing?”

“Unfortunately, but that’s not the point. I took your stupid advice.”

Adam kicked her knee. “Don’t insult a dead man’s words!”

“Then don’t mock a dead woman’s fatal wound!” Amara retorted, kicking him back. “Anyway, I took her stupid advice. I set out to see the world.”

Adam flipped himself over, rested on his stomach, and propped his head on his hands. Well, where’d you go? What did you see? What did you do? I’m all ears.”

“I got on a boat and sailed around the ocean for a year. Then I joined a quest to find more resources for Aspen. We were heading back when-“

“Smack!”

“What did I say about insulting someone’s death, Adam!”

“Am I wrong?”

Amara reached over to smack him, but Adam scrambled away.

“Sorry, sorry, but that’s what you get for calling my last words stupid!”

Amara stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine, but the next time you say something snarky, you’re going into that ocean whether it exists or not!

“Anyway, as I was saying, I died when we were heading back.” She looked into the ocean, part of her hoping to see her ship in the ocean. “Only the stars know if they’ll be successful.”

“Adam leaned in and patted her on the back. “I’m sure they’ll do well. Especially since they won’t run into half as many problems without you on board.”

“Want to bet? And do your math right! I only cause a fifth of their problems.”

“Did you even do this ‘math?’”

“No, but it’s a good estimate.”

“Then I’ll keep my original estimate, and I’ll bet five bucks on it!”

“You do that Adam, you do that.”

They both settled into a familiar silence. Amara looked at her ocean and Adam faced his mountains. She made a mental note to ask any new person she came across what they saw in the distance, and on that note…

“Adam, why are you here?”

“I got stabbed in the gut,” he deadpanned. “You were there.”

“No,” Amara sighed, “no, I mean why can I see you?”

“Did you think of me when you died?”

“I can’t recall.”

“Hmm,” Adam gazed off into the sky, and he, surprisingly, seemed to be on to something useful. “When I want to find someone, I simply think of them and walk in some random direction. I’ll usually find them in the next minute. Or they’ll find me.” He paused, then added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone pops out of nowhere wanting to talk to you.”

“How do you know when someone dies?” Amara didn’t know how she felt about random people knowing when she was in the afterlife.

“You just get a feeling, like, ‘oh, this person has passed on to our realm now. I should go talk to them, it’s been a while.’ That kind of thing.” Adam shrugged. “You’ll get it when you experience it.”

“I hope it’s not anytime soon.”

“You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’ll be for a random person you’ve only had one conversation with. It’s…weird and spontaneous.”

“Interesting.” That was all Amara could reply with. Every second, her afterlife seemed to get odder and odder, but the pieces were starting to fit together.

“So you wanted to see me right when I got here?”

“Yes.” Adam smiled, “Like I said, I was bored.”

“Well, attitude aside, I’m glad to see you too.” Amara made an additional note to find Clarisse, hopefully in the distant future, when she entered the afterlife. And the meantime, she’d find her friends and family.

Adam would also find out that there was actually an ocean the entire time.

#creative writing #original character #major character death

2 notes · View notes

tomhollandish · 5 years

Text

Always Like This

A/N: After maybe two years of never writing anything, I’m back for @pparkerwrites writing challenge! This is my magnum opus, clocking in at 14k, and it’s inspired by Studio Ghibli’s Whisper of the Heart, The Louvre by Lourde, the prompt “I wish we could stay like this forever”, and my own anxiety about finishing college and growing older.

Summary: As you begin wrapping up your final year in college, you have some wishes, fears and regrets. This is the story of how you overcame all of them, with a little help from your friends. Platonic!Avengers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, mentions of past Bruce Banner x Reader and Quentin Beck x Reader (Yeah, I know,)

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of (public) sex, and the reader being an anxious wreck

Word count: 14k (my bad)

* * * *

There is a tap once, twice, three times against the plastic cubicle, but your attention is elsewhere. As you breathe heavily, you can still see the black and white pages of your latest research endeavor printed underneath your eyelids. You swim in the words, trying to pick out what you can even comprehend when the rapping becomes less gentle.

“’Tis some visitor,” you recited, mumbling out the lines of a poem you’d once memorized. “Rapping at my chamber door.”

“It’s campus police,” the visitor said, and you fumbled to sit up properly. The harsh florescent lights made your eyes bleed, and the ugly khaki uniform of the man hovering over you was just as terrible a sight.

“Fuck,” you cursed, and then upon realizing that you just cursed in front of an officer (a glorified security worker, but you weren’t about to take pot shots right now), you covered your mouth. “I’m sorry, I just–”

“I just need your ID.” He smiled politely and you squirmed under the gesture.

“Right.”

You found it wholly ridiculous that this man was carding you in your campus library at—what time was it? —three in the morning as if you could be anyone other than a student. No sane person would be doing this without reason, and even so your reasons were wearing incredibly thin as your shitty bachelor’s degree grew closer into your clutches.

A bachelor’s degree in English? What will you even do with that?

Doesn’t matter what it’s in. It just matters that I’ve got it.

You didn’t want to spend four years doing something you hated. (With your bullshit Liberal Arts Program, it was really only two years of English, but who was counting?) You thought it would be easy to just pick up some desk jobs that would pay the bills once you graduated. But then you decided to grow noble and have an ambition and things rapidly changed.

The officer handed your card back to you. His eyes flitted over to the mess of a work station you had, before giving a pitying smile. “Long night huh? Haven’t seen you stay here this late in a while.”

Goosebumps ran up your arm. You tried to play it cool, painting on a smile as you wracked your brain for familiarity. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“No, not really. I’ve been working this shift for maybe two years, and you’re on this floor a lot at night. I just, uh, remember you.”

“Uh,” you blinked, unable to answer. The odds of this guy remembering you were like, twenty thousand to one. And while you were a regular patron of the third floor (it is the film section after all) it seemed unlikely that someone could pick out your face.

The guard seemed to understand that he’d stumped you, so he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly and moved on. Still stunned, you stared back at the pile of books across the table and groaned at the thought of continuing. It was late, and you had class at ten the next morning. The very class you were doing all this work for.

You sighed deeply and pondered whether or not to call it a night—it was only the third week of the fall semester and you were already working like a dog. There was a terrible feeling in your gut that if you didn’t save your energy for later, it would bite you in the ass.

Settling for checking out one last book, you scribbled down its call number and pulled yourself out of the mini cubicle, heading for the stacks. As you made your way you noticed that there were really only a few other people with you, many of them with their heads ducked into textbooks or laptops, engrossed in their own worlds.

The people began to fade away as the rows and rows of books dominated the room. You looked up and down between your notebook as you stomped through sections, passing anatomy, then biology before glancing at American literature. You ducked down one row, fingers grazing every book as you mumbled the call number under your breath, afraid it would escape you.

Finally, you knelt down, wincing as your knees cracked audibly in the quiet library. Sitting on the bottom shelf like it had been waiting on you for eons was the book in question; an innocuously black bound book, the title in plain white letters on the spine. A library reprint. You opened it, just be sure it was the exact copy you were looking for, when you realized something.

Someone had annotated this copy. Your school didn’t charge damages for writing in library books, but this person seemed to have written paragraphs worth of content between margins and on blank pages. It was the kind of analysis that could only belong to someone taking it very seriously; perhaps a fellow film studies major.

But the writing wasn’t mesmerizing because it was insightful, rather, it was because you recognized it. You stomped your way back to your seat with purpose, looking for the other companion novel; a newer, cleaner, bigger book and yet, as you flipped the pages you caught glimpses of the handwriting—legible, but obviously a quick scrawl. The e’s were always connected to the letter after it, and the m’s were hardly definable squiggles, but it was still nice to look at.

As you’d combed your way through these books, you’d found their handwriting more than once. They usually echoed the sentiment you’d been trying to capture, but they had done so first. It had discouraged you at first, thinking yourself a simple copy-cat, but it later comforted you that someone shared your ideals.

It was wishful thinking to wonder about them. Useless and distracting.

You still entertained the thought.

The whole trip back to your dorm, you busied yourself with thoughts of them–their major, if they had graduated already or if they were still here; what if you shared a class with them, or better yet, if you knew them? Your mind filled with romantic possibilities as your body took you through the process of getting you home—a maneuver you could pull in your sleep.

Once at home, you forgot all the formalities of bedtime routines and simply stripped down, crashing straight into bed. Sleep would overcome you in any moment, but in your last fleeting moments of consciousness you dreamed of flipping pages and handwriting.

* * * *

If college were a racket, you’d be fucking rich.

You’ve been at the same shit for nearly two decades, and still you felt like you were the absolute best at it. Sure, you weren’t top of the class (probably not even close) but your professors loved you and other students made the effort to know your name. You weren’t the obnoxious teacher’s pet, nor were you class clown, but people acknowledged your existence, which was honestly more than you could ever ask for.

It was moments like these when you thought twenty thousand a year (all in loans!) might have been worth it; you were talking with your professor—whom you called Kyle with the ease of an old friend—after class about some nonsense that had happened over the weekend, about the movies you had watched recently, and about school.

You felt a strange bittersweetness as he began to talk about your undergraduate thesis again, bringing up all the regalia that your presentations entailed. Maybe he noticed your sudden hesitation at the topic, because he stopped speaking and hummed.

“You’ve already started working on it, haven’t you?” It was a confirmation, but there was still a layer of trepidation to his voice you couldn’t decipher. You nodded, but it didn’t disappear. “You’re far more prepared than the others.”

“I’ve been thinking about this since sophomore year,” you confessed. “It’s nerve wracking, thinking about the presentation, but I like the topic.”

“When you blurted out your thesis during the first meeting, I think everyone wanted to kill you,” he laughed. “But as I’ve gotten to know you, I’m not surprised at all. You always know what you want.”

There was a lull then—a moments hesitation where you wanted to bluntly correct Kyle and tell him that you didn’t actually know what you wanted, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead you smiled, and took that silence as a good place as any to end the conversation and quickly walk out of the room as the reality of your situation crashed back into you.

Staring at the tiles beneath your feet, you tried not to trip over your own mental leaps. Everything came folding in on itself as you thought of the upcoming semesters like the end of an era; the last of your eighteen years of education. Anxiety crept up your spine like a chill, and you felt yourself gripping your books tighter to keep from shaking.

And them something jammed into your shoulder, hard, the books in your hand spilling all over the floor. You grumbled to yourself, thinking you’d clumsily walked into a wall, but then you heard “Um, hello?”

Fear struck your heart as you turned to face someone: a boy, looking at you with knotted brows and his arms open with the expectation of an apology. Your fear turned to annoyance as you studied details like his tiny, low ponytail, his navy-blue blazer and the copy of The Sound and The Fury clutched in his hand.

You looked back at his face, painted with clear annoyance and spat out a half-assed, “sorry,” topped with a fake smile. His animosity was near palpable as he heel turned and kept walking, leaving you to pick up your things alone. You muttered under your breath angrily.

“Asshole, English Major Prick.”

* * * *

It was ironic to call the boy you’d bumped into earlier an asshole, considering who you spent your time with.

Your Monday/Wednesday afternoon schedule ended with a late as hell lunch with some old friends. Emphasis on old, because you were pretty sure after your major switch you had nothing in common with these men anymore.

“And what I’m telling you,” Tony Stark punctuated with a wave of his hands, “is that there’s no way Beck’s design would even theoretically work, let alone should Dr. “MIT graduate” allow him to continue with this completely doomed to fail idea.” He pointedly took a bite of the (likely now cold) pasta he’d spent ten minutes raving over before spitting it out onto a napkin. “God, what the fuck is up with this cafeteria?”

“Maybe if you would shut up for ten seconds, your food would still be warm.” You never had any clue what the self-proclaimed genius was ever talking about. It was a wonder you considered him a friend still, but even his annoying tendencies couldn’t break the brotherhood you all had from sharing the shittiest dorm on campus freshman year. You felt like you still owed Tony a debt for killing that roach in your shower all those years ago.

“I agree with Y/N, for once.” You side eyed Strange, wondering if there was some sort of punchline, but then he gave a nod of solidarity. “You’ve been complaining about this guy non-stop.”

“Beck is just,” Tony banged his fists on the table, shaking every one of your trays. “So infuriating. Y/N, how did you ever fuck this guy?”

“Stop,” Bruce says, his arms hovering over his drink and other objects that might fall over. “Tony, I’m begging you to let this go.”

“See, even Bruce admits he’d tired of this. Can we move on please?”

“Oh? Tired of me bring up your ex in front of your ex?”

“Tony, knock it off,” Bruce warned, but there was no threat in his voice. Tony dropped the subject, but still looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Or do you have any exciting developments in…what is it you do again?”

You threateningly held out your fork towards the engineering major and he flinched. “I’m about to major in murder if you don’t Shut. Up.”

The three science majors stopped their babbling and hurriedly shoveled their food into their mouths. You sighed into your cup of powered lemonade. While you were used to Tony’s jabs, he was right: your future felt inconsequential next to their aspirations. But you would be damned if you let either him or Stephen Strange know that you felt that way.

Bruce laced his fingers together and fidgeted for a moment. You turned to him, and he smiled nervously. “So, how’s your paper coming along?”

There was another awkward pause as you sipped your drink, trying to come up with something impressive or dramatic enough to hold their attention. And then you rolled your eyes at the thought. “Well, I’m at the part of the process where I sit in the library until my mind goes numbingly blank from staring at an empty word document or director interviews or companion books and then I go home and never sleep.” You said honestly. This earned a laugh out of Tony.

“English Majors: They’re just like us!” he joked.

“That fact that you think college majors are equivalent to high school cliques is very telling of your immaturity,” you sneer at Tony. He throws a fake smile at you—not that any of his smiles are ever real.

“Psychoanalyze me all you want, Dickinson,”—his habit of calling you whatever writer came to his mind was also telling— “But the fact is, the three of us are more like each other than we are to you. It’s just facts.”

You looked to Bruce for a moment. Like always, he was on the same wavelength as you—he averted his gaze the moment you two locked eyes. “Be that as it may, we’re still friends somehow.”

“‘Somehow’ being the operative word,” Strange spoke under his breath. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Not my fault the three of you are giving into society’s capitalist ways and are only in it for the money.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tony says, dropping his fork in his barely touched food. He purposefully scoots his chair back with a grating noise and you wince at the sound. “Y/N, I can’t handle you when you’re like this.”

You huffed. “Now you know how we feel about you all the time.”

“I’m done with this discussion. Strangelove, Brucey,” he acknowledges his friends by their stupid nickname before rolling out. Strange sighs before following his lead, but Bruce stays put.

“He’s sensitive about that.”

You shrugged. “Then maybe he should try going into a career that helps people instead. No ones making him become a money mongering executive.”

“You know what his dad is like.”

“Yeah, rich.”

Bruce dragged his hands down his face, but there was a chuckle underneath his exasperation. “Your coldness is honestly so incredible. Aren’t writers supposed to be compassionate?”

“I am compassionate,” you stated defensively. And then, more flippantly, “Just not to rich industrialists who steal from the middle class.”

You laughed when Bruce shook his head at you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So are you,” you said, nudging his shoulder with your own. There was nothing in the gesture, not like there used to be. “I mean, you want to be a nuclear physicist, or whatever. Ain’t nothin in that but prestige and your name on same wall.”

“You know that’s not what I want.” He used that voice, the one you’d become intimately familiar with towards the end of your relationship. “I just want to pursue something I’m passionate about. Isn’t that what you want too?”

The fruit under your fork slid out and rolled across the table. Both of your eyes followed it as it fell out of sight, and then you said nothing. Bruce sighed.

“I didn’t mean too—”

“Yeah you did.”

The buzzing of your phone jolted you two out of the tense moment. You lifted it up, seeing a message from Steve. You felt Bruce’s eyes peering over at your phone.

“You got to go?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you there.”

“No, Tony’s probably waiting for you outside. He’ll just follow both of us if you don’t go with him.”

He pursed his lips, caught between a rock and a hard place. He looked up at you as you prepared to leave.

“I really didn’t mean it.”

“Even if you didn’t, you’re right.” It wasn’t hard to admit anything to Bruce, even after everything. “You’re damn good at it too.”

He tried to swallow back his bashful smile, but there was still a shimmer of it in his eyes. “You’re good at what you do, too.”

“Well, after four years, I’d fucking hope so.”

Bruce laughed through his goodbye, and you reveled in that small victory as you booked it to the art building.

* * * *

Perhaps it’s the creative part of you, but a piece of your heart fully adored that decrepit, godforsaken building. The elevator was broken, the hallways were a rotating gallery of amateur and professional projects, and it always smelled like some sort of chemical, but the building has charm.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Steve stopped in his tracks to look at you when you said that. He’d been guiding you through the labyrinth known as Bauer Hall with a well-trained quickness. He resumed it after the initial shock of your statement wore off. “You’re a real romantic, you know that?”

“I do,” you said, knowing there was no way to defend yourself from such a true statement. “But so are you.”

“There’s only so many things I can romanticize, and I have to say, Bowser Hall ain’t one of them.” You laughed through your nose at the ridiculous nickname. “Besides, I’m all romanced out.”

Steve walked through a room lined with canvases bigger than the both of you. In different corners students painted in different styles, with different elaborative brush strokes that revealed their subjects in a matter of moments. Someone’s music played from a wireless speaker, but you imagined everyone had tuned it out.

Steve lead you to his station, which was currently covered with photos of you. It was embarrassing to see yourself plastered all over his desk, but as you studied to pictures closer, you became enthralled.

“Is it narcissistic to compliment how awesome these looks?” Awesome didn’t even encapsulate the emotion. Not by a long shot. Over the summer Steve had approached you about featuring in his senior art show pieces, and you’d shot preliminary photos. He couldn’t guarantee that he’d paint you given the complexity of his idea (as well as his own perfectionism) but now he was promising that he would paint you.

So, you stared down at the photos, remembering the how he’d climbed onto your roof at night and shined a flashlight taped with blue gels through your window and you tried not to laugh. The fruits of that night where in your fingertips, and you were struck at how much more somber your face looked on a physical photo than it had on the camera that night.

“It’s not narcissistic considering Nat took the photo,” he said, leaning over your shoulder. He rummaged through the stack before he pulled out a specific picture. “I think I’m going with this one.”

“Of course you are,” you poked fun at him, but you actually did like that photo. The light that shined across your eyes was blue, but you were shrouded in a hazy purple. It was a close shot, with your hands framing the expression on your face that was equal parts haunting and beautiful. Steve had been trying to capture those hard-to-explain moments that crossed people’s faces, and yours had been the most agonizing. In his words.

“With most people it takes forever to get the shot. You got it in one.” There was veiled concern in his statement, but you’re a master of words. You drop the photo and step back from it all, looking at Steve.

“Wasn’t hard,” was all you told him. Steve took the photo and tacked it up to a ready to paint canvas.

“I’m thinking about using these two as well.” Steve handed you two other photos of different subjects, only one of which you really know.

“When’d you take this?” You flipped over the photo Sam, his face caught precisely between elation and realization. Steve took it gingerly before sitting back on his stool. You wished he could paint the look of utter longing that plagued his own blue eyes.

“He got the deployment letter that morning,” Steve explained. His voice was low as he talked through the lump in his throat. “I asked him to pose for me, because I knew when I saw his face that I wanted to capture whatever the hell it was I just saw.”

“He’s used to being your guinea pig. I’m sure he liked knowing he’s the inspiration for your project.”

“He’ll probably hold it over my head ‘till I die,” Steve managed a laugh, but it was hollow. The sigh he took afterwards could have cracked his ribs.

“It’ll be a great gift, you know? A huge photo of his favorite thing—himself.” His laugh this time was slightly more genuine. You’d have to take it.

“Who’s this?” You showed Steve the second photo, one of a man whose face was marred with the shadow of blinds, his eyes looking back as if it pained him to. Nat was a wonderful photographer, and Steve had an amazing vision, but you knew Steve well enough to know that whoever this was, the look was all his own.

“Oh, that’s Buck,” he said easily, and you lean forward as a gesture to elaborate. “Bucky, my best friend?”

“Not ringing any bells.”

“Hmm. You probably don’t know him because he was in Prague the semester we became friends.” Steve had been part of your freshman dorm nightmare, but he lived on a different floor than the rest of you. You didn’t get to know him until you realized Nat was a mutual friend.

“Did he spend a whole year there?” You leaned forward and stared at the picture, trying to find any recollection of this guy. “Cause it’s been like, a year since then.”

“No, but he did have an internship when he came back, I’d forgotten about that.”

You dropped the photo, feeling jealousy prickle down your arms. “Wow. Busy guy.”

“He tries to keep himself busy. Otherwise he looks like that all the time.” You understood the implication. You pinned the photos next to each other and contemplated just how Steve was going to recreate them in all their glory. He seemed to have the same thought, because he ran a hand through his hair.

“It really will take me all semester, but I’m excited.” He bounced on his feet. “I think I’ve found my thing.”

“Your thing?”

“Yeah, my niche, I guess,” he shrugged, but his excitement was contagious. “It’s good to be excited about something again.”

“I’m glad you love your project, because it’s going to turn out amazing,” you assured him.

“Thanks. I started Sam’s painting already and it wore me out. I think I’ll start on Buck’s next. Sorry,” he shot you an apologetic grin. “I’m just tired of looking at the same colors.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me for anything,” you said earnestly. “I totally get it. In fact, I think I’ve taken a long enough break on my own work.” You backed away from the blank canvas and glossy photos, feeling claustrophobic all of a sudden. “It’s no masterpiece, but.”

“Hey, your writing is always incredible. I read that paper you wrote about the mis-en-scene of Art Cinema.” He recited with your work with such ease, it made you blush. “You’re really good at writing., Y/N.”

“You remembered.” You tried to laugh off the little swell of pride in your chest. “You’re sweet, Steve, but this is a lot more than a three-page writeup.”

“If it’s yours, it’ll be great. What’s your thesis again?”

“The politics of monster movie horror films.” When you told him, Steve shook his head with a proud grin.

“See? That’s brilliant!”

“It’s been done before—”

“Everything’s been done before. But you haven’t done this. You’re smart, you love movies, and you’re the most well rounded, analytical person I know. You’ve got this.”

You wanted to run back and give him the clingiest hug of your life, but instead you swung bashfully on the doorframe. “Thank you for your support, Steve, but I have to at least write it first.”

He waved you off. “Fine. Go, be great.”

You felt something unidentifiable rise in your stomach as you left, the knot only growing bigger and bigger until you reached the library. You wanted to exhale it out of your chest as you pushed the up button in the elevator, but it stayed stuck in your throat instead. You decided to leave it be as you settled into one of the plastic cubicles on the third floor, your home for the foreseeable future.

* * * *

Anxiety. That had been the feeling.

It gnawed at your stomach and in return you gnawed at your lip, thinking about Steve’s success as an artist and Bruce’s summer spent applying to grad schools. The future was in sight for both of them while yours was blocked by your laptop screen, showing you the three pages you had done out of the twenty you needed.

Angrily, you slammed the computer screen down and shoved it into your bag. The buzzing overhead light made red spots dance in your eyes even when you closed them, so you figured it was time for a break.

And by “break”, you meant spending the fifteen minutes between your apartment and the library trying to reword the sentence that had been bugging you over and over again. You were so out of it that when you opened your apartment door you were in shock of all the people sitting in your living room, despite having seen all their cars parked out in front.

Someone’s greeting went whizzing by you, but it’s only after the door slammed shut did you piece together that it was Pietro. The rest of the group chorused “Hi Y/N” with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“Hey, sorry they’re so loud,” Wanda pulled her cardigan close when she crossed her arms, smiling uncertainly at you. “I won’t have them here too late.”

“Nah, they’re fine,” you brushed off, slipping out of your uncomfortable shoes. You hated the fall—it always encouraged your terrible habit of style over function. “I’m just here for a quick costume change then it’s back to the ol’ grind.”

Normally Wanda would chuckle at your ridiculous phrases, but she creased her brows when she continued talking. “Actually, we were thinking of grabbing some food. Pietro’s bulking, or doing some other stupid diet and Viz thought we could go back to the diner. You know, the one on the corner of 11th?”

Oh, you knew the 11th street diner. It was the premier spot; you’d been there on dates, 21st birthdays, celebrated there after long arduous projects, and gorged on fries after movie marathons with Peter. The sheer mention of the diner was enough to make you swoon, and Wanda was likely exploiting that weakness.

So, when you sighed, her eyes lit up. “I’m sorry,” you said, watching as her shoulders deflated. Your heart broke at the sight. “I have to work on this paper. It’s—”

“Your senior thesis, I know, but. Y/N when was the last time you ate?”

You had the audacity to look defensive. “I ate with Bruce and Tony earlier today.”

“I saw Bruce and I asked him. He said you only ate a bowl of fruit and some lemonade.”

Snitch. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“You need to take a break from your work or you’re going to burn out.”

The sound that came out of your mouth was harsh and condescending. “I’m already a burnout, Wanda. I’ll be fine. Have fun at the diner.” You dodged the rest of her questions by slipping into your room and closing the door. As you hurried into a sweatshirt and old jeans, you heard the gang walk out of the house and leave you in silence. You checked to see if the apartment was empty before grabbing your things and locking up.

You planned on daydreaming the rest of the way back to the library, but the sound of a bicycle following you made your hair stand on end. When you turned to see who it was, you relaxed the grip on your pepper spray.

“Fucking hell, Parker,” you chastised as the teenager as he hopped off his bike and came up to walk beside you. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You looked like you were going to shank me,” he laughed, falling into stride with you. Regardless of his own destination, Peter would always ditch his own path to walk with you, day or night. The night part was incredibly sweet and chivalrous. “Where are you going anyways?”

“Library,” you said curtly. You were tired of explaining yourself. “You?”

“Came back from MJ’s, I’m heading home.” Peter still lived on campus due to his scholarship, and frankly, you were a little envious. It would be amazing to live seven minutes from the library again.

“How is the new girlfriend?” The smile in your voice made Peter roll his eyes.

“MJ’s fine. She’s in abnormal psych and she hates it because it’s too basic for her.”

“Ugh, yeah I took that class. But it’s a prerec for—”

“Psychopathology,” you two said simultaneously. “She told me.”

“If she wants, she can have my old notes from the class.”

Peter quirked his brow. “You still have them?”

You shrugged. “I keep all my old notebooks.”

“Why?”

The question was simple, but you felt yourself pondering the answer for longer than you’d care to admit. Why did you keep all that old stuff? You never went back and studied any of it, so it was essentially junk. Yet you treasured it like a childhood keepsake.

“I don’t know,” you lied, completely aware that you felt exposed by Peter’s question and embarrassed by the real answer. “I thought they’d come in handy one day. Looks like I was right.”

Peter looked at you, and it struck you how similar the expression was to the one Bruce had given you earlier. When he’d asked you about passion and doing what you wanted.

He seemed to drop the topic, because when he opened his mouth again, he said, “I don’t think she needs it, considering how much she loves that kind of stuff, but thanks for offering.”

You only hum in acknowledgment, spending the rest of your walk together listening to the cars passing by and the soft clicks of Peter’s bike chains; sounds that had plagued you since sophomore year.

After this year, you’d never hear them again.

You bit your lip to keep from sighing. Peter would surely ask you what was wrong, but you couldn’t admit all this to him. He had way too much on his plate, between his honors scholarship, his biochemistry major and his job running the Photo Lab, it was a wonder he even spent time with you.

There was no way to tell Peter you missed him without spilling your guts, and you were too tired and too scared to say it. So instead you made a joke when you parted ways, and spent too much time in your head worrying about what you should’ve said.

And if you’d been paying attention instead, you wouldn’t have bumped into someone for the second time that day. This time the person had spilled all their books, a large stack of hardbacks that scattered in the doorway.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” you said, not looking them in the eye. You crouched down to help them pick up their books, but when you placed The Essentials of Faulkner into someone’s hand, you looked up.

The blue eyes were soft on yours for a brief moment before recognition sparked in them. The man furrowed his brows before standing to his full height, which towered over you even when you stood too.

“You again,” he said, arrogance still pronounced. The English Major Prick.

Your blood pressure seemed to spike with anger. “Hey, I said I was sorry.”

“I’m mostly just shocked at my odds,” he said. “I must be the unluckiest person in this whole university to get knocked over by the same spaced-out girl twice.”

“One,” you glared, “I didn’t knock you over, my shit fell the first time. Second of all, you could also avoid me, ya know.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Hey,” a third party cut through your arguing. Someone walked around you two, flicking his middle finger at the both of you. “People have to fucking walk here.”

“Mind your business, asshole!” you whisper-yelled, and at the same time the English Major Prick said “Take a fucking hike, buddy!”

You were about to stare at him, but he was already disappearing into the pitch blackness. You shook off the encounter and headed back up to your regular post on the third floor.

Determined to actually get farther than before, you treaded through the floor stacks, searching up and down for the theory books you needed. One such book you found on your first stop, flipping through the index to find the pages you were looking for. A flash of blue caught your eye, and marked all over the page was the mysterious handwriting, like in the books from before.

“Huh,” you said, wondering what the odds were that you had checked out the exact same books as this person. It was unbelievable, and quite fantastical, if you were honest, but here it was; their handwriting in your hands once again.

“I wonder if I’ll find you, mystery person,” you lamented, before closing the book and carrying on.

* * * *

Weeks passed by in a similar haze: you would spend your days pretending to take notes while in reality you were highlighting sentences in articles, re-wording paragraphs and rearranging structures in your head. Mid-terms came and went, stringing you out even further. Time was unraveling at the seams, only stitching itself together when you needed to know what day it was or where to be.

Everyone around you seemed to be planning for something though; whether it was grad school or lining up jobs, or even something as simple as graduation, their eyes were on some far away prize while you could barely visualize waking up the next day.

Kyle noticed this. “You look awful,” he’d said, after he begged you to stay and talk after class. You rolled your eyes.

“Is that all you wanted?”

“No,” he said pointedly. “But it is concerning. You’ve been working on your paper?”

‘Working’ was both an understatement and a gross misuse. “I’ve been staring at the screen wondering why it doesn’t sound like I know it can.”

“That’s the dilemma of the author,” Kyle chuckled, but you were too numb to respond. “Tell you what. When you come in for your advising,”—he put emphasis on the word because he knew you hadn’t signed up for a time slot yet— “bring your essay and I’ll edit it. Sound fair?”

“You know it’s still a first draft,” you whined, mostly to hide the dread that bubbled in your throat.

“I know, and I expect it to be rough. But I know you’ve been working hard, so let me help you out. Please.” He added the extra please to sweeten the deal, and it had worked. Which is how you ended up outside of his office, contemplating which spot to take when something caught your eye.

It was blue ink, the m’s and n’s nothing but little scribbles, the capitol J hanging well below the line. It was familiar, so familiar that you fumbled around in your backpack for the research book you’d been carrying around with you, the one that held mystery persons notes.

You held up the defaced text, looking between the scrawl on the page and the name written on the line. It was exact match down to the ink, and you gasped in elation.

“I found you,” you whispered, making a squeal of delight. “I actually found you, James Buchanan.” You squinted, reading the name in the slot. Your excitement died down as you tapped your finger to your lips.

The name didn’t ring any bells. You didn’t expect that you would know the mystery writer, but the fact was, you shared an advisor. You pressed your fingers to the name as if it would disappear before your eyes.

“You complicate things,” you told it, as if somehow, they could hear you, feel you. Maybe they could.

“I’m no shrink, but talking to pieces of paper is definitely on the spectrum of insanity.”

His voice couldn’t scare you, even if it was so sudden. An office door closed, and Thor looked at you in amusement. He looked better than you last remembered, considering you hadn’t seen him since he had told his father—the college professor—he was dropping out.

“What are you doing here?” you straightened up, facing him with a beaming smile. He mirrored the expression.

“Talking to dear old dad about some things,” he took a few steps way from what you presumed was his father’s office. “Checking in on Loki.”

“How is the snake these days? Haven’t heard from him since you left.”

“I suppose there really is no reason for Loki to speak to any of you anymore.” Thor side eyed you. “Not that he shouldn’t.”

Thor’s departure had been a curveball in your sitcom-esque life up until that point. He was the connective tissue in your helter-skelter friend group; smart, compassionate and charming, he’d taken all of you out of your fussy shells and made you relax in ways you didn’t even realize you needed to.

And then, just like that, he was written out, and in his absence the void grew and grew until you didn’t feel like friends with anyone anymore.

It hadn’t been Thor’s fault. He’d done it for himself, and you were proud of him. You just wished it didn’t make things so goddamn complicated. So different.

You couldn’t dump that on Thor. “Yeah, well, he’s probably busy freaking out over the LSAT to even remember we exist.”

“God, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” Thor laughed. “I have all these videos of him cramming and falling asleep on the dinner table. I once picked him up and put him back in bed and Hela filmed the whole thing.”

“Shut up,” you said, a maniacal grin forming on your face. “Odinson, don’t lie to me.”

He wasn’t lying. The two of you laughed loudly in the hallways as you watched Thor lift Loki like he was a little girl into his arms and proceed to walk through their house, Hela snickering behind them. You were bracing yourself against a wall trying not to howl, while Thor held no such qualms about letting his booming laughter fill the silence.

It registered somewhere between your fourth gasp for air and Thor’s winding down laughter that someone had opened a door. And then, in a low, pointed voice they said, “Hey, people are trying to study in this lounge.”

You tried to hold back your laughter, but Thor’s insistent giggling kept a smile on your face. “Sorry,” you said behind your hand. “We didn’t realize—”

The smile slipped off your face when you looked up, seeing the angry pout of the English Major Prick staring back at you. His eyes glanced between you and Thor, leaned cozily up against a wall and laughing at something private. Embarrassment coiled in your stomach.

“Didn’t realize the lounge was right there. Sorry.” You averted your eyes. Thor had stopped laughing at this point, turning to you with an expectant look. You nodded and waved goodbye, noting the look he gave the English Major Prick as he walked past him.

And then he turned his accusatory stare back to you. “Was that Thor Odinson?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought he dropped out.”

“So what if he did?”

“What’s he doing hanging around the English department?”

You crossed your arms. “His father is a professor here, smartass.”

“Oh.” All his malice seeped out as his shoulders deflated. The two of you stood awkwardly facing one another. It had been a long time since you’d bumped into him that day (twice), but you’d started to see his face everywhere. Out of the corner of your eye in the stairwell or sitting on a table in the school café you’d catch brunette hair and distant, sad eyes.

They were never that way when he looked at you. It was probably the anger.

“Read any Faulkner, lately?”

You wanted to fucking die. It was lame as hell, but he didn’t seem like he was leaving anytime soon and you just had to break this tense air.

“What?”

“Every time I see you, you’re reading Faulkner.”

He looked away for a moment and you banged your head against the wall when. You muttered stupidstupidstupid to yourself while he chuckled.

“You’re paying too much attention to me, mystery girl.”

The nickname made you perk up you head. “Mystery girl?”

It was his turn to look embarrassed. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered. “That’s what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

He seemed to realize what he’d said too late. You sucked in a breath to calm down the nerves that felt like they were frying all over your body. “You think about me, huh?” It didn’t sound cheeky like you wanted it to—it sounded almost hopeful.

“You left quite an impression on me. Literally, my shoulder is bruised.”

You hummed. “Better than what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Oh, you really don’t want to know, buddy.”

He was out of the lounge now, leaning on the door frame and fully facing you. “But I really, really do.”

You smiled down at the ground, partly because you were about call this boy a prick to his face, but also because he was smiling at you for once, and he looked rather sweet when he curled his hair behind his ears.

“English Major Prick.” His eyebrows shot into his hair and you had to put your hand over your mouth to stop laughing. “I told you you didn’t want to know.”

“No, no, it’s—” he scuffed his shoes against the ground. They were well shined oxfords with scuff marks on the very tips. “I deserve that.”

“So, we finally agree on something.”

The bashful smile he gave was infectious. “Well, I’d prefer you not refer to me as that.”

“Who says I’ll be referring to you at all?”

“Well, you do think about me.”

It shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, considering you knew he did the same. And yet your reaction was textbook flustered. “I mean—”

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name,” he continued. “It’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

Oh shit. Oh no. “You’re Steve’s friend?” It came out as a question because you were suddenly terrified. You had been off-handedly telling Steve about this guy for the better part of the semester and now you knew he was his best friend but you were also—no, you were not falling for this guy you barely knew.

But you did feel something in this stupid little interaction. Especially when you saw a new expression on his face—surprise.

“You know Stevie?” Stevie. Cute.

“Yeah, he’s—I, huh.” You took a minute to gather your thoughts. He was patient about it. “I modeled for him? You know, for his senior exhibition.”

Something crossed his face before he said, “Oh,” in a tone that was supposed to be surprise, but sounded like something else. “You’re the girl he’s painting.”

God, this could not be any more complicated. “Yeah, I am.”

The conversation came to a full stop, and from behind Bucky a familiar bearded face popped out, looking for him. “Hey, Barnes, don’t leave me hang—” Quentin Beck’s entire face went pale when he saw you, muttering out a “sorry,” before disappearing into the lounge.

Bucky whirled around, and you didn’t expect the wide eyes he gave you. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get Quentin to shut up?”

You snorted and he shushed you, but it was no use. The two of you broke into suspicious giggles, trying desperately to be quiet.

“It’s a long story. One you don’t have time for. Quentin will set this building on fire if you don’t pay attention to him.”

Bucky bounced his shoulders against the wall. “You’re probably right.”

You stood there dumbly for a moment, not meeting one another’s gazes until Bucky cleared his throat.

“I guess, um, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” You turned around on your heels so you wouldn’t have to see him anymore, but also to hide the stupid, childish grin you got from thinking about bumping into him again.

* * * *

You found yourself thinking about Bucky Barnes at the most inopportune, and rather inappropriate times.

You were never going to make a move on him; he was smart and well rounded and Steve’s best friend, three things that intimidated you into only confessing your feelings in drawn out day dreams. In your head he would always say yes, but there were many other discrepancies between your head and real life.

For example, in your head your essay was a masterpiece, but on paper you weren’t so sure.

A strange assembly of people sat around your table to read your magnum opus: Nat, Bruce, Wanda, MJ and Pete all flipped through the copies of your first fifteen pages, highlighting and scratching in notes. You had decided to stay with them and answer any initial questions, but it got very quiet very quickly as they became absorbed with your writing.

To keep from bursting with anxiety, you’d let your mind drift, thinking of the earlier days when this might have been a dinner party, or maybe even one of Tony’s house parties. And then you remembered that Steve had been to those too, but on the peripheral of everyone else. And if Bucky was his best friend, he must have been on the fringe as well. What it would have been like if you’d known him then…

Their insistent chittering interrupted your daydream, so you engaged them by saying “Something you want to share with the class? Peter, MJ?”

Peter shrank back at your raised eyebrows while MJ’s bored look persisted. “I was just telling him that I think your topic has been done before.”

You instantly remembered why the younger girl intimidated you so much. MJ seemed to read your face, because she continued: “I like your take on it though. You break it down in new ways, but you don’t dumb it down for your readers.”

“Okay, okay,” you repeated. There was nothing you could do with praise except keep your paper the way it was, but that wouldn’t help you write the remaining pages. “Everyone else? Thoughts?”

Nat kept scribbling down something in the margins while she spoke, never looking at you. “Your argument is well thought out, and your choice of movies reflects it really well.” She added one last embellishment before smiling up at you; small and genuine, but gone in a flash. “I might even add in one more film if you can.”

You breathed out to keep your elation under control. Had you seriously pulled this off? And so far away from the deadline? “You think so? Like the theory doesn’t feel like an afterthought?”

“Not at all. It feels like you’ve developed it pretty well. It’s solid.” Bruce complimented. His smile was warm and there was a twinkle in his eyes when he slid your paper back to you. “It’s a pretty good paper.”

The elation disappeared, replaced with a cold rush of fear. “Is that all? It’s just good?”

Your panic must have been alarming, because everyone tripped over themselves to console you.

“I like the part where you call the films low-key racist.”

“Thanks, MJ.”

“Yeah, you picked some good movies. You should use Jurassic Park.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a monster movie,” Peter explained this like you were stupid, and hadn’t just write fifteen pages on the ethics of monster movies.

“It doesn’t, it’s not—”

“It doesn’t work. No one wanted to fuck the T-Rex, Peter.”

“Can we focus on my theory and NOT on fucking T-Rex’s?”

Wanda came to your rescue. “Y/N, the theory is sound. It’s a well-constructed paper, with very minor issues—”

You wanted to tear out your hair. “What issues? You guys haven’t said anything!”

“Hey, hey,” Bruce came out of his seat and walked around you, placing his hands on your shoulders. Your short breaths became a sigh as you let him soothingly rub out the tension. You hadn’t been this close to Bruce in a long time, not since you two broke up sophomore year. But he could still read your anxiety like a book.

“Calm down. We know this paper is important to you.”

“I won’t graduate without it.”

“But you did a great job.” The occupants of the room smiled at you, and they felt honest. “You picked us to read it because we wouldn’t lie to you, right?”

You nodded. Bruce really did know you well.

“This is a great paper. Your teacher will love it.”

Bruce had never lied to you, but it didn’t mean he was infallible.

Kyle had a strange look on his face while he read your paper. A couple of times you’d broken away from your daydreams (usually about Bucky—you really did think about him in your worst times) and caught him whispering questions to himself or underlining furiously. You caught words being written in bold red ink and your heart dropped out of your stomach.

“Y/N this is,” he started, but was unable to finish. “It’s rough.”

“It’s my second draft, Kyle.”

“I know,” he was trying to use a calmer voice, but he was strained. “But it’s very early, and if you go back and fix some things, I think it’ll make more sense.”

“It doesn’t even make sense?!”

“Hey.” His tone was firm against your hysterical whine. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

His hands were laced across his desk as he looked to you pointedly. Your words died in your throat. There wasn’t anything you could tell him, there was no reason your draft was shitty. It was all you, all in your head, everywhere except on the page where it needed to be.

When you didn’t answer Kyle sighed. “You know you’re one of my favorite students, right?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does matter.” He was offended, you could hear it. Offended, concerned, and angry.

“You’ve never gotten higher than an A- on your papers. Not in my class. But you’re extremely smart and I know you can read my comments, so I’m just wondering why you think it’s okay to waste my time—and your hard work—not changing your essays when I tell you to.”

You felt like a scolded child. Tears pricked in your eyes, but you held it together. Just not enough to speak.

“Everything is here, but it feels like you’re holding back. Like you can’t see the bigger picture, and that’s not like you. So, I’m asking you, right now, why you’re afraid to put everything in this essay.”

“I—” your voice was thick with emotion. He knew you were on the brink of collapsing, and he sat back, defeated.

“This paper isn’t the same as all the others. You can’t get an A- and go. As you go farther in academia things change, and you have to step it up. You’re a senior, Y/N.”

“What if I don’t want to be?”

You weren’t sure how that thought slipped out of your mouth, but Kyle sat up when it registered to him what you’d said.

“That’s just how it is. Are you…are you scared of that?”

Your heart rattled in your chest. The obviousness of his accusation hit you like a freight train, and Kyle could tell he was right.

“Y/N,” he started, but you stood abruptly, snatching the paper off his desk. “Y/N, wait.”

“I’m sorry, professor, Kyle, I just—” you left it at that before bolting, shooting down the stairs and storming out of the building. The tears came dripping down your face and you crumpled, breathing heavily like you’d never had air before.

It was utterly humiliating. Passerbys would look at you and remark in hushed tones, avoiding you like the plague. You wanted to scream about how normal this breakdown was, but it didn’t feel normal.

He’d seen through you like glass and shattered you twice as easily. Everything was raining down too fast, and there was no way to stop it.

You were shaking so hard that when a hand came to rest on your shoulder you hardly felt it. “Whoa, Y/N?” came Peter’s warm, boyish voice. “Hey, hey what happened?”

He slid next you, curling his arm around your back and forcing you to lean on him. You did so with very little protest. His heart beat was steady as he coddled you, and through bleary eyes you could see Ned Leeds squatting to look you in the eye.

“Hey, do you want to talk about it?” His voice was so soft, like he was talking to a baby. The thought made you laugh.

“I’ll be fine in a minute. I’ll just, bounce back up and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Y/N.”

“Yes, I do Peter,” you sighed, feeling another round of tears prick at your red rubbed eyes. “I have to, or else everything will come fucking crashing down—”

“Hasn’t it already?”

The statement pierced through your sobs like an arrow and you glared at Peter. Even through watery eyes you managed to take him aback.

“I’m not going to sit here and have you fucking patronize me, Parker!”

“Fine then, let’s go somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

Peter didn’t exactly smile, but his mischievous look was enough to ground you. “Somewhere the entire campus can’t see you have a breakdown.”

* * * *

Now that winter was approaching, the sunsets crept up earlier and earlier until by 7 pm the sun was already set, and twilight brought out the first twinkle of stars. Peter led the way up the scaffolding stairs to the sloped roof of the creative sciences building, despite having the afterhours key.

“I wanted the nostalgia of sneaking up here,” he told you, tossing his backpack over the highest point of the building and hauling himself up. The two of you helped Ned and the walked over to the best vantage point on the entire campus.

This far from the city, and with the lights out in most of the buildings you could see the stars wink into existence. It felt like lifetimes had past since you were last up here—it was Thor and Valkyrie who’d imparted this knowledge on you and you’d kept it confined within your friend group ever since.

The three of you laid down, backpacks under your heads like pillows. The only sounds were of the wind in your ears or the cars down below. You breathed deep to clear your lungs, and you hiccupped out your last sob.

“My professor says I’m afraid of change.”

There was a shift on either side of you as Peter and Ned simultaneously sat up and stared.

“He said that?” Ned asked incredulously. “Like, to your face?”

“No; he kind of asked me, I guess? I don’t know. He fucking read me.”

“Are you scared?”

Peter’s voice was as uncertain as you felt. No, that was a lie—you’d know this for quite some time now. You closed your eyes, letting it all wash over you.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“You mean crying over a paper that’s worth all of your grade and contemplating jumping off a roof?”

You laughed outwardly and loudly at Ned’s response. “No. Well, Maybe.”

“Elaborate.”

“I want to always be in college. It’s been the most stressful, chaotic, stupid crazy time of my life and I just,” you opened your eyes to face the truth. “I don’t want to give it up. I don’t want to leave all of you, some of us scattered in the wind, the rest of you left behind. I want us to stay like this forever: sitting on the roof and counting the stars and pointing out constellations we don’t even know the name of. Laughing in the diner until midnight and screaming on the streets every time we jaywalk. Drunken house parties, movie marathons. This era, forever.”

There was a moment of silence after your confession, and you dragged your hand down your face. “Sorry, that was—”

“That was sooo poetic,” Ned told you, reveling in your embarrassment. “How long have you been holding that in?”

“Y/N,” Peter said seriously. “You can’t just fail your classes and bomb your senior thesis and stay in college forever.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“You sure? Because it’s all going according to plan.”

“Peter, what if I’m not ready to leave?” You sat up to face him. “I’ve been going to school my entire life, and now I’m just supposed to walk out and be an adult? I never thought I’d even make it past the age of sixteen, let alone do all this! What if I can’t do it?”

“You think any of your friends are ready? You think Bruce, or Wanda or Steve are just, full fledged adults, ready to take on the world?”

They hadn’t even occurred to you. The mention of them felt like a slap in the face.

“God, for someone so smart, you’re really stupid. None of us are ready for whatever the hell is out there. We never were!” His voice had that pain in it, the one that shouldn’t belong to someone so young. “We all wish it could be crazy fun teen shit all the time, but we have to move forward. And we have to do it together, so we don’t leave each other behind. That means you have to move on.”

“Damn,” you let his words sink in. “When did you get so wise?”

“Sophomore year,” he said precisely. “When I had a mental breakdown over chem class and you told me the exact same thing.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You told me that the crying and the failing happened to everyone, but that I couldn’t dwell on it and stay stagnant. I had to be the best version of my myself, and that included moving forward from my mistakes.”

You remembered that moment. Peter had been curled up against the wall of his tiny, dirty dorm room and you, Bruce and Tony had coaxed him out with the promise of ice cream and you knew for the first time in your life that you always wanted those boys in your life. You smiled at Peter.

“Sneaky trick, Parker.”

“I learned from the best.”

Your phone buzzed against the roof and you picked it up before it rattled off the edge. Wanda had called three times, and she was calling again.

“Hello?”

“Where are you? Peter said you were crying?”

You shot a look over at the brunette and he played dumb. “Yeah, I was.”

“Well I was worried about you! You usually come home and change by now, or at least tell me you’ll be late but…” her voice morphed into concern. “What happened?”

You didn’t want to be at home right now. In fact, you didn’t want this night to be like all the others—with you laying in bed until your mind finally shut down. You turned to Peter and Ned and mouthed a question, to which they nodded vigorously.

“Hey Wanda, I was thinking we could get some food and catch up. Say, 11th Street Diner?”

She grappled for words before giving a snort of disbelief. “You’re a heart attack, you know that?”

“Meet me at 8.”

* * * *

Wanda had brought everyone—and by everyone you meant her usual motley crew of Clint Barton, Nat, her boyfriend and her brother. They were all wreaking havoc in different sections of the diner: Pietro, Peter and Ned were outside filming skateboarding tricks while Vision was taking his sweet time picking something at the jukebox. Nat and Clint had taken seats at the bar to get their food faster, leaving you and Wanda sipping your shared milkshake. Strawberry, like you both liked.

“Wanna hear a secret?”

“Tell me.”

You two used to do this when you realized you hadn’t talked in a while. You’d tell her something no one else knew, because she was both your roommate and the best at keeping secrets. So, you leaned over and whispered into her ear about the time you gave Quentin Beck a hand job in the corner booth of this very diner, and she sucked down her drink to keep from screaming with laughter. Or possibly disgust.

“How long have you been keeping that in?” Pink liquid still escaped her mouth and you handed her a napkin.

“Since we dated.”

“Do you regret it?”

“While I never want to do it again, no, I don’t.”

“It’s breaking the rules, but can I ask for another secret?”

You tilted your head. “‘Fraid I’m all out.”

“Not quite,” she said coyly. “What happened, when Peter said you were crying?”

You watched the ice in your drink while you swirled your straw and monotonously recounted the events of your disastrous advising meeting and the roof with Peter and Ned. Wanda’s face fell into its usual pensiveness.

“Is he right?” The question was leading, but you fell for it regardless.

“Yup. Peter and I have established that my subconscious is sabotaging my paper.”

“I always knew you’d be your own worst enemy.” She wasn’t not smug when she said it, but the sip of her milkshake is. You snatched the glass yourself and she pouted.

“You’re right, I just hate hearing people say it.”

“Well, it’s because you’re always in that big brain of yours.” She prodded her finger on your forehead, like fuckin E.T. “And your overly romantic heart.”

“God, you’re like the fourth person whose told me that.” You counted them on your fingers. “You, Bruce, Q, and Steve. That’s entirely too many.”

“Five,” Nat interrupted, walking up to your table with Clint in tow. “I’m saying it now. Also, Bucky Barnes has been staring at you for ten minutes.”

A shot of adrenaline went through your heart. “Bucky Barnes? Where?”

“He’s at the bar, alone, so I suggest you do something about it.”

Wanda looked at you expectantly, then leaned out of the booth to get a look at him. You hissed at her to stop, but her mouth curved into a satisfied grin.

“Well, he sure is handsome. I wouldn’t mind if you ditched us for him, but you’ll have to tell me the details of this later. After you properly explain the Quentin hand job thing.”

“The what now?” Nat’s stoic face broke into one of pure shock, so you found it a good a time as any to escape the tension and enter…new tension.

Bucky turned his head to act like he wasn’t overtly staring at you, but you’d caught the sight of his eyes going wide. You sat on the stool next to him and waved off the server before leaning over the counter.

“You know I can see you even though you aren’t looking at me, right?”

He seemed to be ready for the confrontation now, because when he swiveled around there was confidence painted on his face. He opened his mouth but you stopped him in his tracks.

“Actually, before you say anything, do you want to get out of here? We have an audience.”

He looked behind you to see three sets of eyes peering over the booth you’d just left. He huffed before placing exact change next to his plate and standing up. You followed suit, snatching a few fries off his plate and flipping off your friends.

When you two stood on the curb of the diner, he confessed, “I walked here, so, there’s really nowhere for us to go.”

“Oh.” You realized it was the same for you, but you tried to hide your disappointment with a smile. “That’s okay. We can walk.”

So, you did. When you told him you’d go anywhere but the library, he seemed surprised. “You like, live there.”

“So it would seem. I’m just not really in the mood to do any work tonight.”

“Oh, so it’s one of those days.” He said it so knowingly, and you realize that he is also an English major, and a senior.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on my senior thesis.”

“No shit,” he said, but without the condescension. In fact, he’d been perfectly civil. “Same here.”

He talked about how he was taking Southern Literature because it was dark and surprising. His paper was on the Southern Gothic, and how that idea had moved on to other aspects of modern American ideology. Bucky moved his hands when he talked, his broad shoulders going up and down. He was wearing a blue bomber jacket that you liked because it caught the light from the street lamps nicely.

“What’s yours on?”

“Oh,” you came out of your thoughts abruptly, unsure of what he’d said. “Well, I specifically study film—”

“That makes sense.” He blurted out, and you creased your brows.

“What do you mean?”

He hissed out something to himself. “Nothing, it’s just when you’re on third floor sometimes I see you watching the weirdest shit and I wonder ‘why is she doing that in the library?’”

It took a minute for you to fully understand the implication. “You’ve seen me around?”

He rolls his head with a laugh. “You’re hard to miss.”

This was news to you. You’d flown under the radar for quite some time, never having joined any clubs or sports people could recognize you from. You’d gotten a few compliments on your outfits in the past four years, but nothing you thought could make you known.

He was very good at making your stomach turn into a mosh pit of butterflies. You felt not exactly vulnerable, but strangely delicate around him. Like you were floating on air.

So, to quell that feeling, you replied. “I’d beg to differ.”

“I’ve seen you around the library since, what, sophomore year? You’re always on third floor, you walk in like you own the goddamn place.” He smiled down at the ground when he talks about you. It was the cutest thing in the world to watch him curl his hair behind his ear and smile at you sideways.

“You never noticed me.”

It was true, you hadn’t. “I try to pick through my memories and find you. I feel like I’m retroactively learning about you.”

“Thinking hard?” It’s an accusation you’re okay with, because he was bashful, not arrogant when he said it.

“Maybe.”

You swayed when you walked beside him, thinking you could listen to his stories for hours. At times you felt like you were boring him, because the stories of Austria and internships were large compared to your freshman dorm party memories, but he laughed like he’s never been more entertained in his life.

“I wish I’d talked to you earlier. Gotten your name from your lips before anyone else had said it to me.”

Your eyes widened. “I never told you my name?”

He shook his head, and the hair came out from behind his ears. “No. that day I told you mine, was it the first time you’d heard it?”

“Maybe. I think Steve just calls you ‘Buck’.”

“Steve talked about you first. And then when I became friends with all his adjacent buddies, they talked about you too. And then, of course, when I went back to Quentin that day, he told me.”

“God,” you groaned. “What did he say about me?”

“That you’re smart and crazy and kind. He would say your name like it was cursed and enchanted all at once.”

“And my friends call me romantic,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve been branded that too. But I don’t mind it so much. There’s worse things to be.”

“Like what?”

“Like an English Major Prick.” He emphasized that last consonant and you hid you face in your hands.

“You won’t let me live that one down, huh?”

“Maybe. If I like the way you say my name, I might consider it.”

There was a split second where you realized how fragile the moment was; one wrong step and it was broken on the floor like humpty dumpty. You thought of your professor pegging your fear of change. Peter’s words echoed in your brain and you felt like you were jumping off the roof when you said:

“Bucky Barnes, you smooth son of a bitch.”

He smiled, brighter than the moon. All at once, everything that was ever certain was shattered, but you leaped over it and left it behind.

* * * *

Steve called you in one last time about two weeks before the showcase. You were scribbling over the words written by the mystery writer (James, you affectionately called him) while Steve wiped sweat from his brow. And incidentally, paint in his hair.

Tapping your leg to the beat of whatever pretentious song, you were too engrossed in your ‘work’ to hear Steve say “You look happy.”

“What?” you screamed over the music.

He turned it off and sat next to you with a smug look you disliked. You pushed his face away and he only laughed, that big almost fake sound you knew was real.

“Seriously, you’re so empathic that whatever your feel, I feel. And today’s goin’ great.” He gestured to the painting that was supposed to be you, but all you saw were swirls of paint. You took this to mean things were going well.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I had a rough week last week, but things are getting better.”

“Did you talk to your advisor again?”

“Yeah.” Kyle had spent the better part of an hour picking apart your thesis in ways you couldn’t have even imagined. By the end of it you’d had at least three pages worth of new material, but still a hell of a way to go. “Kyle and I worked it out.”

“That’s good. You know my advisor’s freaking out about my work? He thinks it’s too complex.”

“It’s just faces.” It sounded dumb to say, but that was the way you saw it.

Steve picked up your chin. His fingers were wet and cold with paint. “You’re not just a face, Y/N.”

“Ah!” you screamed as lilac rubs off on you. “Let me go, paint monster!”

You dropped your book into his lap as you ran around looking for the sink. Steve’s laughter subsided as he looked down, puzzled at the writing that swirled around the pages of the library book.

“Hey, Y/N?” he called out, but you’re preoccupied with wiping paint off your neck. “Y/N?”

“What?”

“Where’d you get this?”

“The library, doesn’t it say that on the spine?”

“But this hand writing,” His voice tapered off.

You exchanged the book for the rag and assessed James’ words. “I’ve been curious about it too. It was in like, all the books I checked out, isn’t that wild? And—get this—it belongs to some guy named James Buchanan, and we have the same advisor. Isn’t that crazy?”

Steve looked like he was trying to say something, but he eyes turned towards the door as someone knocked twice.

“Yo, punk? You in here?” Bucky’s voice carried into the room. When he walked in, he immediately paused, taking stock of the two of you staring at him.

“Oh,” his voice wavered and a nervous smile appeared. “Hey.”

Steve’s eyes cut to yours, and you feel immense pressure. “Hi, Bucky.”

“Hey, Buck.” Steve’s voice is a bullet, and Bucky turned to him, automatically annoyed. “Y/N has this book I think you’ve read.”

“Oh, which one?” He crossed the room in easy strides, and you were helpless in the situation you thought Steve was orchestrating. When you handed it to him his eyes lit up in recognition as he flipped through it.

“Holy shit, I really wrecked this one, huh? Good thing the university really doesn’t give a shit.”

You were having trouble processing what he’s said. Steve had gotten up wordlessly, but there was a particularly blank look on his face as he avoided your eyes. You turned back to Bucky, who was fondly reading over James’ words.

“Though Scott himself does not adhere to Weaver’s interpretation, the fact still remains that the tension between the Alien and Ripley,” he trailed off with a stunned look. “I was a regular old critic, huh?”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull. “You wrote that?”

He was startled at the way you raised your voice, and answered cautiously. “Yeah, like, years ago. For a film class I took.”

You reeled back at the information. You fought the urge to open your backpack and ask him if he’d written in all the other books, but that couldn’t—how could he be—

“I checked out, like, seven books from the library this semester and they all have the same handwriting in them. And then, I found out that it matched to a guy named James Buchanan—”

“Barnes,” He finished.

“What? No. That’s not what I saw.”

“That’s my name. James Buchanan Barnes.”

You sat there dumbly, your eyes narrowed in thought. There was no fucking way that he’d written in all these film books. In every single one you’d painstakingly read with romantic ideals and dreaming of who it’d belong to and how you’d meet. The fantasies were crumbling around you, leaving you in the dust.

Bucky’s face was earnest though. Steve was silent behind both of you, painting away like your worlds weren’t colliding.

“You. Okay,” you restarted. “If your name is Bucky,”

“Doll, it’s a nickname—”

“Let me finish.” You ignored the ‘doll’ part and tried to Sherlock your way through this. “If everyone you know calls you Bucky Barnes, why did you write ‘James Buchanan” on Kyle’s sign-up sheet?”

Bucky settled into the stool Steve had been sitting on. “It’s a joke between the two of us. He thinks it’s funny, so I humor him when I can.”

“Okay but, the books are companion pieces for films, I thought you were an English lit major?”

“I am, but I took Intro Film sophomore year.”

“What? With who.”

“Kyle.”

You thought back to two years ago, when you’d been new to the world of film, and you’d met Kyle for the first time. You’d aced that class with flying colors, quickly becoming one of his star students. Coincidentally, so was Quentin Beck, a cock sure boy who got into arguments over any little thing with you. The two of you were the most outspoken in the class, and you never paid much mind to anyone that wasn’t him. But there had been other people that would wait after class for a moment with the professor, and it was in those memories that you recalled him.

Brunette hair, but far shorter. Crystal blue eyes and impeccable clothes. Bucky.

“That…you were in that class? But I never—”

“You never noticed me.” His voice was resigned and so was his smile. He’d told you this before, that he’d seen you around before, but you never imagined he’d known you since sophomore year. “I remembered you from all the way back then: you had long, shiny, impeccable hair and this glint in your eye whenever you talked. Which was a lot. You could dazzle the class just by breathing. And I sat rows and rows behind you, and never spoke. There was no reason you would have ever seen me.”

There was a wavering sadness in his voice, and for a moment, Bucky looked exactly as he did in Steve’s portrait: haunted by the past, unable to fix it.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why am I just now figuring out that you’re the boy of my dreams?”

There was music playing in the background that hadn’t been there before; a cozy, soft melody by one of Steve’s favorite artists. It matched Bucky’s breathlessness as he gazed at you with a tilted head and eyes full of hope. A far cry from just seconds before.

“What did you say?”

“I’ve been thinking about this mysterious ‘James Buchanan’ who’s written exactly what I think, and has seen all the same movies as me. And I’ve been wondering what he’s like, or if he’s nice, of if he’d ever even like me if I met him.”

A coy smile stretched across his face. “Well, what is he like?”

“He’s,” you blanked for a moment, trying to tone down all the wildly romantic thoughts you’ve been having ever since you’d met Bucky Barnes. You decided to risk it all and tell him the truth.

“He’s very smart; he reads Faulkner but think Hurston has more heart. He dresses like he already has his PhD but it looks good on him. He’s sweet but extremely romantic, which is okay because I could listen to him talk for hours. He’s a bit of a prick, though.”

He hung his head back when he laughed at the last part, and you felt your heart swell tremendously. He wasn’t mocking you. He was agreeing with you. You knew this to be true.

“Well, do you think he does like you?” Bucky suddenly became serious. He was nervous.

“I don’t know, does he?”

“Can you two just fucking kiss already?”

Bucky threw something at Steve, but you couldn’t tell what. In the moment he threw it you were laughing, but once it’s over his hand slid onto your face and pulled you into a kiss. Your eyes closed when you felt it, and he tilted his head to keep you occupied. Otherwise you would have heard Steve triumphantly yell “yes!” behind you two.

Bucky rested his forehead against yours. His blue, blue eyes were so much lovelier this close. He whispered, “I think he does.”

You kissed him quick, once, then twice, then sighed contentedly. “Good. I like him too.”

“Well I for one am happy for them.”

This time you see a wet paintbrush beam for Steve’s eye. “Less talking, more painting, punk!”

* * * *

Bucky is lost in thought when the door to Kyle’s office opened. There was a low chatter between two people and he looked up to see Kyle propped up in the door was as you spoke to him. You were dressed up nicely in a tweed coat that matched his own.

Kyle’s eyes rested on the chair Bucky sat in and he perked up in recognition. “Oh, James,” he said, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, were you waiting for me?”

“No, not you.” He stood up and brushed out the wrinkles in his shirt before coming to your side. You gave him a quick smile before turning back to your professor, whose face was openly shocked.

“Oh,” he said in a dubious, but delighted voice. “So, this is happening.”

“We’re going to the senior art exhibition to see our friend’s graduation project,” you explained, looking rather annoyed at the two men. “We’re both in one of his paintings.”

“Together?” he asked, a bit of scandal in his voice.

“No,” you droned, shutting it down. “Mind your business.”

“You’re both my advisees, this is my business.”

“Good night, Kyle,” you said pointedly, turning around and marching down the hall. Kyle sent a congratulatory wink at Bucky, who acknowledged it with a salute.

As he caught up with you, he handed back a thick essay, riddled with blue ink and yellow highlighter. You added it to another similar essay, one with exclamation points and significantly less marks.

“How’d he like it?” Bucky made conversation as you two trekked across campus. Winter made the nighttime seem even darker, but the two of you glowed underneath the street lamps.

“He loved it. Said it was infinitely better, and then apologized for the millionth time for making me cry.”

“What did he say about the part about Ripley and the Alien?”

You shot him that crazy grin, the one that looked unbelievably beautiful as you approached the traffic lights. Your face was highlighted in red and Bucky thought of the painting you two were about to witness.

“He didn’t say a thing. I should have cited you on that.”

“I’m not a published writer.”

“I know. But one day when you are, I can tell people I gave you your start.”

Bucky laughed, mostly to keep his heart from beating out of his ribcage. Crazy, crazy girl.

You two entered the exhibition hall and traded your backpacks for flutes of fake champagne. The room was lighted lowly, the works of art brandished with bright lights to show off their artistry. You two walked through still life paintings and abstract canvases, marveling some he understood and other’s that made him think.

“Art’s not my forte,” he confided. You hummed, taking a lofty sip.

“Mine either. But they’re gorgeous.”

You floated down the hall as if pulled by a string, and Bucky noticed what you were hung up on.

Steve’s paintings were hanging in a trapezoid shape, and when you walked closer, they seemed to engulf you in color. To your left was Sam and to your right was Bucky, but you stared dead ahead at yourself.

Bucky had seen the painting early, per Steve’s request. He’d helped him move them from his apartment, and had seen the three of you looking very somber and one another.

You were silent as you examined the pieces, and Bucky strode right up to your side.

“So, what do you think?” you started. “I know art isn’t your forte.”

“She’s gorgeous.”

You hummed, pointing to your right. “I like this one better.”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

“His eyes; they’re so expressive. I remember being moved when I saw the reference picture. It’s haunting, but ethereal.”

This wasn’t poking fun now, you genuinely meant it. Bucky tilted his head.

“I was thinking about the future.”

“But you’re looking back.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” There was no humor in his voice. “I was thinking about how it could be the last time I ever modeled for Stevie, done everything at his beck and call, whatever the fuck he wanted. How it was my last year to do something impressive, something memorable. How I had,” he eyes looked to yours for a flash, but you caught his meaning. “Wishes. Regrets.”

Your hand snaked up his back and rested on his shoulder. The touch burned and comforted him all at once. “Do you still have them?”

“Some of them. Not all of them.” He gave you a smile and a quick kiss. Not you.

“Good. That’d be a shame. These three deserve to be happy.”

“They look so beautiful when they’re upset, though.”

“Don’t they?” you sighed and laid your head on his shoulder. “They should hang them in The Louvre.”

“They’d shove me in the back.”

Steve’s voice echoed from your left, and Sam strolled up with him. He stared at his own giant face, all mellowed out with blues and pinks.

“This face deserves to be in every museum. Front and center.”

“God, I did not miss the sound of your voice,” Bucky groaned.

“And I didn’t miss your sour attitude Barnes, and yet here we are. Y/N, remind me again why you’re with this loser?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. He’s had a crush on me for a looong time,” you drawled, lacing your hands together when Bucky rolled his eyes. “Decided to give him a shot.”

“I’m glad you did. Now he can finally stop talking about you with that look one his face.”

“What look? You mean that one?” Sam pointed to the portrait.

“That same exact one.”

“I’m leaving.” Bucky marched back the way he came, with you, Sam and Steve laughing at his heels. He tried to turn away and hide his smile, but everything was falling into place very nicely. All those wishes and regrets withered when he walked back to the entrance and found all their friends gathered loosely on the street.

Bucky had never been part of a friend group so large, but they cheered at his arrival. You greeted everyone in different ways; shoving Peter light heartedly, hugging Bruce and telling Tony to fuck off. They walked as a pack down the street to the 11th street diner, stupid, young and infallible as they all jaywalked, hollering like they were committing murder and not a minor traffic offence. In the hilarious chaos your hand found Bucky’s and you ran like hell, racing Pietro though you two knew you would lose. He kissed the back of your hand. Tony gagged.

He wished they could always be like this.

104 notes · View notes