#i know it's taking me a while to answer these lol but i will get to them all!

[baepsays]

Love Hangover⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

synopsis: "Call me back. Call me back. Call me back." — love hangover by Jennie & Dominic Fike

Cw: toxic relationship, emotional cheating, manipulation, just sex and NSFW stuff, choking (took something from the mv and applied it where I think they implied it :3 ), lot of back and forth, use of the word 'bitch' to refer to the reader (not by Gojo), hate sex, oral sex, fem anatomy, no particular use of pronouns for reader, lowkey angst sorryyy, they are just both pretty shitty lol. Mention of alcohol consumption and cigarettes

'Call me back' received. 2.13AM 

You and Gojo Satoru might be great people, your respective friends will agree. But when you're together it's as if all hell breaks loose. They do not understand. Neither do you two. He makes you so unlike yourself, so unrecognizable, it's often difficult for you to fathom the person you become around him. 

He becomes an unbearable prick; controlling and smothering you, simply too much for you to handle. In return you become a shady bitch; criticizing his every gesture. “Roses instead of lilies? Did you confuse me for someone else?” One day you would be joking over the dinner you made him, next day you would be wishing he was dead. Going through his phone, shouting at him and asking if he is speaking to his exes, was a regular occurrence. Then you won’t talk altogether, but just fight constantly—while lying under your covers together, while eating, on the phone, in public— just making things harder for everyone and yourselves. Until one of you goes;

‘I’m over, I'm so over.’

But you two would always end up where you started. One coincidental meeting with Gojo Satoru somewhere, anywhere, could be that you're across the street from each other; sitting in different restaurants, with different people— and that would be enough for both of you. Doesn't matter he has some girl hanging off his arms. Or the fact you are on a second date with some guy, thinking this might be something serious; a single, double, triple back from him, and suddenly the fact that he was still entertaining his date while you could practically feel his gaze burning your skin, won’t matter—not that it did not bother you. In fact, to put it simply, you do not really mind when he plays you. Because you two will always end up back in each other’s arms. 

‘One minute, we're growin' apart, and next, I'm in her apartment.’

And here you go again. Doesn't matter how many times either of you tell yourselves and your friends that ‘I swear I'll never do it again!’ But you always do it again, and again, and again. He always ends up ringing your doorbell, unannounced. Does not matter you did not pick up his calls, does not matter you did not answer his texts— One “Call me back” at 2 AM, then suddenly he is at your door. And you know he will be there. No matter what, you two always end up in front of each other’s doors. You may not answer his texts or calls; but when you open the door for him and beckon him inside, he will always be welcomed with two glasses of wine. For the sake of the pretense of wanting to have a civil conversation over wine like two grown adults, finally resolving this push and pull and drawing a firm boundary— is all a faux excuse. you still have the keys to his place, and he still has the keys to yours. And they are not being returned any time soon.  

In a flash you're on your couch, back arching off from its surface and fingernails digging in and ruining the fabric. Again. The other hand would be a tangled mess in his hair. The bigger mess would be pooled under you and around his mouth. Again. Eating you out like he has never before, or he might never again. But he knows better than that. 

So, you would start all over again. Things would be blissful for a while. Sweet talking, going on dates, reminiscing about everything which was good. Thinking this time you would take it slow. Take your time with just hanging out and getting to know each other all over again, promising to not repeat the past. All over again. Though when you two would go out for dinner, all that talk would bore you to death. It is not that you feel like staying with Satoru because of who he is, in fact the more you think about that the more it makes you want to leave him, but you want nothing more than to keep him around, forever. And Satoru knows that, hates that really. Always thinking “what's up with that?” — but just as the waiter would bring out the check, you would gaze at him all sultry and go, 

"Let's head to mine."

And all Satoru would be able to utter is , "Okay, awesome."

Subsequently, there would be just lots, lots of sex. Spending days in bed; skipping work, calling in sick, flaking on friends and practically going missing. And everyone would already know what to expect, nothing new, just the cycle repeating itself. 

Spending days in each other’s company giggling about, high on sex and the thrill of having each other back. Then the nights would pass with him being  buried, as deep as he possibly can be, inside of you. Just spending nights watching you get naked instead of watching the movie he chose himself— roaming his hands all over every ridge and curve on your body, encoding new details, leaving kisses and marks all over you. Places where everyone will be able to see, but also places only he would be able to access; tucked away safe even from your own eyes.  Letting the muscles inside your pussy hug him snug, fitting like she has never known anyone but him, because even she knows no matter who comes and goes— his shape will stay. 

As soon as he would get his hopes back up again. Just as soon the momentary bliss would be unexpectedly cut short. One day you are holding each other to sleep after indulging in each other’s bodies, the next moment you are shaking his hands off you and he is waking up with cold sweat all over him. Then you would stop reciprocating his kisses, leaving his lips cracking. Giving short and curt replies to questions, getting irritated over small things. Not that this is unprovoked. Unknowingly to Satoru, before he could delete the texts from the girls flooding his phone and block their numbers; you saw it all.

Back to square one. Fights and nights spent away from each other doing reckless stuff to provoke each other. Because why are you kissing his eyelids and calling him your one and only one moment, and then accusing him of ruining your life another day.

Soon enough you’re going to a club and letting people openly hit on you. Ignoring his calls and texts, to a point he has no choice but to pull up your location (do not ask how he got that). Then letting him drag you back to his place, shout out profanities at you, rip off every piece of clothing from your body. Doing nothing about him pushing you face down on the bed, pulling on the necklace— which he gave you—on your throat from behind and practically choking you, as the necklace leaves behind marks on top of the marks he previously left behind with his lips and teeth. As he thrusts himself inside you, mercilessly, not even letting you turn back around, putting all his body weight on yours— very literally smothering as always. One hand keeping a firm grasp on your throat while the other comes down to place slaps on your thighs and ass, from time to time. You would barely phrase something between loud moans and whines, “F- fuck you.” 

“You are. As always” all he would reply with with a singular impactful thrust. 

Next morning he would wake up to  empty, cold, and wet sheets. A singular half burnt cigarette would be lying on his bedside table, from the stash of cigarettes in his dresser, despite the fact he does not smoke. And a bottle of whisky would be gone from his collection, even though he does not enjoy whisky. All that would be left of your immediate presence, are the shredded to nothing flimsy pair of painties, which you wore last night. Not like you ever went out of his apartment with the same panties you entered through his doors with. 

Concurrently you would be drowning in alcohol, shooting glasses of shots after another to cure the hangover from the day before. You were not one to drink, but you were also not one to be irrational. Yet here you are, hungover and functioning on autopilot. If anyone asked what is wrong, you would not have an answer. Though you do know what this is, the need to never get over this hangover, instead perpetuating and fostering it. Because you know better than anyone that no alcohol will relieve the itch in your throat the way the whisky in Satoru’s cabinet burns down your chest, and alleviates you. You can buy similar whisky, the same brand even, or maybe even a wine or rum— but it won’t taste the same, it won’t get you drunk the same. 

‘I swore l'd never do it again.’

And after a month, Satoru would wake up to a singular missed call from you. 

‘you know I'm gonna do it again.’

a/n: dividers by @/dollywons & @/aquazero, header from the mv for the said song. essentially saw @jumpinglillies talking about wanting to read a Satoru fic based on this song, thanks to them for bringing the song to my attention i hope this lives up to your expectations <3

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[yenyu1s]

(눈,코,입) eyes, nose, lips.. barista!kang sae-byeok x f!reader written by @yenyu1s ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)

pairing(s) : kang sae-byeok x f!reader contents : hurt/angst, pure fluff on some parts! - mentions of death, blood hint of violence. sae-byeok is kind of ooc.. that's all i could think of! synopsis : kang sae-byeok would've never thought true love would find its way to a person like her. that was before she met.. you. in the pages of her safekept journal, she poured out her deepest feelings, capturing every sweet moment spent by your side, and every unspoken word held close to her heart. now, you cling to those entries, reading them each night, knowing she will never return. wc : 6.69k taglist : @madebysae @saebyeokbliss @knfthxv

(a/n) i'm so drowning in school work i asked chatgpt to proofread and correct my grammar LOL! so i apologize if there are any mistakes in my grammar or annotation! (for more, masterlist)

june 9, 2021.

"if.. if i were to disappear, someday.." the tired girl beside you murmured, "..would you wait for me?.."

the unexpected question made you shake off your exhaustion, you tilted you head upwards at your lover, "sae.. what are you saying?" you bat your lashes at her in disbelief. a weary smile plastered across your face. unsure of the true meaning behind the query.

"don't ask, just answer." she retorted, a different emotion you had never seen before from her laced her voice. was it.. fear?

you were both in the living room sofa legs and arms tangled together, bodies intertwined at your tight, shared apartment. your stomach begins to twist more and more with each second you spent overanalyzing the question.

"really, sae-byeok? you ask such weird-" you forced a giggle before sae-byeok stops you.

"please.. please. just answer." there was a tinge of irritation in her voice, something was definitely wrong.

you mustered up every bit of strength left in your body to answer. "yeah! of course i would silly.. i'd wait for you in every single lifetime." you smiled innocently.

the short-haired girl beside you tore her gaze away from the tv that was playing your beloved soap opera. you noticed her eyes were practically bulging out of her sockets, her eyes fixated on you with furrowed eyebrows. her lips curled into a faint frown. it almost looked.. sorrowful. as if she was whispering an apology without a single word.

"what's wrong?" you asked sweetly. eyes tracing the shadows in hers, searching for echoes of emotion.

she didn't say anything — instead, she placed her trembling, cold hands on the nape of your neck and pressed a kiss to your temple, as if sealing a fragile promise.

you hummed in contentment, forgetting about the uncanny conversation you both had as you snuggled closer to her, taking in her scent of cheap cologne and cedarwood, before quietly drifting to sleep.

unbeknownst to your conscious mind, sae-byeok was quietly shuddering and sobbing while cradling you tight. afraid you'd slip away. tears streamed down her constellated cheeks. leaving wet, sloppy kisses on your skin and lips.

with the final gentle peck on the tip of your nose, she slipped away from your loving grasp.

she stepped into the night— into the arms of fate, never to return.

june 21, 2021.

the bright sunlight seeped through the cracks of your blinds, a gentle cascade of gold that pooled on to your messy bed.

you squinted and scratched your eyes at the harsh light, feeling around the covers for your reading glasses. putting them on once you find the pair of spectacles. your under-eyes were painted black, the aftermath of crying the night before, your eyebags told their own story of a broken heart.

oh,

another day.

you thought to yourself.

you turned over to your bedside table, trying to make sense of the neon numbers that flickered on your alarm clock

11.55...

you didn't feel like getting up. there was nothing left to look forward to in life after the disappearance of your one true love. the vibrant colors of life had dulled to a muted grey, just like the hollow ache that filled your chest ever since she walked away, leaving nothing but a lonely apartment and the ghost of her prescence.

but seong gi-hun had other plans.

buzz. buzz. buzz.

he repeatedly pushed the doorbell in front of the door of your apartment with such urgency that not even a normal person would have.

you groaned at the repeated hum of the apartment doorbell, letting out a bitter laugh as you buried your head further into your pillowcase.

"alright.. i'm coming.. i'm coming!" you yelled out from your wrecked bedroom, the hem of your pearlescent night gown caught on the edge of your bed, tugging at you, pulling you back to the reality you didn’t want to face. you groggily shook the loose string off before shuffling your way to the front door.

you swung open the front door to be greeted with an ill looking uncle with an awful red-dye job standing awkwardly with his finger still hovering over the doorbell, as if caught in the act of interrupting your solitude.

"can i help you?" your small hoarse voice rang through the silence. you took notice of your messy hair, running a hand through it trying to smooth it down, but it was hopeless.

"oh.. oh, yeah. are you.." he stammered, glancing down at a crumpled piece of grid paper in his hand. "(y/n)?" the red haired man murmured.

you nodded hesitantly, stomach twisting with an unease you couldn’t place. "yeah. yeah that's me, what is this about?" you tapped your foot rhythmically on the floorboard of your entrance, looking rather agitated and impatient.

"i'm.. seong gi-hun." the man gulped, a pitiful look shined in his eyes. "we need to talk about.. your girlfriend, kang sae-byeok?"

you felt your world crumbling down on you at sound of her name.

the name that used to taste oh, so sweet at the tip of your tongue now felt like an anchor, dragging you under the weight of memories you weren’t ready to face.

sae-byeok? kang sae-byeok. your kang sae-byeok?

what happened to her? how did this man know who you are? how did he find you?

a million different questions stormed your mind as you disassociate yourself from the conversation. all you could do was stare. frozen.

before you knew it, you were seated on the couch, the same one she had left you on that one fateful night.

"she's.. dead. (y/n).."

no.

the weight of his words pressed against your chest. stealing the breath from your lungs. you curled your fingers into fists, knuckles turning white, your long nails digging to the skin of your palms.

"no.. that's- no you're wrong." you let out a shaky breath. "not my sae-byeok. definitely not my sae-byeok. she's not dead.." your voice cracked.

you saw the look in his eyes, a raw emotion radiating from them. the hard, cold news that laid on top of your chest? they punched through, leaving hollow mark on your body.

the absurdity of it all made you bubble up a wild, manic laugh. not long after, a loud sob wracked your body, sudden and violent.

"i-i'm sorry (y/n), i tried my best to save her.. but someone else had already gotten to her first."

you didn't pay attention to gi-hun's words or explanation of the 'games' that they were forced to play for an unbelievable sum of money. your fingers twitched at your sides, grasping at nothing, searching for something—someone—to hold onto. you held onto a piece of her, but all that remained was emptiness.

"she.. she almost made it to the final game, she fought her hardest! she really did. but.. she succumbed to her injuries."

"sae-byeok died in my arms. her final breath whispered your name. she begged me to cling to life, so that in my survival, you might find the closure she longed for.”

a scream built up in your throat, you shook your head frantically at each word that came out of the man.

"why?" you choked, your lips quivering with such intensity. "why.. why didn't she tell me? i would've been by her side."

fat tears started to roll down your face as you sunk into the sofa, "why didn't she tell me she was struggling?"

your cries punctured through gi-hun's heart, emotions welled up inside him.

"i'm sorry.. i'm truly sorry.." he shut his eyes closed, surpressing his tears.

you buried your face in your hands, gi-hun ushered himself by your side, patting your back. as if offering a sliver of comfort in a sea of grief.

sae-byeok..

sae..

her name echoed through your mind, your brain's hard drive overloading with the thought of her.

did she feel alone in her last moments?

did she felt upset? fear? as she slipped into her death?

did she know she’d never see me again?

where did they put her body?

i should've paid more attention to her!

sae-byeok, i'm sorry..

oh cheol.. how am i going to break the news to him?

i'm never gonna see her again! your thoughts wailed

you kept scolding yourself burying your face deeper into your heavy palms. trying to hide from the world.

the world that kept spinning, even after her death.

clink.

you uncovered your face at the sound of a light clink that snapped you out of your spiral.

a gold, antique key presented in front of you by mr. gi-hun.

you looked up at the man, he seemed to be getting ready to leave.

"sae-byeok, she.. she slipped this in the pocket of my tux." gi-hun mumbled.

"she said it opened a chest, somewhere.. somewhere in her study desk."

your heart skipped a beat.

the chest.

it was a medium-sized storage chest that sae-byeok had thrifted a few years back, collecting dust on top of her study desk. it's exterior was wood, now darkened with age, etched with delicate cracks like the veins of an autumn leaf.

gi-hun was already long gone when you finally found the strength to stand on your legs and move towards the chest.

you inserted the icy-cold key into the keyhole, using a hundred percent of your body strength that is left in you, to turn the key and make it creak open. particles of dust flew in the air surrounding you. you hack and cough at the soot.

inside, there laid a black, hard-covered journal that was about 500 pages thick and loose pieces of parchment that you had never seen before.

you traced the journal with such care, as you unlatch the magnet of the book. suspense building up inside of your chest as you are met with the first page.

a knot tightening in your chest.

'kang sae-byeok' written in a familiar, cursive handwriting. your heart ached.

i can't do this, you thought to yourself.

the tears welled up again.

the urge to cry out her name deepens in you. you whimpered at the sight of her messy handwriting. you missed her so much.

you shook off your tears. reaching to flip over to the first entry.

january 3rd, 2019.

the gears on your mind turned, as you try to remember the significance of that date to sae-byeok.

your breath hitched in realization, a wave of emotions engulfed you.

"oh, sae.."

january 3, 2019.

entry #1 —

she is going to be a problem.

an awfully loud girl waltzed in to the café today. dressed head to toe in clothes that i would never be caught dead in. her friends stuck by her side like lost, blind puppies.

she ordered chamomile tea with cinnamon ginger biscuit on the side.

despite my silence, despite the way I barely looked up— she spoke to me.

she spoke to me?

i did not want to talk to her.

her eyes crinkles when she smiled, lips curling in a knowing laugh, as if she saw through me, as if she found me amusing.

her friends shared silent laughs and snickers behind her, but she didn’t pay attention too much.

i despise the way she acts.

..

"oh my, are those freckles real..? they're so pretty!" you admired the starry speckles that painted her cheeks. your words too gentle.

sae-byeok was unmoved, untouched.

an embarrassed, hardened expression crept up her face.

..

january 5, 2019.

entry #2 —

she came back again, the loud girl.

but this time, she was alone— quieter, more restrained, a shadow of the girl from before.

from what i've observed, i guess she was just putting on a facade in front of her friends. to.. impress them?

i mean i get it.. kind of.

she still annoys me though.

while i was taking her usual order, she gave me her name.

..

"(y/n)" you said softly, your fingers brushed the warm cafe counter.

sae-byeok looked at you, confusion evident in her expression.

"what?"

"my name.." you started, playing with your fingers, twisting and turning them. "..is (y/n)

"oh.." sae-byeok mumbled, her reaction was underwhelming. "pretty." she added, struggling to find the right words.

sae-byeok's face turned tomato red.

she facepalmed herself. what was she thinking? pretty? that's too straightforward.

"sae-byeok" the tall girl mustered up a courage to give her name in exchange, wishing you’d wipe the grin off your face.

"wow.." you sigh. "..pretty!" you mimicked the girl's reply.

the heat that built up in sae-byeok's chest threatened to explode, but she held back.

..

january 15, 2019.

entry #9 —

(y/n) visited the café again today.

the past few times, she had only stopped by for takeaway, her presence fleeting like a passing breeze.

i never spoke to her, only watched from a quiet distance.

she's not all that bad after all, i guess. actually, we had some things in common.

she was studying psychology at a nearby university, and had started her 1st semester.

if money didn’t hold me back, i'd be studying psychology by this time too.

she was my age — 18 years old.

it was rare to have someone my age around. my days were filled with the company of middle-aged men and kind old aunties, their lives so far removed from my own. but then, there was her.

every time she smiles and the sun reflects her eyes, the way her hair flows like a cascade of silk as she throws her head back in laughter, or whenever she places her delicate, polished hands on my forearm in agreement —just for a second—I feel something stir deep within me.

..it does something to me.

something i've never felt before.

i can't shake it off.

do-hee, my co-worker, said that it was blatant flirting. but i dismissed her.

me? the subject of someone’s interest?

yeah right.

she is a mystery to me, an unraveling poem—every glance, every gesture, a verse waiting to be discovered.

i need to get to know her.

i hope she comes back tomorrow.

..

"are you saying you've never watched train to busan?" you laughed, appalled at the tall girl's answer.

she shrugged, "well.. yeah.. do i have to?"

"oh, absolutely sae. be prepared with tissue boxes though. it's not going to look pretty."

"s-sae..?"

"yeah! a new nickname for you.. you don't like it..?"

"no.. no. i'm okay with it." sae-byeok gave you a faltering smile. but you caught the flicker of uncertainty before it faded away.

..

january 21, 2019.

entry #15 —

i spent my lunch break with her today.

she stumbled into the café again in the late afternoon, the familiar chime of the door announcing her arrival.

i had her order memorized.

before she came in, it was already typed out on the register.

she opened up about herself, how she was struggling to pay her college tuition, all the while taking care of her sick mother.

and i might've opened up to her too..

i told her about cheol, mom.

somehow, in the quiet exchange of burdens, we found an understanding of each other.

and it made me.. glad?

whenever she'd nod her head, offering soft words of comfort.. i feel as if it’s like hearing your own heartbeat mirrored in another's, like a quiet confirmation that you're maybe, not alone in the world.

i thought i'd hate spending time with someone like her, but these past few weeks? they've been some of the best of my life.

was it because of her..? maybe.

screw it. i'm going to bed.

..

"i get it." sae-byeoks words shook your core, she was usually the listener in the conversation. but this time, she opened up. you the best you can and listened to her

"i.. im a north korean defector," she whispered. waiting for your reaction.

she braced herself. she expected you to laugh at her, or be scared of her, maybe say how miserable of a person she is, for anything that might confirm what she had always believed—that she was unworthy of kindness.

but no, you sat there. silently listening, you pursed your lips into a thin line, encouraging her to continue.

sae-byeok’s heart swelled.

"and i didnt defect alone.. my brother, cheol. he escaped with me. this past year i've been trying my hardest to earn and save up for money to pay for a broker for my mom. she's still in the north." she explained, she shifted in her seat. her eyes focused on the swishing of coffee in her porcelain mug.

"oh, sae-byeok. i'm so sorry. i didn't know you were going through all of that." your lips curled into a frown.

"you have me by your side, so.. if you need anything.. don't hesitate to call me. yeah?" you assured her sweetly.

sae-byeok's tough exterior melted away.

she looked up at you. a new expression found in her eyes. hope.

no one has ever been this gentle, this kind to her in her life. you were something to sae-byeok alright. that day she was sure of it.

your words held so much affection towards her and she felt full of love and care by you.

your words filled her with something she had rarely known—love.

but with love came fear.

getting close to you meant risking everything. What if she dragged you down with her?

she didn't want you to be with someone who's a criminal, a pickpocketer like herself.

she didn't want to disappoint to you. so she held back.

"little brother you say?"

sae-byeok nodded her head ever so gently.

"can i meet him?"

..

february 3, 2019.

entry #27 —

i'm taking her to meet my brother today.

as I mentioned before, she’s been coming to the café more often. my lunch breaks have become a quiet routine with her by my side, her books spread across the table, the soft scratch of her pen filling the silence between us.

spending 4 weeks of work with her.. it felt more natural and enjoyable.

even my co-workers ask about her, but i bitterly shrug them off like i usually do.

i guess they took notice the effect she had on me. how whenever she talks, i reply with a gentleness that is rare.

i said that i wouldn't want her to be close with someone like me,

but i think i don't care anymore.

not after what happened today.

..

"cheol-ah, this is my friend, (name)." sae-byeok introduced you to her little brother. she snaked her hand into the small of your back, gently pushing you towards the boy who was staring up at you.

"hi, cheol!" you greeted the boy. warmness in your voice.

cheol looked hesitant to answer, but he manage to squeak out a little 'hi' before running to sae-byeok's side.

"come on cheol don't be rude." sae-byeok pestered.

you were quick to think : "hey, i heard you liked coloring, cheol." you kneeled beside him reaching for your tote bag.

the boy nodded and peeked curiously at what you were scouring for in your bag.

you revealed a set of acrylic markers,all the colors of the rainbow, neatly arranged.

cheol's eyes brightened in excitement. "wow!"

"would you like to draw with me cheol?" you asked, voice full of hope.

"yeah!" cheol nodded, basically leaving sae-byeok's side to join yours. ugging you towards a low table scattered with drawing paper.

sae-byeok was surprised to see how open cheol was to you. she decided she would just observe from afar from today.

to sae-byeok, watching you and cheol together felt like witnessing a quiet, simple magic unfold.

the way you patiently guide his hands to draw shapes and doodles, the way you laughed at cheol's little jokes, your smiles mirroring each other, how you both share the same expression of seriousness while coloring in your finished sketches.

it was pure, unhurried—a bond forming over the simple joy of drawing.

it pulled on sae-byeok's heartstrings. the room felt warmer, softer, as the colors on the paper grew brighter. that day, she put on her most genuine smile ever, watching as the bond between you and cheol deepened.

and so does sae-byeok's love does for you.

..

february 6, 2019.

entry #29—

i did it.

i asked her out for dinner.

i can't believe i did it. i never thought i'd be after someone like her.

every day feels lighter knowing she might walk through the café doors at any moment.

that she’ll sit across from me, books spread out, coffee in hand, offering me fleeting glances that leave my heart a little less steady from the work stress.

i want to tell her that, but something is holding me back.

i asked her out to the diner just down the block, the one with the tall milkshakes and the warm glow of neon lights.

and she said yes.

i think i convulsed in my seat after her response because everything was a haze after that. my ears are still ringing.

i don't know why i feel like this. i'm not used to feeling affectionate towards somebody like i feel for her. it’s unfamiliar, uncharted territory.

someone help me figure this out.

..

"hey.." sae-byeok’s voice wavered, the crack in it betraying her nerves., earning a quiet giggle from you.

"yeah, sae?"

oh, she was doomed.

she ran her calloused hands through her hair, obviously nervous.

"would you like to have dinner with me? tomorrow? at haneul's diner down the street?"

"dinner?" you repeated with a toothy grin, "sae, i'd love to!"

let's just say she got off work all giddy that day.

..

february 7, 2019.

entry #30 —

today was amazing.

i know it sounds cheesy, but it was everything that i could've hoped and dreamed for.

i'm so infatuated and lovesick by her.

there i admit it.

dinner was great, she was very.. touchy, tonight.

i like it.

we took our first photo together at the 1,000 won photobooth outside the diner.

and i kissed her on the cheek.

for the photo obviously.

sjbkhdjklfjekjwldskjkjdfljk

..

"mmh, sae the burgers here are so good! how come you never told me about this place." you groaned into the smash burger, savoring the taste. "and it's cheap too!?"

"i guess i've been hiding it from you for this exact moment." she smiled sheepishly, rubbing the nape of her neck.

a blush crept up your face.

everything that came out of sae-byeok's mouth, it was special to you. even if it sometimes come out as ridiculous. she made you feel special, wanted.

you both sat back in the plush bright red sofa as you finished your meals, enjoying each others company.

"i like this.. we should do this more often." you suggested, discreetly twriling a strand of hair on your finger.

sae-byeok nodded, her second ever genuine smile made an appearance, "yeah, we should."

you averted your gaze to the outside world, it was a perfect night, quiet and comfortable.

that's when you spot a photobooth right across the street from the diner. your eyes lit up.

"hm? what's wrong?" sae-byeok place her head on her hands, following your gaze. her eyebrows furrowing at the sight of the tiny, crammed photobooth.

"sae, let's do it." you took her hands rubbing your thumb gently on her knuckles as you try to persuade her. "pleaasee?"

she let out a soft sigh, but sae-byeok did not resist.

here you guys are, crammed into a tiny photobooth on a cold night. you perched on sae-byeok's lap, feeling the denim of her jeans scratch at your stockings.

"does this even work? you've been trying to figure the machine out for like what? 2 minutes?" sae-byeok squinted at the screen, unimpressed. not getting the schematics of the photobooth.

nervous energy buzzed through her. you could feel it in the way her leg bounced beneath you, the way her hands fidgeted against your sides. she was basically suffocating at the tight space.

"sae, c'mon stop it! i'm sure it does work.." you stuck your tongue out in concentration as you insert 1000 won into the money slot.

both of your bodies jolt up as you realized a countdown was starting.

"ooh, quick! pose!" you squealed. you pressed your temple against sae-byeok's and stuck your hands up in a peace sign.

sae-byeok was at a lost for words due to the close proximity, but she managed to hold up a similar, weaker version of your pose.

snap!

you tried to think of a new pose, before placing your peace sign behind sae-byeok's head into bunny ears and sticking your tongue out, her fluffy short hair tickling your hand as she looked at you in disbelief.

snap!

sae-byeok's eye softened at your playful expression. looking at how much you were enjoying taking photos with her.. you looked too cute for her tiny heart to handle!

a bold plan brewed in her mind

"ugh, what else.." you mumbled to yourself. deep in thought. as you try to remember what poses your friends would use in their cute instagram posts.

with a swift motion, sae-byeok cupped your cheek with her cold, left hand. and kissed your cheeks sweetly, squishing your faces together. just in time before the camera snaps. capturing your face in shock as she made an exaggerated 'smooch!' noise.

snap!

the ghost of sae-byeok's kiss lingered on your cheek. you brought your fingers up to your cheeks, still in disbelief.

"cat got your tongue, hm? c'mon pose for the last picture." sae-byeok teased casually, her eyes bore on you.

how could she say things like that without fully breaking down at the seams? you wondered.

you gave her a weak, tight-lipped smile before composing yourself.

you shifted in sae-byeok's lap turning your back towards the exit, you reached to cup her face in your warm hands.

sae-byeok melted at the touch, puffing out her cheeks while looking at you lovingly.

"cheese!" you cheered with a big grin on your face for the last picture.

..

you both stumbled out of the booth, hands still tingling, waiting in flustered silence for the photos to print.

the photos popped out of the machine, revealing two strips of black and white polaroids of you both.

"they're perfect!" you cried out, admiring the cute poses and faces you both shared.

"yeah, they are.." sae-byeok sighed, also admiring the photos, contentment washing over her.

first date with you? accomplished.

..

april 2, 2019.

entry #51—

i have been told all my life that love would never find its way to me,

and i've realized that it was a lie.

because love did find me in my lowest moment, in a form of an adorable kind-hearted psych major i once swore I couldn’t stand.

my days have been fuller —

full of her loving texts lighting up my phone in the morning,

my lunch breaks spent either visiting her campus or her visiting the café to talk about everything and nothing at the same time.

our little dates where we did everything that i wanted to do in my youth but didn't have the time for before.

she softened me in ways I didn’t think possible.

because of her, I started speaking easier, trusting a little more.

because she gave me the hope in humanity that was long gone as soon as i stepped into the real world.

she reminded me that maybe—just maybe—the world wasn’t all bad.

i even gave up pickpocketing for her after we had an argument about how it'd affect my future, how it made her upset. her eyes filled with heartbreak.

she cares about me, and i care for her.

her eyes, nose, lips, hair. all of her

she's the vitamin i had never known i needed. i crave to spend time with her each and every day.

today, i'm going to make her mine.

..

you stepped out of your lecture, exhausted. the weight of the world on your back.

you sighed at the outside world, you usually loved the rain. but today, of all days, did it really have to pour? and on the day you forgot your umbrella?

you sent a quick text to sae-byeok to let her know you've finished school for the day.

chamomile girl ♡ : sae! ^__^ just finished school! chamomile girl ♡ : i'm about to head home.. it's raining outside so i think i'll run to the nearest bus stop!! forgot my umbrella hehe~ chamomile girl ♡ : i'll visit you tonight at the cafe during nearing your closing hours so we could hang out more :3c

my pers♡nal barista : sounds great. :)

you smiled at your phone, tucking it away shortly after you received a text back as you made your way down flights of stairs of your faculty building.

you prepared your tote bag, taking it off to use it as protection from the rain. the soles of your platforms squelching on the now wet entrance of the building before you stopped in your tracks, a small gasp left your lips.

"sae..?"

the short-haired girl stood in front of you, a wide umbrella protecting her from the rain. she was still in her uniform, smiling at you.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion but you stepped closer to her. both of you now sheltered under the umbrella.

"hi." she whispered just enough so you could hear it through the sound of trickling rain.

you giggled at her actions, poking at her sides. "hey you!.. what're you doing here?"

"to take you home, obviously." she shoved her left hand into her pockets. "i'm not going to let you get sick from the rain"

your heart exploded with immense love and gratitude. you wanted to say a million things. a million ways to tell her how much this meant, how much she meant.

"now come on, let's get you home." she ushered you to the exit of your campus. her hands wrapped around you.

safe. that's what you felt every time you were with sae-byeok. under sae-byeok’s care, the cold barely reached you.

you had such intense feelings towards the north-korean.

you couldn't keep it in any longer.

the two of you walked in step along the bridge, the city lights flickering in the distance, the rain creating a soft melody around you.

the bridge lead to a more secluded neighborhood, where your apartment was.

you sneaked glances at the tall girl from time to time but every time you'd look, she was already looking at you.

"hm? what's on your mind sae?"

she stopped abruptly, you were startled by this, stumbling into a halt. she took your recently manicured hands in her rough ones.

she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"i like you."

"huh?"

"no, i love you." she corrected herself, swallowing hard. "(y/n), i love you."

"with all my heart. i don't know where i realized that i love you, maybe in our quiet moments or in the middle of our dates full of laughter—but somewhere along the way, you became my favorite part of the day."

you stared at awe at her. is this real life?

"at first i didn't really take interest of you.. then after some time i felt as if it was simple admiration, but now i realized that deep down in my heart, i want to be with you."

the world stilled.

"sae.. i don't know what to say.."

she chuckled nervously, "you don't have to say anything.. i just need you to say yes or no."

your heart thumped harder in the walls of you chest, is this going where i think it is? you thought to yourself.

"can i be your girlfriend?" sae-byeok sputtered out, her body tensing up.

a matching pink flush crept onto both of your faces.

you took a moment to register the question, your ears rang before fusing with the sound of rain falling and hitting the ground.

"finally," you giggled. your laughter was light and it felt like a sweet relief to sae-byeok.

"yes, sae. i'd love you to be my girlfriend."

"r-really?" she stammered. "you do?"

you nodded, snorting all the while giggling at her child-like response.

in the midst of the sound of your voice echoing through the open bridge. you heard a loud sob coming from the tall girl towering in front of you.

your laughter faded as you looked up at her in shock. your eyes widened at the rare sight of sae-byeok crying.

"oh no, baby.. what's wrong?" you cooed, quickly shuffling to her side, you tiptoed and reached for her face, wiping away her tears.

sae-byeok threw her head back, as she tried to shake away her tears. "i..i'm sorry." she sniffled, "i'm just so glad you're my girlfriend now."

you stiffled a gasp at her confession, you chest ached. "aw you're so cute when you're all sappy!"

"shut up!" she whined, her low voice rumbling.

her grip on the umbrella faltered, overwhelmed by emotion. so she placed her head on the nook of your shoulders, leaning her full body weight onto you.

you stumbled at the change of position, quickly wrapping your hands around her torso, hugging her.

"thank you. thank you for giving a chance.." she whispered into your neck, making you shiver.

you weren't used to this vulnerable side of sae-byeok. you loved that you brought a new, better version of her.

without a word, you simply held her tighter, running soothing circles along her back, silently vowing to give her all the love she had ever been denied.

..

your hands slapped over your mouth, your whole body trembled violently, like a fragile leaf caught in a storm.

you could taste your salty tears run down your plump lips as your teeth chattered.

your heart was chipping apart piece by piece the more you read the journal. your fragile heart couldn't bear the weight of reality anymore.

your lover,

the one you thought you'd spend your whole life with.

gone.

and this was all that is left of her..

sae-byeok..

why did she have to leave..?

she was all you had ever since your mother passed away.

she was the only person you clung to in this cruel world.

now you had to face the rest of your life without her.

you decided to not continue reading. saving the remaining pages to lull to into sleep every night.

every day, you read one entry each night. reminiscing the past, daydreaming yourself into the story told on the parchment. whilst imagining the ghost of the love of your life, holding you tight as you cried between the pages.

you neared the end of the journal, until one day you reached..

the last entry from sae-byeok.

but it can't be? the book still had pages left on it, clean, unscathed.

and then you remembered.

oh..

you felt your bones crumbling, your eyes weakened at the date that was messily scratched unto the journal.

june 8, 2021.

entry #563

an entry from the day before she left your life forever.

june 8, 2021.

entry #563—

i don't know how i'm supposed to tell her.

i don't know how i'm supposed to tell her that a man in a ridiculous tight tuxedo went up to me offering money for a game of ddakji a few days ago as i left the station

she would laugh at my face.

she would also laugh at the fact that the man gave his business card, saying that if i called that number, i would be able to play games for money.

honestly it was an absurd claim. but i decided to test it.

they picked me up in the hush of night & drugged me.

i woke up in a sterile, windowless place—crowded with greasy, clueless, no-lifers. and among them, i saw a ghost from my past.

deok-su.

out of all the places i could find him in, it was in that sterile debt jungle.

I took a hard hit from fate that day, but I got up, because I had to.

i was here for her.

i was here for you.

i wanted to pay off all of your debts, college tuition, spoil you endlessly with a shower of gifts.

my debts was also part of the reason why i joined. but darling, nothing could beat seeing you smile.

the first game was red light, green light.

a game that decorated my childhood in the north.

i tried my best to stay calm and collected. but then the worse happened.

a blaring shot ran through and echoed the arena.

an obnoxious, loud, blonde haired man. shot dead. his blood spilling over the sandy ground.

that was the first time in my life i had ever felt true, raw, fear.

fear of leaving you behind in this cruel world without saying goodbye. fear of not being able to touch, hold, or kiss you anymore. fear of your hands reaching for me in the dark, only to find nothing.

deep inside i was instantly regretting my decision but i prayed hard.

i prayed so i could make it out alive.

and my prayers, they were answered.

they sent us home after hearing our protest, cries, pleading. how it was absurd to keep them in such a place like this. a bloodbath.

this morning, i get to come home into your arms again, i was able to throw myself into your arms, to feel the warmth of your body against mine, to hear your voice —even if it was yelling at me for three straight hours.

i didn't care. i just care that you were there.

but i was still unsatisfied.

i couldn't shake the memory of the first thing i saw as i barged into our shared apartment after coming home from the games this morning.

the love of my life,

you..

you were crying

you drowned yourself in tears before your debts did. i felt guilty not giving you the life that you deserve.

remember how the game master let us come home?

we were also given a chance to join back the games.

so i've decided that i'm going to win the games for you.

bring back a heart-stopping amount of money. to pay off your debts, give you everything the world has to offer.

with 45.6 billion won, i could build us a home. i could bring cheol into a life where he never has to go hungry again. i could see my mother again. i could create the small, quiet, beautiful family we always dreamed of.

but if I don’t make it back—

if you made it to this page and it finds you instead of me..

i need you to know that I’m sorry.

i’m sorry I was too weak to find another way.

i'm sorry i couldn't let go of my past, truly, my stubbornness never left.

i’m sorry for every night you’ll spend alone, wondering if I made the right choice, wondering if it was all your fault, which it wasn't.

i’m sorry that i won’t be there to kiss away your tears when you read this. i'm sorry that i won't be able to touch you anymore.

all i wish for you, my beloved is

to live.

live the life you've dreamt of.

you've always wanted to raise kids, so my last wish is for you to raise cheol for me.

i see how much you love him. how much you wished you could sing him lullabies, read him stories to sleep, have him by your side. so every time you look at him, you'd think of me.

marry someone who sees the good in you even in a sea of imperfect.

marry someone who would stay with you even if the whole world was against you.

who'd protect you, love you, cherish you like i did.

just please, don't forget about me.

but if i do make it back—if fate is kinder to me this time—

i’ll tell you all of this myself.

i pray my last moments are spent replaying all the memories i had with you. so i could die with a heart full of love and a smile on my face.

i love you lots and lots like jelly tots.

your personal barista,

kang sae-byeok.

ending notes : hope you guys enjoyed this! almost cried tbh.. should i make a pt.2 happy ending where she comes back but as a guard?

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (7)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: mentions of murder, fire, death, knives, blood, loss of parents, fever, betrayal; injuries; grief; self-loathing; crying; heavy revelations; tension

Author’s Note: Omg I'm over 50k into this story, I can’t believe it lol. I'm actually proud of myself. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The collections of brilliant greens and golden blossoms are spread out before you. The merge of all the wildflowers and herbs is sharp with pine and earth and mint and honey-like. Invigorating.

You kneel on a patch of mossy ground near the campfire. Bucky had lit it the second you got back. The fire is crackling.

Pine needles shimmer faintly with dew, their resinous tang sharp in your nose. Feverfew with its delicate flowers nestle beside clusters of clover blooms, their soft pink petals almost luminous in the flecked sunlight.

Contemplating with what you are going to begin, you run your fingers across goldenrod stems, their tiny mustard-colored buds crumbling slightly under your touch. The medicinal scent of yarrow stands proud among the rest.

The familiar smells and colors again bring echoes of your mother’s voice from the palace gardens. Patient and gentle as she taught you the properties of each plant.

The pale leaves of Lily’s Balm feel waxy on your fingers. They are good for soothing inflamed wounds and drawing out heat from infection. Feverfew against his overheated skin, lowering the fever, its green frilled edges so delicate and lace-like. Wild mint will ease his breathing and calm his body. Clover blooms for their gentle healing abilities. Yarrow and Goldenrod, both strong bases, to slow his bleeding. Wild thyme to cleanse, and pine, sticky with resin, pungent and purifying.

You exhale slowly, deliberately dragging air through your lungs. This is your time to be useful. To actually do something other than dwell in your sorrows and the losses you had to endure.

Bucky is slightly hovering in your line of vision. He is silent. But you don’t like him walking and shuffling around the way he does while the fever sweat hangs onto his brows and the freshly stained blood lingers on his shirt. It makes you queasy. You don’t know if he hid his injury due to oversight or simple stubbornness, but either way, he should not walk around like that.

“You should sit down,” you tell him while beginning to strip the yarrow leaves from their stems.

He doesn’t answer right away, so you glance up. He stands there stubbornly arms crossed over his chest, looking right back at you with a guarded expression. Though he definitely looks paler than he should be. And you avoid looking at the blood stain on purpose.

“M’ fine,” he grumbles, brushing you off. And before you get to an answer, he continues. “Your side,” he counters, voice gravelly. “Let me check it first.”

“I am not the one bleeding.”

His lips purse. “You callin’ me color blind, darlin’? I know what I'm seein’. That’s definitely red there.”

Well, maybe you did bleed through Bucky’s bandage, but that will have to wait.

“We can get to that later.”

Bucky takes a step closer, shadows flickering across his face from the low fire. “Princess-”

“No. Now sit,” you instruct, cutting him off and surprising even yourself with your tone.

Bucky is silent for a beat. You hear him shifting but stay focused on your herbs. “You tellin’ me what to do now, princess?” There is a sparkle of amusement in his voice and in the tug of the corner of his mouth.

Briefly glancing back at him, you meet his eyes with a steadiness you don’t quite feel. “No,” you tell him. “I am telling you I would not know what to do if you passed out.”

He scoffs, clearly offended by the suggestion. “Gonna take more than that to knock me out, darlin’.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “Humor me?”

He watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing, trying to decide whether to argue further. But then he relents with a low huff, lowering himself onto a flat rock by the fire basically in front of you. The movement is slow and you catch the wince he tries to hide. But he looks more relaxed sitting down.

Satisfied, you turn back to your work. The yarrow leaves are crunched between your fingers. Their pungent smell rises while you release the healing oils from the leaves and add them to a small tin cup filled with clean water from the stream.

The goldenrod comes next. The yellow of the flowers vivid against the darker-turning liquid.

Furrowing your brow slightly, you swirl your head around to look for something that might help you prepare and stir the herbs. And then you remember. Hurriedly, you get up and walk over to the discarded cloak, the one you had laid over Bucky in his sleep. There’s something safely tucked inside that you can use at the moment.

It’s a dagger. It’s not as lengthy as Bucky’s, but it is enough. You took it from the fight. Obviously, it is not the very same one you picked up to throw at Rumlow, because that one is likely still buried in his body, but you found it lying on the ground and picked it up.

You just did not find something useful to do with it. Until now.

You walk back to the herbs and Bucky at the fire.

Since Bucky’s gaze followed you, he catches sight of the blade immediately and looks up at you in surprise. “You kept that?”

Not looking back at him, you settle down and focus on slicing the leaves of Lily’s Balm into thin ribbons. “Didn’t know whether I would have to save your life again,” you quip.

You don’t know where that came from. Perhaps having a real purpose for once is making you regain something akin to confidence.

The sound that follows though, startles you. It’s a laugh. Bucky’s laugh. Sudden and loud and gruff, lifting somewhere far within his chest. It’s so unbridled, stemming from surprise. And it is utterly captivating. It makes your hands halt. Never have you heard him laugh before. Really laugh. Not like this. You are entranced. The sound floats for a while and you never want it to stop. It makes his voice to a soft glow of mirth.

You stare at him, half amazed, half in disbelief.

But he isn’t even looking at you. His head is tilted to the ground, shaking. He’s still chuckling to himself. Lips pulled into a wide grin. “Aren’t you full of surprises, darlin’.”

You watch him for a few seconds longer. The corners of your mouth lift and there is nothing you can do to stop them. “I am glad that this is entertaining for you.”

Turning back to the leaves, you try to calm the fast pace of your heart. The blade slices cleanly through the stems and leaves. But you can’t really focus on that. The shake of Bucky’s shoulders in a silent laugh catches your vision. His laughter keeps ringing in your mind. And you still want to hear it again.

Pine resin is sticky on your skin, the sap gleaming amber in the sunlight. You crush the prepared leaves into the dark liquor and mix it into a fine paste, adding the pine resin to create a thick, fragrant balm. The yarrow adds a cooling element, its sharp scent cutting through the heavier tones. It is perfect to stop the bleeding and prevent infection.

You take a quick glance over at Bucky. His head is bowed, forearms resting on his knees, but his eyes are fixed on you, sharp despite his fever. There is something quiet in the way he watches you. Astonishment. Curiosity.

“Where did you learn that?” he speaks up quietly, as if using a normal voice would disturb something intimate. There is something about the way he uses his voice and winds his tone, that almost makes you believe he is admiring what you are doing. As if this is a wonder.

You don’t look up at him, hoping he won’t notice the slight flinch in your fingers. Or the pang in your chest. “My mother taught me.” Your voice is even quieter than his has been.

He doesn’t say more. Perhaps he doesn’t even have to see the pang in your chest. He heard it in your voice.

You start the second tincture, the one for him to drink. Feverfew, wild thyme, clover blooms, and wild mint. Combined they will help ease his fever and cleanse his body.

Your hands almost move on their own, preparing the leaves. On instinct. It feels unexpected. But it makes you realize just how important those moments with your mother really were to you. And now they turn so monumental, it makes your chest close in on itself. You carry this from your old world. Something useful. Something that has survived of her even if everything else now lays in ruins.

Your breath trembles on the cusp of grief. But you get a hold of it.

Another glance over at Bucky makes something cold skate down your back, leaving a trail of tension.

Sweat accumulates again on his forehead despite the coolness of the forest. His lips are pressed together. The bloodstain on his right shoulder has again spread further than you hoped, darkening the brown leather of his armor. His fever is climbing. That’s not good.

You rush through the second tincture, mixing everything in water again and heating it over the fire at the same time. The liquor is thick and green with a sharp scent. Carefully, you pour it into another small tin cup, making sure it’s not too hot for him to drink.

Rising, you cross the short distance to him and crouch down again.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks immediately, eying it warily.

“It will help you relax and lower the fever,” you assure him gently. “Drink it.”

He leans forward slightly, skepticism written all over his face. He grimaces faintly at the smell and you have to hold back an amused smile. For a man like him, he surely acts like a diva.

“You sure you’re not tryin’a poison me, darlin’?” he drawls, humor winding through his words. However, if you’re not wrong, you can detect a hint of nervousness.

It makes your heart sink but you manage to play lightly, rolling your eyes. “You are the reason I am alive, so I am pretty sure poisoning you would be counterproductive.”

His brows inch upward as he looks at you with an unreadable, but intense expression. With a deep sigh, he then takes the cup from your hands and downs it in one swift motion. His face twists with disgust and he swipes the back of his hand against his lips, releasing a cough. “Tastes like dirt,” he rasps.

Biting back a smile, you get up to retrieve the balm for his wound. “I think you will live.”

You watch him set down the cup with a heavy sigh, the lines of his face softening.

“You don’t gotta do this, darlin’.”

“You have done it for me,” you retort, walking back over to him and kneeling down. This time with the tin cup holding the balm for his wound.

Bucky lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head at your stubbornness. He watches you with intrigued eyes. But there still is that nervousness surrounding him.

“Let me see,” you request, almost timidly, but willing strength into your voice.

He shifts where he sits on the rock, clearly uncomfortable with the request. His jaw is hard. Muscles are tense beneath the bloodied remains of his shirt.

“You are still bleeding,” you acknowledge more firmly. “Take it off.”

His brows rise at your sudden authority, but there is amusement in the motion. A smirk curves his lips despite himself. He doesn’t make a move to do what you say though.

“Gettin’ a little too bossy there, for my likin’, princess,” he teases, each word dripping with sly delight.

“Bucky.” Your tone turns soft again, but your resolve remains firm. His shoulder is worrying you. “Please.”

After a tense moment of quiet, he drags out a long and sharp breath through his nose and straightens up. With a grimace, he slowly shrugs off his brown armor. His shirt underneath is sticking to his torso, dark with sweat and dried but also fresh blood.

You swallow hard as he peels the fabric away from his shoulder, revealing a part of the wound he’s been keeping to himself.

The gash extends out from his shoulder and dips slightly towards his upper chest. It’s an arc of torn and angry flesh. A mass of swelling blood crusts around the edges under a layer of sweat, laying a dreary tapestry of red and brown on the skin below. It looks puckered and bumpy, suggesting that the blade that pierced him must have been of serrated or distorted nature upon impact.

You might have stared at it a second too long because Bucky lets out an uncomfortable cough.

“Lucky swing,” he says tersely, to make this a little less awkward. It does not quite work out, because now you are staring at his face oddly. To you, this does not look like someone got lucky, considering the fact that the man responsible for this is dead now and Bucky has to carry this around.

But what snaps your attention back to the wound is the heat you feel radiating off it. And it confirms what you already suspected - infection is setting in. The skin around the wound is inflamed, making it glisten ominously.

However, what makes your hands tremble lightly in discomfort is the fact that you won’t be able to access every part of that gash with his shirt on.

“You, uhm-” you start nervously, unsure of how he will react. “I am going to need you to take your shirt off as well.”

He stares at you.

“I will not be able to reach everything like this,” you explain, still timid.

He sighs, dropping his head a fraction, before slowly starting to peel his shirt off. He winces with the movements of his arms, fabric tugging against drying blood.

The full extent of his wound looks even uglier. You try your best to ignore the pale lines of violence scattered across his skin, especially his other shoulder - the scars you caught glimpses of at the river. Your gaze quickly moves to the flesh injury.

You don’t want him to feel uncomfortable. Well, not more than he already seems to be.

“Lean back for me,” you instruct, not wanting to waste more time, but keeping your voice kind.

There definitely is something surreal about telling Bucky what to do. You’ve been doing that basically your whole life - giving instructions and following the ones you’ve been told by people higher than you - but with Bucky, it feels different. The words taste odd in your mouth.

Bucky hesitates. His lips press into a thin line and he eyes the tin cup gloomily. He looks as though he might argue but then he thinks better of it. Reluctantly, he shifts his weight and braces himself against a tree behind him.

You dip your fingers into the balm, the cool, thick paste sticking to your skin. Bucky watches you, his whole body full of tension. A tremor passes through his throat as he forces a breath past the lump there.

He is not used to this. To being cared for in this way, to having someone’s full attention on his pain. That much is clear.

“This might sting,” you warn, voice quiet.

He grunts.

Steeling yourself, you let your hand hover over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

He grunts again, giving you a tight nod. You try to ignore the way he watches you. He seems to be bracing for more than the sting of the tincture.

Warming the balm between your fingers, you press it gently against the torn flesh. The scent of the wild herbs is strong in the air.

Bucky goes incredibly rigid. His breath hitches sharply. His eyes flash for a fraction of a second before settling into a void you can’t decode.

Even the forest around you seems quieter while you spread the self-made lotion on his shoulder. You are precise in your sweeps, careful not to meet any of his skin that doesn’t need your touch.

The more you work, the steadier he gets. He doesn’t make a sound, but the discomfort doesn’t entirely leave his body. Discomfort of pain or vulnerability, you can’t tell. Probably both. His hands are clenched into loose fists at his sides. But you do notice the few relieved sighs he lets slip unintentionally after a few swipes over his skin.

The wound resists at first, but you move your fingers with patience and caution, in even strokes. Quickly, the ointment begins to calm the irritated areas, drawing out some of the heat.

Bucky’s chest rises in a deep inhale against your fingers and you avoid the almost magnetic pull his piercing eyes have on you. He watches you so intently, all you can do is to keep your gaze on your task and resist whatever heat simmers in his stare.

The herbs already seem to ease the swelling a little bit and you are confident that they will stave off the infection. It makes you breathe easier, despite the intimacy of your current situation. You’re so close to him, asking so much of him, and with every careful sweep across his torn skin, you are getting more aware of it.

Then, without warning, one of his hands reaches up and wraps around your wrist gently. Making you still mid-motion.

“Stop,” he says quietly, his voice rough but not unkind.

You freeze startled, blinking at him. “What?”

“Keep some of that for yourself,” he insists, slowly pulling your hand away from his shoulder. “You need it.”

You take a moment to consider what he even means. Then, you shake your head. “I do not-”

“You don’t wanna argue with me, darlin’. Keep the rest for yourself,” he repeats, more sternly this time. His eyes darken into something bordering on concern.

You stare at him. And then you don’t. Eyes going to his now-covered wound, and the tin cup in your hand that still holds some of the paste you made.

Biting pressure makes your heart seem to seize.

You didn’t even consider using the balm for yourself. Your side is still stinging. The bandage is still red with blood. But you did not spare it a single thought. Did not think about caring for it in the way you did for Bucky’s wound.

Every leaf, every petal, every drop of resin has been meant for him. The idea of keeping any for your own wound has never so much as crossed your mind. You haven’t thought about it consciously, but now it is glaringly obvious. You would use every last drop of the balm for him without hesitation. There’s something wrong about that, something you dislike confessing even to yourself.

Bucky is still watching you with his brows drawn together. He nods toward the tin cup in your hand but keeps his eyes on you. “If you knew how to do that the whole time, then why don’t do it earlier? For yourself?”

You take a pause. His hand is still warm around your wrist, basically lying on his lap. Sharp eyes are gauging your reaction.

“I just- It did not come to my mind,” you admit, shaking your head dismissively. “But it is of little consequence now.”

His expression is hard. Not the kind of hard you knew his features to hold when you met him. It’s not meant for you directly. But it still is there because of you, because of the way you think. His jaw shifts, muscles moving in tense vibrations, grappling with words he isn’t sure he should say. “That’s bullshit,” he voices with a stiffness in his tone.

The blunt language of this man is an insult on its own. But the meaning of his words still hit you.

A shaky breath falls from your lips.

Never once have you thought of soothing the pain of your own conscience or making a balm for yourself.

Your side has ached, the wound pulsing and throbbing and hurting, but it faded to insignificance as soon as you saw the streaks of sweat trickling from him and the blood blooming across his shirt. Every instinct has driven you to help him.

And why? Because you somehow deserve the agony, don’t you? The thought is bitter in your chest. You don’t believe you deserve the care, the relief of healing herbs, the preservation of your own body.

You haven’t been of use to him, needing his protection at every waking moment. You killed a man. You failed to stay out of harm’s way like Bucky had told you to. That’s what got you injured in the first place. Stupid girl.

It is shameful to think of how invulnerable you have thought him to be. You relied on him so utterly, so selfishly, leaned on him without a care in the world, and laid all your troubles upon his already burdened shoulders. How many times did you assume he is untouchable, indestructible? And now here he is, bleeding, just like everybody else, and keeping it to himself. Because you haven’t been enough.

This is your fault. You relied on him too much, demanded too much, not even considering the toll.

Darkness engulfs those thoughts.

Your throat feels bound. Your heart works in stuttered pauses. Breathing doesn’t feel like relief. Swallowing doesn’t drag down the tide of self-loathing making its way up your spine.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against your pulse and it snaps your attention right back to him. You pull away from his hold and he releases your wrist immediately. Though his hand retreats to his side rather slowly.

“Whatever you’re thinkin’, don’t” he states rather calmly but somehow still so intensely. His voice is so low it seems to be scraping against something hard.

You meet his eyes then. They are insistent. Resolved. Sharp. They make you attempt another try to gulp down the knot in your throat but it doesn’t work.

“What?” you ask weakly.

His persistent eyes remain fixed on you. “I know that look. Stop it.”

A choking sensation cinches tight around your throat. It is strangling and stifling and makes you want to turn away. But he somehow manages to keep you on the spot.

“I-”

“Don’t,” repeats, softer this time. His hand twitches at his side and he takes a quick glance at the quiver in your own fingers. “This isn’t on you, got it?” His voice is rough with conviction, so fierce.

His gaze still is so relentlessly focused on you to get his point across.

It makes you want to vomit. His words push against the very flimsy barrier of defenses that you have constructed around your guilt. He sees right through it. His gaze makes it see-through. Ineffective. Worthless. Fruitless. Just like how you feel.

“It is not about that,” you try to defend yourself, but it comes out with a frail voice.

“Yeah, it is,” he maintains. “Whatever you’re punishin’ yourself for. Stop. It ain’t gonna get you nowhere.”

The tension in your shoulders doesn’t fully ebb, but something grows warmer around you.

Letting out a long, reluctant sigh, you let your shoulders slump with surrender. Bucky’s gaze softens, something like gratitude crossing his face.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he says quietly, his voice sincere and grounding. “For this.” There is no bravado, just a genuine gratefulness.

You shake your head, heat flooding your features. Your knees ache when you shift and the pain in your side kicks in again.

Bucky stands up slowly and his expression shifts, something resolute settling in his features. “Now,” he announces. “Let me help you with that.”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden change in his tone.

“You don’t-”

He cuts you off with a raised brow and a gesture that brings back his commanding nature. “Sit down,” he orders, pointing you to the stone he sat on moments before. “And better do it now. Because that’s not lookin’ too good.” He throws a concerned look at the tear in your dress that reveals the bloodied dressing he put on.

You open your mouth but his eyes are authoritative enough. You stand up, only to reluctantly sit down again on the very same rock he’s been sitting on. You calculate your movements, to not show him how painful it actually is.

“You always interrupt me. That is not very nice,” you exclaime, perhaps to make his attention on you waver, or just to throw him off with another topic and distract you or him from what he is going to do. Or maybe you should really be annoyed at the way he doesn’t let you finish speaking. But somehow him constantly interrupting you even feels endearing in some kind of way you can’t explain, considering the fact that he only ever does it when he knows he won’t like the words coming from your mouth. Maybe because you tend to talk yourself small.

Bucky’s lips quirk into that maddeningly amused smirk as he takes the tin cup out of your hands. “Not used to people interruptin’ you, princess?” The title carries no cruelty, only an enjoyable warmth that causes a tingling sensation on your skin.

You huff. “Well, I am getting used to it now,” you grumble.

And there it is again. The sound that has caught you off guard before. That laugh. Full-bodied, sonorous, and so utterly disarming in its power over you. It makes its way into your chest. His head is tipped slightly backward, exposing faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

You find yourself staring breathlessly. It’s a sound so human, so rare, so special, that you wish you could bottle it up and keep it safe.

You’re mesmerized by the perfect way his teeth are gleaming at his wide grin.

He catches your gaze and you quickly avert your own, neck turning hot.

Bucky shakes his head, an amused look on his face he obviously tries to stifle. “Come on. You made me listen. Now it’s your turn.”

You sigh, while Bucky moves closer to you in a crouched position. His eyes move to your side and his expression shifts to something far more serious.

“Let me see,” he orders, tone gentle, but somehow not meant to go against it.

The weariness in your body wins out. Or rather, his voice wins out. You pull apart the torn pieces of your dress to give him enough access to the makeshift bandage wrapped around your side. His brow furrows as he takes it in.

“You should’ve said somethin’,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself somehow.

“I was otherwise occupied.”

He snorts, clearly unimpressed with your lame excuse. “Bein’ the stubborn girl you are.”

“Do you feel a change yet? Is the fever going down?”you inquire after a beat.

“You tryin’a distract me, princess?” he hums with amusement. His lip tugs upward lightly.

“I might.” You guess, you can't directly tell him you're genuinely concerned about whether he's feeling any better yet. He certainly appears better, however. He ceased sweating, his eyes are focused and his actions are more precise than before. It causes you to inhale deeply. A sigh that is full of relief.

Bucky breathes out a small laugh. “Don’t know what it is that you did there exactly, but it worked,” he acknowledges with a lighter voice. There is something like disbelief in his tone. Delight. Appreciation. That tiny hint of admiration that seems grow an inch or two.

You watch him carefully remove the fabric around your wound, to look at the injury beneath it. His brows immediately cease together tightly. Tension draws along the lines of his face, knotting his jaw. His face is hard again.

He doesn’t waste time, dipping his fingers into the salve you prepared, the thick paste now covering his calloused fingertips. His other hand brushes against your soft skin as he rather unnecessarily helps you peel back the fabric of your dress on your side.

His other hand moves to your gash so slowly, reverent almost. The first touch to your wound makes you hiss through your teeth and he lets you adjust to the feeling before spreading it around gingerly.

Blue eyes glance up to your face, watching closely for any sign of discomfort as his fingers move over your side, slowing his pace, when he sees your brows twitch, and your breath hitch.

The light of the day shimmers faintly against the angry red margins of your wound getting deliberately covered by the dark paste.

The trail of the many intertwined scents goes for your nose, mingling with faint metallic tangs of blood.

The mixture tingles against your skin, cooling and soothing the angry redness.

It’s a distraction from the fact that he hasn’t bothered to put his shirt back on.

He’s still shirtless.

The forest air kisses bare flesh. The light brings a glimmer of sweat to stand out like bronze, bringing to life the scars and distortions of his muscles. You try and tear your gaze away, dizzy with heat as it spreads over your neck and cheeks, but curiosity is what pulls your eyes back.

He is so very close in front of you. You basically see everything. Each of those lines across his naked chest and shoulders has its own tale you are sure you will never be told. You look away again, but your gaze goes hopping back.

He’s so mesmerizing in every way. He was bleeding in front of you just a moment before, but he still looks so strong. So bulky, despite the fact that he can’t eat much out here and keep his muscles trained because he has to keep an eye on you.

“You’re starin’,” he remarks quietly, not looking up. Fixed on applying the ointment.

The next beat of your heart skips. “I was not-”

“You were,” he confirms, though his tone isn’t accusing. It’s rather light. Lighter than you would have imagined. Amusement underlines his statement.

You bite your cheek, seeking to say something. “I was just thinking,” you mumble, half-heartedly attempting a defense.

“That right?” Soft and subtle humor winds around his tone. He doesn’t glance up, still thoroughly smearing more of the balm over your skin, respecting your reactions. Concentration on his features.

Silence hangs in the air, only interrupted by the rustle of clumps of leaves and a softly wafting breeze.

You hesitate. Your heart gallops in your ears. You tentatively nod at the tin cup in his hand. “Maybe this might help with your scars?” you ask, voice so soft, they almost turn into a whisper. Your fingers are clammy. It’s a feeble question.

Bucky’s hand stills. For a moment, you think he might pull away, but he does not. His finger continues to sweep but a shadow of thought passes over his face. It is not hostile. Not repelling. Just contemplative. Maybe a little surprised.

Then, there is a faint shake of his head. “They don’t hurt anymore,” he says finally. There is a subtle thickness to his voice. But he seems to have control over it.

“We could try,” you say quietly, almost in a hopeful way. So full of good intention, it makes Bucky freeze again.

He huffs out a tiny and gasping laugh. It reaches your collarbone, grazing it faintly. His head drops as though it has become too heavy for him momentarily.

“It won’t work, darlin’.” He says it so softly. Carrying an almost apologetic tone, sympathy wringing his voice dry. His thumb lightly swipes over your skin right above where the wound sits as if it is you who needs the grounding.

Your eyes move to the forest floor. There is a stillness in the air between you, unsaid things hovering in the void. The only sound is the fire crackling undisturbed.

The balm is starting to cover your wound, fragrant with mint and resin, its healing properties also somehow meant for wounds deeper than skin.

The firelight dances across his scars, making them look almost alive. Like memories etched too deep to fade.

Timidly, your quiet voice breaks the silence. “How long?”

Bucky’s brows twitch further together, lips pressing into a thin line. He watches his fingers move over your skin. You see the glimmer of reluctance in his eyes, the internal debate waging behind them.

You immediately regret asking. “You do not have to answer that,” you rush to say. “I apologize for asking.”

He exhales slowly, a sigh heavy with something unnamable rising and falling with his chest. After a long, deliberate pause, his voice is almost indifferent. “Five years.”

The simple answer hits you harder than expected. Five years. A timeline begins forming in your mind, grim shadows stretching across those years - the kind of scars that can’t always be seen.

Your back tightens as a cold shiver winds through you.

Five years. You find it hard to process. Five years of carrying whatever - whoever - has carved those scars into his body.

“You were a soldier,” you express quietly, voice so small, almost fragile.

His eyes are detached when he nods once. It’s a simple gesture and yet so complex. “I was.” His voice is clipped, but not harsh. He lets out a sound resembling a cough.

You needed the confirmation. Needed to hear it from his own lips. It solidified something inside you.

You feel your breath grow shallow, thoughts going into a haze. You have heard the bitterness in his voice whenever your father was mentioned, words tinged with disdain. He didn’t hide his contempt. He even let it out on you. But it begins to take shape. Those scars. The way he no longer claims the title of soldier as if that privilege was taken from him along with something far more precious.

He still carries himself with that form of discipline, even when standing still. Always ready for the next hit to strike. But he tried to shrug off the remnants of that past as a soldier - a soldier in your father’s army, no less.

Something has happened. Something shattering. Something traumatic.

A shiver of unease crawls along your spine, prickling every nerve.

Your father always held you to impossible standards. His love was a conditional thing that you were forever grasping to earn. He has always been a man of authority, his word was a law, and his decisions were never questioned. But there were cracks in that facade, fractures that you have chosen to ignore a long time ago. And now, those cracks are gaping, yawning wide, and you are meant to fall into them.

Your gaze falls back to the marks on his shoulder. Throat feeling constricted.

“Did my father have a hand in that?” Your voice is wavering. Anxiety gnaws at your chest, each heartbeat heavy with dread.

Bucky’s gaze lifts to you. He looks you in the eyes so intensely. Whatever he’s thinking remains locked behind his gaze, hidden from reach. But he seems to be contemplating whether to shield you from the truth.

“Yes,” he admits then, the single word falling like a stone into the silence.

It struck you with breathtaking force. The earth seems to have slipped beneath your feet and the world tilts, causing a sudden strain in your chest with the awareness that came.

You want to deny it. You want to argue that your father wasn’t capable of such treachery. But deep down, you know better. The cracks have always been there. Carefully tucked behind his walls.

Your throat is a clenched fist, made of muscle, gripping hard against the swell of emotion threatening to rise. Every breath that tries making it up your throat is only getting squeezed out by that fist.

Tears are gathering behind your eyes, the sting of them uncomfortable.

Bucky watches you. He is gauging your reaction with a poignant gentleness - not cruel, not gloating. Just honest. His expression softens, guilt shadowing his features as he takes in your reaction. He clearly does not revel in your heartbreak. It’s clear he regrets having to say it.

You fidget with your fingers. It takes Bucky finishing attending to your wound - smearing the last bit of the balm onto it and dressing it again - until you get a hold of your voice again.

“What happened?” Your voice cracks. Part of you wants to withdraw the question, fearing what he might answer. Or if he even will.

He sighs again. A hand moves to slide over his face as he sits back down, keeping the tin cup in his hand. His forearms lean on his knees, head tilted to the ground. He stays like that for a little while.

He only lifts his head for a second to see the shake in your hands.

“We were in battle. Rumlow and his men went behind our backs. Slaughtered every standin’ soldier. Got me real good, but I wasn’t quite dead. Learned to stay real quiet. Lyin’ on the ground, and all.” He huffs out a humorless laugh. He can’t meet your eyes.

You don’t know if you’re still breathing. It feels like you aren’t.

Your hands clench instinctively, grasping for something that might steady you, but the air only offers shifting shadows.

“And my father-” you choke on a swallow. “He-”

Bucky nods once, sharp and terse. His jaw locks, bracing for words he’d rather not say. “He covered it up.”

An intense pain builds in your heart, burning through the last traces of your faith in the man who has raised you.

The muscles in your face are trembling and there is that stubborn pulse inside your chest where that sob you won’t release tries to carve its way free.

Your father had a hand in Bucky’s pain.

Not just the scars on Bucky’s body, but the ones that run far deeper, the ones so deeply embedded into his very being. A soldier, abandoned by the kingdom he served, betrayed by the very man who should have protected him. Betrayed by the very man whose daughter he’s now been forced to protect. It is such a cruel reality, you can’t breath.

You feel like the air is trying to choke you. Gravity itself seems to conspire against you, pulling you down into the earth’s depths where the air is thin and hope does not exist. It slips between your lungs before it can soothe you.

A picture forms you haven’t dared to assemble until now.

And it makes tears well in your eyes. Pain stabbing and stabbing and stabbing your heart to death. You blink furiously, unwilling to let them fall. You can’t look at him. Not even closely.

Bucky told you about his mother and sister. He told you that your mother sent them away for their own safety. But he didn’t tell you why they were in danger in the first place.

Now you understand.

Your heart races, seeming to try and outrun the collapse of your world. It hammers against your ribs like fists on a locked door. The more it hammers, the more chaotic it gets, beating to the tempo of misery.

“No,” you whisper, lips wobbling. Tears cling to your lashes. Your chest heaves with the effort to breathe through the pain.

Bucky’s brows are deeply furrowed. His eyes never left you, teeth grinding together. His features are full of a struggle he tries to break out of.

Bucky Barnes was a soldier, abandoned by the kingdom he served, betrayed by the very man who should have protected him. And worse, threatened into silence by the safety of his family.

“No,” you repeat, the word a single quiver. “Your mother, and- and your sister-”

Bucky’s head drops. His hand moves over his hair. His breath leaves him with a harsh, strained sound.

Your father has threatened them, using their lives as leverage to keep Bucky silent about whatever horrors he had endured. Because exposing the truth would have cost Bucky everything he held dear.

Bucky’s eyes are the confirmation of what you are already puzzling together.

And you can’t look at him any longer. A choking sound leaves you. Your gaze moves to the flames of the fire lazily flickering upwards into the sky. The heat sears in your eyes but you don’t look away.

If you weren’t sitting already, you’d be lying on the ground by now. Your muscles are unsure whether to hold firm or buckle under the pressure. A tremor starts in your knees, making its way upward like a warning your body already understands.

How could the man you once idolized be capable of such cruelty? And how has Bucky borne it all, carrying all of this silently, without breaking?

Shame prickles under your ribs, seeping through every breath. It’s like a slow erosion happening inside you. A sense that you are both too much and never enough. You burn, consumed by something that leaves no smoke but scars all the same. Each breath fans the flames. No matter how full or brittle.

Bucky’s eyes burn you down and you can’t help but meet them again.

His face is softened in a way you’ve never seen before - not even in those rare moments when his walls seemed to crumble just enough for something warmer. There are shadows in those blues but they lock onto yours with a gentleness that has your muscles trembling.

A tear slips from the corner of your eye and you swipe at it hurriedly. You try desperately to pull your thoughts together, but there is nothing left to be done. The dam has already burst. A sob leaves you.

Another tear follows, streaking down your cheek, hot and bitter, filled with all the hurt that has just been released between you.

“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, a gritted note in his voice full of kindness. “No.”

A large, calloused hand cups your face, his thumb swiping the damp trail across your cheekbone.

The unexpected tenderness makes your breath quake, and more shame creeps onto your skin for having allowed yourself to shatter in the open.

“C’mon don’t do that,” he murmurs under his breath. He sounds pained by the sight of you. The sight of your tears. Again. Like something in him is crying out for an answer to your broken heart.

He leans closer, shifting on the dirty ground, to brush his other hand gently against the side of your jaw, framing your face between rough palms. His palms feel warm in contrast to the hot current running through your body, but he holds on steadily.

Bucky tilts your chin enough for you to meet his gaze, blue irises that grapple with guilt, but also something more subdued. Something soft and real you aren’t sure you even earned from him.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please,” he pleads near a whisper and it rips something off inside you.

The pain in your heart only seems to get stronger. You want to claim him wrong, that if anyone should rightfully feel grief or tears for the pain they carry, it is him. But the words refuse to leave your throat. All that comes is a strangled sound, a whimper, a sob, followed by a few more sweltering tears.

His thumbs continue to diligently brush your cheeks once more, painstakingly slow as if erasing the evidence of your hurt could undo it altogether.

“I mean it, darlin’,” he implores quietly. His voice is still rough. “Don’t.”

It does not feel easy though. You just found out how much has been robbed from him, how your father has contributed to it all, the man who has loomed over your life like a shadow not easily warded off with a single light. The personification of cold judgment.

And still, Bucky is softhearted and steady-eyed against your breaking moment, offering kindness and comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper thickly. “I am so sorry.” Your voice is fractured. It feels inadequate. Hollow. Not enough.

Bucky’s thumbs rest against your temples as if trying to reground you.

He bites down hard on a slightly trembling lip, the muscle in his cheek standing out sharply. For a moment, his eyes seem to look for a distraction somewhere far away, somewhere only he can see.

When they return to you, there is a pool of his own apology shimmering within them, deep enough to drown in.

He releases a gruff breath. “Not on you. This is not your fault, Y/n.” His voice is firm but also breaking with a sorrow he can’t fully express. “Wasn’t exactly easy on you,” he says lowly, gravelly. He clears his throat. “I was wrong. About you.”

You shake your head, still wedged between his hands. Your lips are wobbling, your voice in cracks. “You had every right.”

“No.” His voice is resolute. Tension pulls at his jaw. His brows almost meet each other. He shakes his head, letting his hands slide into your hair. “I didn’t.”

You sniffle. A harsh, wavering breath falls from your lips. A sob crawls up your spine. “I do not blame you for hating me.”

Bucky’s hands against your face go still. They stiffen. He even seems to flinch ever so faintly and it makes you look at him briefly. He bites back a dry swallow as if something wedged there might never leave. Something urgent pulls at his jaw, making it tick.

“I don’t hate you,” he leans his head in, looking you directly in the eyes. “Don’t hate you, princess. Alright? Don’t think that. God, please don’t think that.”

Your hands are still shaking in your lap and Bucky’s own hands fall from your face for an instant so he can trail the pads of his fingers along your wrist.

“I’m the one bein’ sorry, sweetheart.” His voice falters, a huskiness catching in his tone.

Your chest is swollen from the hard work of breathing against its pressure, while new tears still threaten to slip out of the corners of your eyes. But Bucky stays close. Still kneeling right in front of you.

“Look at me, please.”

You do, although your tears blur your vision.

“I’ll say it again,” he murmurs, swallowing dryly. “Please don’t cry, darlin’. Don’t cry.”

His eyes hold the pain he is too broken to voice.

“Yes, you will rise from the ashes, but the burning comes first. For this part, darling, you must be brave.”

- Kalen Dion

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd

[loojii]

Capricorn post? *Sniffs your art like a dog*

It's been a while since I got back into this project and I totally forgot that his name is not actually Capricorn, it's Capricornus! Because that's the name of the constellation. And like mentioned before (I know it's getting annoying hearing it from me all the time haha) but these are based on the constellations :) Not the horoscope stuff - but friends can call him Capricorn I guess lol

He's the 10th prince, so one of the younger ones (even though they're all thousands of years old, mentally he's young adult). He's a bit of a party boy! But great at planning them too

Miss Sun was mentioned before in these posts, but she used to be the princes' nanny and now still takes care of them during their reign. And she is often concerned when Capricornus is out partying again.

Capricornus Alpha Star doesn't really have a proper name? It's official name is Alpha Capricorni. It's also two stars but we see it as one (some other stars are binary systems, who are also two stars but appear as one, but then a big star has a smaller star orbiting it. Alpha Capricorni is an optical double. The stars do not orbit one another, just from our angle it looks like one). So I will design that one too at one point. Alpha Cap had some names: Algedi, Algiedi, Al Giedi or Giedi. Since Deneb Algedi already is called Algedi I thought I would call the character Giedi. He has horns in the very quick sketch but I'm not sure anymore if I want stars to have horns as well. So a redesign is in order soon!

Ophiuchus is the mc of the game concept and Capricornus (who was the very first Zodiac Prince I drew btw) is her friend. Ophiuchus was designed as a joke when I first started this design series, as an answer to the question if I would make zodiac princesses and the 13th sign. I did some sketches for a different design so maybe she gets that one as well. Capricornus is a smooth talker, a pretty boy, so Ophiuchus likes him.

Capricornus has a split tail, because it's a goat with a fish tail get it? Other fish like constellations have it as well (not all of them though).

Here's more art of him! He used to have stones on his horns, but I removed them because it was too much. He's the hardest Prince to draw in my opinion, I struggle the most with him for some reason

Taurus post ★ Gemini post ★ Cancer post ★ Virgo post ★ Libra post ★ Scorpio post ★ Sagittarius post ★

[luvst4rc0r3]

HII so idk what's going on with the whole pregnant reader thing but I feel like u stabbed me bcz why u gotta make it so sad😭 but I thought about the idea that after reader's miscarriage and Jinx takes in Isha, she gets a taste of what it's like to be a mom and it gives her the hope to try again. But then after Isha dies, everything all goes to shit again (events of act 3 play out), but then after Jinx gets out of jail and teams up with Ekko, she goes to reader and says something like "once this is all over, we're getting out of here." And they move to bildgewater together and have an actual child there in a more healthy and happy space :)) maybe for a time skip part but idk lol, anyway just thought I'd leave this here!! Live laugh love Jinx

request: Your “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

It was super interesting.

And also made me cry😭😭

Can you write a happy ending for it?

TY if you do

request:I'm gonna need a good ending where Jinx and r have the baby and live happily ever after because that last ask fucked me up😭😭😭😭

"But good things don’t always last forever"

Jinx x F!Reader

WARNINGS: DEATH, MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE!! WC: 3165

NOTE: erm I hope yall are ok now.

Summary: After a heartbreaking miscarriage, you fall into despair, but Jinx—determined to bring light back into your life—unexpectedly finds a little girl named Isha, who needs a family just as much as you both do.

PT.1

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The hideout was quiet. Too quiet.

Jinx hated it.

She sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing her leg as she watched you, curled up with your back to her, shoulders trembling under the blanket. You’d barely moved in hours. Days. It felt like weeks.

Jinx wasn’t great with words, but she knew that whatever she said wouldn’t make it better. The grief sat heavy between you, thick and suffocating. She wanted to tear it apart, blow it up, do something—but this wasn’t something she could fix with bombs or bullets.

So, she stayed. As much as she wanted to run from feelings, from pain, she stayed.

She reached out, brushing her fingers over your arm.

“Hey, toots…” Her voice was softer than usual. Hesitant. “Y’wanna get outta here? Just for a bit?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even stir.

Jinx sighed. She pressed a quick kiss to your shoulder before getting up.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered.

You didn’t respond.

Jinx wandered the streets of Zaun, hands stuffed in her pockets, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. She hated seeing you like that. Hated knowing there was nothing she could do to take away your pain.

She needed to find something. Something that could help.

It had been weeks since everything fell apart—since the baby was gone. Since your heart had shattered into something unrecognizable. You barely left the bed, barely ate, barely breathed.

Jinx never said it, but you knew it scared her.

She’d always been the reckless one, the impulsive one, the wild one. But now, you were the one slipping away.

And Jinx? She didn’t know how to stop it.

So, she did what she always did when the world felt like too much. She ran.

Jinx wasn’t looking for a kid.

She was looking for a fight, for trouble—something, anything to pull her out of her head. Out of you and the way you wouldn’t even look at her anymore.

But what she found was a girl.

Small. Filthy. Silent.

Fell on top of her while some guys chased her.

Once Jinx shot off the guys she crouched in front of her, frowning.

“Hey, shorty. What’s your deal?”

No answer.

The girl just stared.

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Oh, great. You’re broken too.”

Still nothing.

Jinx was about to leave—she wasn’t in the business of picking up strays—but then she saw it.

A fresh bruise, deep and purple, blooming along the girl’s cheek.

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

“…Shit.”

She wasn’t good at this stuff. She wasn’t you. But you… you would’ve stopped. You would’ve helped.

And maybe, just maybe, if she brought this kid home, you’d look at her again.

Jinx sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“follow me or not. I don’t care”

She followed.

She studied the kid. Dirty, scared, alone. Just like she used to be.

Maybe… maybe this was it. The something she’d been looking for.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You didn’t know what to think when Jinx came home with her.

You sat up in bed, blinking blearily as Jinx strolled in, dragging a small, silent child behind her.

“Babe, meet Isha. Isha, meet Babe.” Jinx grinned like this was normal. Like she hadn’t just brought home a whole person.

You just stared.

“…What?”

Jinx flopped onto the bed beside you, throwing an arm over your waist.

“She fell on me. Didn’t say a word. Figured, y’know, she could use some better company. We could use some better company.”

You looked at the child.

She was thin. Too thin. Her hands were curled into tight little fists, her lips pressed together in an unreadable line. She looked… wary. Not scared, not trusting. Just waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure.

But you knew that feeling.

Jinx sighed against your shoulder. “You’re not mad, are ya?”

You swallowed. No. You weren’t mad.

You were just… tired.

But when you looked at Isha—really looked at her—something deep inside you cracked.

Maybe it was the way she wouldn’t meet your eyes. Maybe it was the way she stood, stiff and defensive, like she expected you to tell her to leave.

Or maybe it was the way, despite all of it, she still stayed.

“…She can stay,” you murmured.

Jinx made a triumphant noise.

Isha didn’t react.

But when you got up and grabbed a blanket, draping it over her tiny shoulders, she didn’t flinch away.

That was enough.

For now.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The first few days were quiet.

Isha barely made a sound. You barely spoke. Jinx bounced between watching you both like a hawk and blowing things up in the dead of night, like movement could stop her from thinking too hard.

But, slowly, something shifted.

It started small.

You’d wake up in the morning, roll over, and instead of being met with an empty bed, you’d find Isha sitting on the floor, drawing.

She wasn’t great at it—her little hands were too shaky, the colors smeared—but it was something.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you wanted to do something, too.

So, one day, you sat beside her.

She tensed—always waiting for rejection—but when you picked up a crayon and started drawing next to her, she hesitated. Then, slowly, she handed you a blue one.

That was the first good day.

Jinx practically vibrated with excitement when she saw the two of you, sprawled out on the floor, doodling nonsense.

“Holy shit, progress!” she cheered, flopping onto your back. “Babe, you’re alive again!”

You snorted, nudging her playfully.

“This is a miracle!” Jinx gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Someone get me a camera—this belongs in the history books!”

Isha watched Jinx’s antics with wide eyes, and when you turned to her, you swore you saw something flicker on her face.

Something close to a smile.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You couldn’t sleep much anymore.

ever since everything.

And tonight? Tonight was bad.

She woke up to the sound of you breathing too fast, fingers twitching in your sleep.

She didn’t hesitate.

Sliding closer, she brushed your fingers through your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Babydoll,” she murmured. “Wake up, love.”

you gasped awake, eyes darting wildly until they landed on her.

She didn’t say anything. Just held you.

Your arms wrapped around you tight—desperate, grounding—and for a while, you both  just stayed like that.

Then, small movement.

You looked up.

Isha stood in the doorway, blanket clutched in her hands, staring with wide, uncertain eyes.

Jinx let out a breath, forcing a smirk. “Hey, shortstack. Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

Isha hesitated, then shook her head.

You lifted the blanket, silently inviting her in.

For a moment, she stayed frozen. Then, carefully, she climbed onto the bed, curling up between you both.

Jinx snorted. “Well, well. Looks like we’re officially outnumbered.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to Isha’s hair.

And for the first time in forever, you slept through the night, peacefully.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It started with a rainy day.

Zaun’s skies were always grim, but today, the rain came in heavy, flooding the alleyways and making the apartment feel even smaller.

Isha sat by the window, watching raindrops race down the glass. Her little fingers traced them, following each droplet with quiet concentration.

Jinx groaned dramatically, sprawled upside down on the couch, legs hanging over the backrest. “I’m bored.”

You smirked, looking up from your book. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” she shot back immediately, flipping onto her stomach. “Entertain me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not my job.”

Jinx gasped, hand over her heart. “Wow. Rude.” Then, she perked up, eyes gleaming. “Wait. I got it.”

She jumped to her feet, startling Isha, who turned and blinked.

“Pillow fort.” Jinx grinned, pointing dramatically at you. “Right now.”

You raised a brow. “Aren’t we a little old for—”

Jinx was already tearing cushions off the couch.

Isha watched her with wide, curious eyes.

Jinx caught her staring and grinned. “Whaddya think, shortstack? Wanna help?”

Isha hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Jinx let out a victorious whoop! and tossed a blanket over her head. “Welcome to the chaos, kid!”

You couldn’t help but smile.

Within half an hour, the living room was transformed.

Blankets draped over chairs, cushions stacked like castle walls, fairy lights strung across the ceiling. It was warm, cozy, perfect.

Isha crawled inside, eyes wide as she ran her hands over the soft fabric.

Jinx flopped down beside her, arms behind her head. “Not bad, huh?”

You sat across from them, watching as Isha slowly, carefully, curled up between you both.

For the first time all day, she relaxed.

Jinx smirked, nudging you playfully. “See? Told you it was a good idea.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. You win.”

Jinx puffed out her chest. “Damn right I do.”

Isha watched your banter, something soft in her expression. Then—carefully, hesitantly—she reached out and took your hand.

Your breath caught.

She turned to Jinx, then did the same.

Jinx’s eyes widened.

Neither of you spoke.

You just squeezed her tiny hands, warmth blooming in your chest as the rain pattered softly outside.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It started with Jinx.

Because of course it did.

She thought it would be hilarious to put blue dye in your shampoo.

You stepped out of the bathroom, dripping wet, staring at her with murderous intent.

Jinx, sprawled on the couch with Isha in her lap, burst into laughter.

“Oh—oh my god—babe, you look—” She was wheezing, wiping tears from her eyes. “I—I’m sorry, I can’t—”

Isha, sitting innocently beside her, covered her mouth, eyes shining with amusement.

You crossed your arms. “You think this is funny?”

Jinx gasped for breath. “Babe, c’mon, you’re literally blue!”

Isha let out a small, breathy giggle.

You smirked.

“Alright, Powder,” you said sweetly. “Game on.”

Jinx’s laughter stopped.

“…Wait.”

By the end of the week, it was war.

You switched Jinx’s sugar with salt.

She short-sheeted the bed.

You put hot sauce in her morning coffee.

She filled your boots with glitter.

Isha, watching the chaos unfold, was delighted.

And then—

The prank truce.

Because somehow, somehow, Isha got caught in the middle.

Jinx had set up an elaborate bucket trap for you, but you weren’t the one who walked through the door.

Isha did.

The bucket tipped.

Flour everywhere.

A long, long silence followed.

Jinx paled. “Oh. Shit.”

Isha, completely dusted in white, blinked.

You braced for tears.

But instead—

She grinned.

Then, the softest, most mischievous giggle bubbled out of her.

Jinx gasped. “Babe.”

You were already smirking. “She’s one of us.”

Jinx wiped a fake tear from her eye. “I’m so proud.”

And just like that, Isha became the ultimate prank war champion.

You had created a monster.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Your life finally feels complete again.

For weeks you felt alone and scared. 

Scared that you failed Jinx.

You saw Jinx actual feel like she has a purpose again.

But then—

when you both were finally settling in your guy’s new life.

she was gone.

But now—

you guys have Isha

finally feel full again.

but good things don’t always last forever.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It happened too fast.

One second, you were all together—fighting, running, surviving.

The next—

Isha was holding a gun.

Your breath caught in your throat, legs moving before your brain could catch up.

Jinx screamed.

“Isha!”

Jinx lunged.

She almost made it.

Almost.

Isha’s eyes met yours—And then—

She was gone.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

And then—nothing.

Silence.

it wasn’t fair.

Not again.

Not her.

Not your baby.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Everything burned.

Piltover was drowning in smoke, fire licking at the streets, sirens screaming in the distance. The air was thick with dust and blood, and the world felt like it was cracking apart.

And maybe it was.

Maybe you were.

Jinx stood beside you, gun smoking, eyes wild. Her fingers twitched on Fishbones, but her grip was steady. It always was in a fight.

She turned to you, breath ragged, face smeared with dirt and sweat.

“Once we’re out,” she rasped, voice raw from screaming, “we’ll get the life we always wanted.”

You swallowed, gripping your own weapon, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Jinx—”

“I mean it.” She reached for you, gripping your wrist like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “No more running. No more fighting. Just us, babe. We’ll leave. Start fresh. We’ll have—”

She choked on the words.

But you knew.

She meant Isha.

She meant family.

She meant the life that was stolen from you both.

Your throat tightened. “Jinx…”

“I swear.” Her eyes burned, desperate, pleading. “Just hold on a little longer. Please.”

You exhaled shakily.

Then—slowly—you nodded.

Jinx let out a breath, pressing her forehead to yours.

For a moment, just one, the war didn’t exist.

It was just you and her.

Like it used to be.

Like it could be again.

If you survived.

If you made it out.

Jinx pulled back, smirking despite the blood on her lip. “C’mon, babe.” She lifted Fishbones. “Let’s finish this.”

And so, you did.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The war ended in fire.

You made it out.

Barely.

With nothing but your weapons, the clothes on your backs, and the weight of ghosts in your hearts—

you both flew away.

Flew away from the wreckage. From the war. From everything.

And when you stopped running—

You were in Bilgewater.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The first thing you noticed was the salt.

Bilgewater smelled like the sea—like salt and spice and damp wood. The docks groaned under the weight of ships, traders shouting over each other as people bustled past.

It was chaotic. Loud. Messy.

It was perfect.

Jinx stretched, arms high above her head, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Smells like fish and crime,” she said, grinning. “I love it.”

You snorted. “You would.”

She turned to you, nudging your side. “You sure about this, babe? New place, new start—no more blowing stuff up for fun. You ready for that?”

You exhaled, looking out at the ocean.

The wind was soft here. The sun actually touched your skin instead of hiding behind smog.

You turned back to Jinx, taking her hand in yours.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m ready.”

Jinx’s grin softened.

She squeezed your hand.

“Then let’s go home.”

It wasn’t much.

Just a small shack near the docks—rickety, barely standing, but yours.

Jinx spent weeks fixing it up, scrounging for parts, muttering about “engineering genius” and “making this place badass.”

You just watched her work, heart full for the first time in what felt like forever.

Because she was happy.

You both were.

No more war. No more running.

Just waking up with Jinx tangled around you, her hair messy, her breath warm against your neck.

Just late nights on the rooftop, watching the waves, talking about nothing and everything.

Just peace.

And one day, as Jinx lay beside you, fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm, she whispered—

“We made it.”

You turned to her, brushing blue strands from her face.

“We did.”

She smiled, soft and real, and for the first time in a long time—

There were no ghosts.

No war.

No grief.

Just you and her.

And the life you always wanted.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Bilgewater had been home for a couple months now.

The war was a distant memory, just a story told in whispers between you and Jinx when the nights stretched too long and the past felt too close.

Life had settled.

Jinx still tinkered, still got into trouble, still stole things just because she could. But she was happy. She laughed more, slept easier, held you like she was afraid you’d slip away in the night.

And you?

For the first time in your life, you were at peace.

But something was missing.

Something you and Jinx didn’t talk about out loud—not for months, not after what happened.

Then one night, as you both lay tangled on the couch, a storm raging outside, Jinx spoke—soft, hesitant.

“…Do you ever think about it?”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant.

You turned to her, fingers brushing absentmindedly through her blue strands. “Every day.”

Jinx swallowed.

She sat up, looking at you—really looking—and her voice was barely a whisper when she said—

“What if we tried again?”

Your breath caught.

Jinx rushed ahead before you could answer.

“Not—not to replace her,” she stammered. “Never that. Just… I dunno. We had a good thing. A great thing. And I think we could—” She exhaled sharply, eyes darting away. “Forget it. Dumb idea.”

You caught her chin gently, making her meet your gaze.

“It’s not dumb,” you said. “It’s perfect.”

Jinx blinked.

Then—slowly—her lips curled into a small, hopeful grin.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

BONUS!!!!!

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It took time.

But one day, finally, you held her.

Tiny. Fragile. A weight so light it barely felt real in your arms.

You stared down at the baby, throat tight, heart pounding in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

Jinx hovered beside you, practically vibrating.

“D’you think she’s defective?” she muttered.

You snorted. “Jinx.”

“She hasn’t said anything.”

“She was literally just born.”

Jinx huffed, poking the baby’s cheek. “Still. I expected more personality.”

The baby let out a soft, sleepy sigh.

Jinx melted.

“…Okay, that was kinda cute.”

You shook your head, smiling. Then, quietly, you whispered—

“Isha.”

Jinx froze.

The boat went silent, save for the distant sound of the waves against the docks.

You looked up, meeting Jinx’s eyes.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—slowly—Jinx exhaled, her lips curling into something small, soft.

She reached out, tracing a gentle finger over the baby’s tiny fist.

“Isha,” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

Like it was something sacred.

You nodded, eyes stinging.

“She deserves to be remembered…both kids need to be remembered”

Jinx swallowed, blinking rapidly.

Then, suddenly, she grinned.

“Well,” she said, nudging your shoulder. “Let’s just hope this one doesn’t start a prank war.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to Isha’s tiny forehead.

“No promises.”

Jinx smirked.

Then she leaned in, brushing her lips against yours, whispering—

“We made it.”

You smiled.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “We did.”

And as Isha let out a tiny yawn, curling into your chest, the past finally let go.

The war was over.

The ghosts were gone.

And the life you always wanted?

It was here.

It was real.

And it was yours.

I love making angst and fluff stories!! They are so fun to craft!!

I want sleep.

[sensitivepluto]

When it Happens

Satoru Gojo x Gn!Reader

[TW]: gruesome activities, death, heavy angst, swears, bad writing lol

A/N: I held back...just letting you guys know it could have been much worse. Sorry :]

Satoru sat with you in bed, leaned against your chest while you played with his frosty locks. His eyes closed with a blissful smile across his face. In this line of work, you get very scarce time like this together.

You hummed a peaceful tune while continuing your work, massaging his scalp and running your fingers back and forth through his hair. He was so utterly in love with you it hurt his core sometimes.

He thought of the world the two of you were immersed in. The countless curses you both fought on a daily. Sometimes he wondered if he begged you enough if maybe you'd quit. Maybe get a normal job where he knew you'd be safer.

"Hey, baby?" The question left Satoru's lips before he'd really thought it through. "When we die will you let me die first?"

You froze for a moment, stopping your ministrations. He frowned at this, finally opening his eyes to peer up at you. You met his icy blue eyes with your own and sighed, smirking slightly.

"You must know there's no way for me to control that, right?" You answered. He groaned dramatically and threw his arms out. Clearly this is not the response he wanted.

"But if you cooooould," he drew out. "Can you let me go first?" This performance of his drew a giggle from your lips. How could one man be so flamboyantly dramatic.

"Why do you want me to do that?" You jested, trying to get to the root of his question. Suddenly, he sat straight up and turned to look at you head on. He was nearly touching your face with his, and your eyebrows were shot up in surprise.

"Because," Satoru declared. "There is not a moment I want to spend without you. So if you die first it kind of ruins that plan." You rolled your eyes.

You had to admit it was cute, and who were you to deny your boyfriend of his silly hypotheticals.

"You want me to promise you to let you die first?" You hummed. He nodded, determination in his eyes. You shook your head and laughed, taking his face in your hands. "That is so stupid. But if it makes you happy, I promise." A grin spread across his face and before you knew it he was attacking you with kisses.

That was a couple of weeks ago. The memory clung to Satoru's mind as the scene unfolded before him. Flames went up around him while he staggered down the street. He'd seen you go down during the fight with a particularly strong special grade curse.

It caught you off guard. Using sounds of your loved ones to draw you closer to it. He remembers screaming at you not to fall for it but how could you not. The curse had to have gotten those sounds somewhere right?

Satoru watched as the curse appeared in front of you. Within a second he watched it impale you through the abdomen with long, black tendrils. It threatened to rip you in two then and there. If it hadn't been for Satoru quickly drawing his attention away it probably would have.

The curse threw you down like a ragdoll no longer worth its time. Unfortunately for it, its new opponent was called "the strongest" for a reason. It wasn't long before the curse was Hollow Purpled out of existence.

But now here he was, standing in front of you. His eyes blown wide while he looked you up and down. Your eyes were still open, and your mouth stood agape. He choked himself back looking at the hole puncturing through your body.

As he took a step toward you his legs seemed to give out, putting him on his knees before you. Satoru shakily moved your hair out of your face, cradling your head in his hands. It felt like his entire body was shutting down.

"No.." he denied this weakly. "I can't..." He pulled your limp body into his arms. "You promised..." A choked sob left his throat. He didn't even realize the tears streaming down his face. "You fucking promised."

When help had finally arrived they had to force you away from him. He didn't want to let go of you, not like this. But it was just like you had said back then. There was no way for you to control that. And now here he was, all alone again.

[charmac]

Hello I am on a mission because someone I know is offering me $20 to find what episode this gif is from (I have never watched the show) and I will give you like $15 of those $20 if you can help. This is probably the weirdest ask I have ever sent someone ever I am so sorry

^^ the gif in question. no worries if you do not know I just. On tenor it was tagged with charmac and thats your url. I. Know absolutely nothing about this show I am so sorry LOL

LOL.. first thing to know about Sunny is that they have this very annoying habit, since the very beginning and to this day, of using alternate takes/cut scenes in their promo and trailers. And this gif is one of those very fun instances. Technically, it is not a scene in an episode... but it is definitely from an episode, and based on Charlie and Mac's clothes we can easily pin point it to the episode "Mac is a Serial Killer":

This scene exists between the frame above (Mac talking to Charlie about how he's hooking up with Carmen (misunderstood by Charlie as serial killing), and the frame below (Mac telling Charlie that his escapades are over):

There is a cut scene between these two moments in which Mac, after sleeping with Carmen again, goes to Charlie's apartment to confess that same day. The gif you're inquiring about is from that cut scene.

So unfortunately this gif is somewhat considered "lost media" (but more like, never released media Sunny loves to keep to itself). While the moment technically belongs to "Mac is a Serial Killer," it never aired as a scene and therefore doesn't exist.

The good news is we actually have the script for this episode, so we can get the rough idea of what we're missing. I've pasted the script portions below the cut, if you want to pass along to your friend for context! No payment necessary and definitely not a weird ask, lmfao, I am happy to be asked and to know the answer to this :)

You can find and read this script and many, many more on the Paddy's Pub Blog!

[danieyells]

I'm not sure why I feel so attracted to the idea of Jiro sedating the MC and touching them over their clothes but not daring to do much more, and later the MC waking up and thinking it was a kind of dream influenced by him taking care of their pre-op "well he was always handsome"

You're attracted to it because it's hot anon 👀 the vulnerability, the drugging, the lack of fulfillment when all he does is grope over your clothes, the uncertainty--i'm always a slut for dub/non-con and drugging oh lord 👀 tell me more anon

And man i sure hope this isn't total gibberish because i wrote it in parts over the course of the day and only finished like now and it's 4am. . . .

I feel a little disappointed in this one, i'll admit lolol and it's not exactly what you described but maybe you'll like it anyway?

Obvious non/dubcon and (consensual, medical) drugging cws. Additional warnings for that the pc is never named and is only referred to as 'they' for the most part, and I left their gender and genitals ambiguous, which makes for some sloppy writing on my part. . . .

They had been helping at Jabberwock a few days prior and they'd been bitten by an anomaly. It was a minor injury but Haru was worried about the side effects. After Towa nearly sent the poor creature to hell, they'd been sent to Mortkranken for examination, to be certain the beast's venom wouldn't have any lasting effects.

It was Yuri who inspected them the first time. Even after spending time helping the medical house, Yuri still made the inspector feel a little on edge. They worried the only thing that kept them from more than basic examination and preventative care was Professor Nicolas' presence.

"Their venom is slow acting." Yuri scoffed after they described the anomaly they'd been affected by. He walked with them after they were discharged, making his way to another patient in the building as he explained before they went their separate ways. "If you go a week without noticing any changes the medicine worked in full. Come back if you start experiencing any unintended muscle movements!"

With that sharp dismissal, they returned to the Cathedral, worrying over every twitch and itch and crawl under their skin.

And three days later they were once again in Mortkranken after a sudden movement of their leg nearly sent them careening down a staircase.

Kaito and Luca had been kind enough to rush them to the infirmary, where Professor Nicolas subsequently had them quickly transported to Mortkranken as the anomalous effects would be better treated there(much to Kaito's dismay.)

A general student saw them into a wheelchair and rolled them inside the office, helping them onto an examination table to make sure another spasm wouldn't cause them any injury. Even as they were brought inside they began to panic as the spasms increased in frequency and spread from their leg into other parts of their body. They shook and twitched against their own wishes, even as Jiro arrived in the exam room with the necessary materials.

"You're moving too much." Jiro sighed on sight, putting down the needle he'd filled without even saying hello. He moved to fetch a fresh one and a small jar of lavender colored fluid. "I'm going to sedate you. You should be okay to fall asleep, if you feel tired. You shouldn't die."

The human tried to find the honest statement and lack of alarm comforting. If they were dying then surely Yuri and Nicolas would have been contacted? Or perhaps their curse or the ring would have counteracted it?

The summer had seen them abandon their blazer in favor of wearing a short sleeve dress shirt, making access to their arm quite simple. Jiro moved to hold their upper arm when another spasm rocked it. After waiting for the jolts to cease, he gripped their arm tight enough to make them wince, disinfected their skin with precision, and jabbed the needle into their upper arm with a little pinch.

The effect was almost immediate as he pushed down the plunger. The moment the fluid entered them they felt fuzzy, their vision swimming as if with exhaustion. The warmth spread and their muscles relaxed, losing most of their strength. Where a convulsion was about to start they felt a much weaker muscle spasm, registering in their mind as barely a crawl of their skin. Once all of the fluid had entered them, the needle was pulled out and discarded in an anomalous container for sharps; the spot was immediately cleaned and bandaged.

The sedative must have had some additional effect, the inspector reasoned. Where Jiro must have had been pressing fingers against the plaster to stop any bleeding, they imagined a long press of his lips.

But that wouldn't make sense.

Or be sanitary wound care.

(Would he even have a concept of 'kissing wounds makes them better'? It didn't seem like he grew up in such a gentle environment.)

Once he was certain the spasms had been relaxed Jiro put on a new pair of gloves and fetched his original needle. "This should kill any of the remaining venom." He explained as he cleaned another patch of skin. "Aside from the initial pinch you shouldn't notice anything odd. Maybe a little burning.

"If you feel anything besides that. . . ." He looked into their eyes, glassy and hazy. Barely there, their mind and body were so numb. For a moment they were able to focus on him, and he seemed to smile in amusement--although, that would be strange for Jiro, so it must have just been the medicine. "Just lie there and drool, I suppose. I'll take care of it."

Any attempt at response failed, their body feeling so limp that even speaking was a task. It felt like a nightmare of helplessness, the kind they'd had many times since coming to Darkwick--unable to move their body and helpless at the mercy of some person or beast. But even through the needles' sharp penetration(barely noticed in the haze of their sedation) they felt surprisingly safe. Perhaps their sleeping mind heard Jiro's blunt explanations and took them as literal as Jiro meant them to be and felt no fear or discomfort. They were helpless and heavy, but not afraid despite it. Like a dream within a dream.

As Jiro had claimed, they feel nothing but a light burn tingling in their veins. A gentle buzz throughout their being. They could almost feel the anomalous medicine working, seeking out the toxicity in their muscles and killing it. Or perhaps the sensitivity was part of their sedative-induced dream.

"Done." Jiro announced. The needle left them, and they were cleaned and bandaged once again. Jiro kissed--or pressed against, more likely--the bandage until the bleeding stopped. They opened their bleary eyes to watch him as he cleaned up. "You'll need to be monitored for about ten minutes, to make sure there are no side effects." He looked back at them lying on the examination table, a limp doll of a human. Not that, compared to Jiro, they were much stronger than a doll to begin with. "Not that you can go anywhere. In your condition."

Was that a laugh, or a sigh? It was a little huff of a sound, something they might as well have had imagined. A lot of things seemed imagined here. Like that Jiro didn't leave to attend to another patient and leave a general student to look after them until they could move again. Yuri would have likely had them put in a chair and wheeled back home with one of their friends. . .or worse, used their helpless body in some sort of experiment.

Perhaps that thought is what made the Jiro in their mind come closer once everything was in order and examine them closely. Had it been ten minutes? Time really didn't seem to have a meaning right now. They tried moving, and found little change in when they were first injected.

"Did I give you too much?" Jiro asked, slipping strong hands under their arms and repositioning them. They managed a sound best(though still poorly) described as a weak squeak in acknowledgement. "It's a strong sedative. If I didn't give it to you the venom might have started coordinating your spasms until it controlled your body. You'll be able to move again eventually."

Once they'd been placed back onto the table in a good position, the head of the table slightly raised, Jiro watched them.

Then, he moved a hand to lightly rest on their sternum.

"You're not breathing very hard." He observed. His hand traveled over to the left, cupping their chest. His other hand went to their neck, resting over their pulse. The palm over their chest started stroking the area through their shirt, heavy and dragging as if absentminded. They tensed, trying to squirm but too weak to do so.

"Your RPM and heart rate are a little high." Jiro noted aloud, though not on any sort of chart. The hand on their neck traced their throat with a thumb. "And you're starting to warm up. An allergic reaction, maybe. . .? You weren't found to be allergic to any of the anomalous medicine we use during your health checks."

The hand on their chest gave the tissue a squeeze. First a soft massaging, then something rougher. The way he spoke was so clinical, they had to assume the contact was little more than a fever dream, the last of the spasms wracking their body in particularly sensitive places and their sleeping mind filling in the blanks with thoughts of their vulnerable body being toyed with by the handsome, stoic doctor.

Even the tweak to one of their nipples wasn't enough to wake them, only enough to elicit another squeak and make them shudder in lieu of squirming or arching their back. Even when the hand on their throat moved to their jaw and traced their lips, sinking into their unresistant mouth to stroke their tongue, they assumed they were dreaming, misinterpreting what was happening in the waking world. Jiro commented on their temperature, thumb teasing the back of their throat until they just barely gagged. He retracted his hand entirely to mind their pebbling nipples with both.

What started so purely as the medical attention they needed had, in some length of time that they couldn't measure through the fog, became a pair of strong and heavy hands tracing down their side and waist, sliding over to grope at their tummy. The muscles beneath weakly tensed at the ticklish feeling, and he gave a little hum in acknowledgement. "It looks like you're getting your strength back, at least."

When he relocated his hands to their hips, they confirmed this slight recovery with a little squirm. He squeezed down, presumably to keep them still. "Relax. You'll need your strength for when you leave."

Presumably, it was to keep them still, although they felt his hands slip beneath to their rear, kneading their ass and tracing their crack through their clothes. When he spread the cheeks, he once again received a whine and a squirm, which he responded to with a rough squeeze as if in punishment. Nonetheless, he moved down to their thighs, similarly admiring their shape and feel, before slipping his hands between and spreading them without a hint of effort on his part.

"Ji--!" Their slurred attempt at speech was disrupted by their choked gasp when Jiro's groping moved to squeeze their crotch. The sudden jolt of pleasure, after being worked up through what felt like hours of slowly being toyed with, was enough to almost push through the muscle relaxants in the sedative for just a moment, letting them arch into the contact. They were still too weak to grind into his hand, however, and he only pushed back enough to get their hips to drop painfully back onto the table.

"I told you to calm down." His fingers traced the shape of their genitals, stroking as if to learn the shape more than to titillate. Jiro was a doctor. He'd personally given them medical examinations where they were wearing much less. He already knew what was there, though not in such intimacy. He didn't like 'pointless' things. He wouldn't see a point in something like this. So it could only be a dream. He massaged them through the fabric of their uniform and underwear, fingers pressing and stroking where heat seeped through the most. They only hoped he couldn't feel the moisture gathering there as well. "Your temperature is going up again."

Watching Jiro's actions was difficult in their exhausted condition. While there was no way they could conceptualize that Jiro would actually do any of this, some part of them desperately wanted to know what Jiro--if only as a product of their imagination--was feeling as he brought them agonizingly slowly towards orgasm.

They blinked through the mist of tears they realized must have been forming along with the drool running down their still parted lips, until Jiro's face came into focus. He was much too close to their lap, so close his even, unhurried breaths could be felt warming them through their clothes. It only added to the stimulation. Jiro was an adult, even if he sometimes seemed quite juvenile, like when he laughed at stag beetles fighting or Yuri struggling not to sleep in class; it was surely impossible that he didn't know what he was doing.

On the other hand, he'd been in a coma for some time, and he had no real consideration for the privacy of others' bodies. . .the intent look of study combined with a tinge of pink on his cheeks as he breathed over their aroused genitals and felt the way the touch of his scarred hands made them change. . . .

It was as if he was using their body to sate some curiosity, rather than truly molest them. Even the way his other hand gripped their clothing, as if considering simply removing it, seemed too explorative to be malicious or manipulative.

Or perhaps they simply thought that way because their angle didn't afford them the sight of his lap, to see if he was, perhaps, getting as aroused as they were.

But Jiro paused in his ministrations, contact returning shortly to simply resting his hand on that sensitive and throbbing area, before he retracted his hands completely. Again, they whinged, squirming at being left alone as Jiro seemed to disappear from the examination table.

"Interesting." What was of interest wasn't quite clear. It occurred to them that their body's responses to their dream were real, and perhaps the real Jiro was made aware of their arousal. It was impossible to tell his reaction from his voice alone, and they writhed in humiliation at being caught in some sort of medically induced wet dream. "It seems like you'll need a little more time to recover."

They held their breath, but the contact never returned. They felt themself cooking down, but still sensitive, as if Jiro's touch was lingering. Occasionally they heard some noise in the examination room--a turning page or a keyboard or computer mouse or writing implements on paper. Occasionally a noise from a phone, or a distant echo from out in the hall. But for the most part, all they heard was a strangely loud and hazy silence.

At some point, the dream turned to void, as if they'd fallen asleep inside of it.

When they came to, the world had much less of a layer of fog over it. Their body still felt heavy, but not so much so that they couldn't move it. Sounds were a bit sharper, and yet they heard less as if their senses had been heightened in their sleep. Yuri was scolding Jiro, something about dawdling in here with the sleeping patient when there was work to be done.

"They had a reaction to the antivenom." Jiro explained, his voice coming closer. As usual his footfalls were shockingly quiet, and they would have never known he was coming near if he weren't speaking. They squinted into the strong lights, raising an arm to cover their face. "They're awake now, so I'll discharge them."

"Fine. But hurry up! You know what happens when you're late for your medicine, and I won't tolerate your complaints if you're the cause of your own delay!" Yuri stormed out, likely to prepare Jiro's medication, not even acknowledging them despite having had seen them out when they first checked in days prior.

Jiro, meanwhile, presented them with a light snack of crackers and a juice box. "I would recommend eating a meal and getting some rest once you get home. That sedative wasn't made for restful sleep."

They cleared their throat after taking a few sips of juice. "You said I had a reaction. . . ."

"Yes."

"What. . .happened. . .?"

"Increased temperature, heart rate, and respiration." Jiro explained, watching them eat.

"Did you do anything to stop them. . .?" They really wanted to ask if it was truly a product of the antivenom, but feared sounding accusatory over what was likely a dream.

"No. They weren't at a dangerous level. I just kept an eye on them so make sure they didn't get worse."

They nodded, sipping their juice again. "And the sedative can give you strange dreams? You said it isn't made for restful sleep. . . ."

"Your body is forced to sleep without your mind being put into a restful place first. It would be like falling asleep with something on your mind, making you more likely to dream about it. So, yes, that would likely be the case."

They heaved a somewhat disappointed sigh, tilting the last of their snack crackers into their mouth. "That's good, I think. . .I'm glad that's all that happened."

"If you say so."

That response felt off. Jiro took their trash and threw it away, fetching the wheelchair they were rolled in on to help them into it. He put a hand on their back, making them jump as they were gently pushed to the edge of the lowered bed to sit up.

"What do you mean? That's all that happened, isn't it?"

"It already happened." Jiro said dismissively, putting his hands under their arms to lift them up(again?) and sit them into the chair, not trusting their legs just yet. "I don't see a point in worrying what happened between your treatment and now."

The cursed inspector tried to formulate a response that could convince Jiro to share what he meant--even if all he said was that he had read a medical journal, or that he'd adjusted them in bed a few times--but knowing Jiro they couldn't think of a way to get him to talk. They squeezed their thighs together, feeling their genitals throb from the orgasm denial, the unfulfillment of their dream that might have been reality. But they were already back in the Mortkranken lobby, where Luca greeted them with a kind smile, approaching.

"Can you walk?" He asked as Jiro locked the chair. They set one leg on the floor and, though it felt heavy, they could definitely balance enough to get up and stumble over to Luca on wobbly legs before giving a weak nod. "I'm glad to hear it. It looks like you've recovered well. Are they clear to return home, Doctor Kirisaki?"

"Just Jiro is fine." Jiro looked them over once more. It was surely their imagination that his gaze lingered on their crotch--where they squeezed their thighs together tightly, remembering their dizzy dream and just how close his lips were before he pulled away--as opposed to their slightly wobbling legs. "They're a fall risk until they've had a meal and some rest. But they're safe for discharge."

A general Mortkranken student trotted up, offering the scholarship student their discharge paperwork and instructions, then collected the wheelchair for sensitization and storage once the papers were taken. They and Lucas thanked them kindly, and Jiro as well. He simply nodded in response, before they began to make their way out the door.

The cursed human took one final look back at Jiro, who simply tilted his head at them like so many of the cats around campus. Then he winced and turned away, stumbling towards the basement to receive his medication.

About two or three hours later, they received a WickChat message.

Jiro: You implied you experienced an odd dream as an effect of the sedative. This may also have been a yet unseen reaction between the sedative and the antivenom. Jiro: For the sake of proper documentation, would you be able to expound upon the dream at all? It's okay if you can't remember everything. Any details would be valuable to the understanding of anomalous medicine and its effects on humans and individuals afflicted by curses.

Their heart pounded. Telling Jiro what they dreamed of could be valuable information, but could they really bear the humiliation of it? Of explaining that they'd had a nearly wet dream about him, while he was in the room with them? Would Jiro even think anything of it, oblivious as he is to emotional matters?

Jiro: If it helps, a date for you to be sedated again could be arranged. You could be attached to a brain wave monitor, so your memory won't need to be relied upon. Jiro: Perhaps the dream will reoccur. I'll be sure to thoroughly extract something of value, so the experience isn't wasted.

Perhaps it was his use of 'thoroughly extracting value', but the thought crossed their mind that they hadn't been dreaming at all, and that Jiro mayhaps wanted to finish what he started. But it wouldn't make sense from the get go for it to have had been real. . . .

And yet they remembered Jiro's talk of prescribing death to others and dismissing ethics.

There was no point in discussing the ethics of something that had already been done, he said.

Perhaps some of the experience was real. He wouldn't have had been so cryptic about what had happened while they slept if nothing had occurred, would he?

Although, he was often cryptic about things, so perhaps that was merely coincidence and they were getting their hopes up--

Jiro: A prompt response would be appreciated. 'No' is an acceptable response, as well.

They scrambled to type a response, realizing they'd left him on read.

8636: I don't know how well I can recall. . . . 8636: I'm willing to be re-sedated, though! 8636: Before I agree to it, may I ask a potentially non-medical question? Jiro: I can't stop you from asking questions over WickChat. 8636: What happened while I was sedated today? After I was given the antivenom?

There was a pause, but no typing for a while. Then the general Mortkranken WickChat messaged them with appointment information.

8636: Jiro? Jiro: ? 8636: I didn't see a response, so I was just checking in. . . . Jiro: I didn't agree to answer the question.

A fair, if disappointing response.

Jiro: Just know I attempted to administer a holistic remedy to an unanticipated physiological response that arose during your treatment.

The response took a little longer to parse. As realization dawned on them, the next message came in.

Jiro: It didn't work as intended, as I'm not very experienced with such methods or concerns. Perhaps you noticed your continued affliction after discharge, and your discharge instructions. Jiro: Should the same issue arise, I've done more research.

They covered their face in embarrassment.  The discharge instruction "administer personal relief as needed" made much more sense now. They desperately hoped the Mortkranken student who handed them their discharge instructions hadn't read it first.

Accepting this explanation, they hastily sent an apology and threw themself down in bed, covering their face. Did they have to go to the appointment!? Jiro had only been trying to help them, albeit in an extremely questionable way. . .and somehow the thought that he had done more research to better serve the need in question. . .it was embarrassing, despite that they were the victim. They were able to excuse it, rationalizing that they were attracted to Jiro anyway and the idea alone felt exciting, but now walking into it as though it were any other medical procedure felt. . .insincere.

Resolving to perhaps cancel the appointment and try and get Jiro to have a talk with them about ethics, they dozed off, trying to ignore the returning heat and throbbing between their legs.

When they next awoke, it was to a small pinch, like the needles they'd recieved that day.

Just as had happened earlier, their strength was robbed from them nearly immediately, and they gasped as they felt a pair of lips on their chest, sucking at the nipple through their pajamas. A familiar large, heavy hand squeezed their other breast, twisting and tugging the nipple there.

"Not to worry." Jiro reassured through the gloom and the haze of sleep and strong sedatives. "Just like earlier, this is all a dream."

Limp in bed, a heavy doll for him to experiment on, what could they do but comply?

[sushisocks]

Hey there! I believe you said in another post that the final confrontation would be unlikely to happen if lenny and sean were alive, so i'd like to ask if you could expand on that pls(if u havent already and i just didnt see it lol)

Btw on a side note im actually super invested in your sean content😭😭the fandom seems to only talk ab him to label as an idiot, so as a fellow sean lover the way you characterize him has me so in love❤️❤️❤️❤️

Oh Anon you are SO LOVELY!!! Thank you not only in giving me the opportunity to rant more about Sean and Lenny (which I am always so willing to do), but also for your super kind words!! Sean is very dear to me, and I'm glad my reading into him as much as I do strikes a chord with other people ;;u;;

The way the general fandom often characterizes him isn't very surprising to me, given his personality & the surface level impressions he gives, but maybe for now I'll save THAT rant for another time, else we stay here forever lmaoo

So, to start answering your question, I believe you're talking about my post from a few months ago, where I talk about how I believe Sean & Lenny would've sided with Arthur & John if they'd lived to see the final confrontation. In it I mention how I find that final confrontation a lot more unlikely were Lenny & Sean to survive that far and stick around for the entire thing.

Now, WHY do I believe this? I touch on it briefly in that original post, but let's really get into it here!!

Okay to start off, there's a LOT of ways I see things going, in regards to Sean and Lenny, were they both to survive, because it adds SO MANY variables, but let's start at the very top.

At a meta level, it is important to recognize that RDR2 is a prequel to RDR1. This meant from the get that RDR2, as it is canonically, was bound to a certain outcome, to set up for RDR1. This ALSO means, that every step from the start of RDR2 was very much there not only to lay the groundwork for the end of RDR2 but also add another emotional layer to RDR1. This is all certainly things we are aware of already, but I think it's important to have that context in mind while we talk about alternative outcomes.

Because, see, Sean and Lenny HAD to die for the outcome in RDR2 to be the one it is. Not only them, but Hosea, Kieran, Molly, and Susan's deaths are ALL integral and important to the story, they ALL make a difference and contribute in pushing the story a certain way, and in reinforcing the steadily increasing hopelessness which infest the gang from Sean's death and out.

So if we're like "what if none of them died?" there are suddenly a LOT of new variables for every mission and every scenario we know from the game, which need to be considered. This is true EVEN if the change in survival count is only reduced to Lenny & Sean.

How different do you not think Shady Belle would have felt, initially, without Sean's death hanging over it? What about the bank job -- would Lenny & Sean end up on the boat to Guarma? What would've happened to them there, then? Would either of them be caught by the Pinkertons instead, with John or in his stead maybe? What other options would there have been, where would they end up at the end of that?

And already here we have to consider how those experiences might've impacted them psychologically, because of who they are.

In the post I mentioned earlier, I talk about how Lenny is new to the gang and probably isn't as stuck in it mentally as Arthur and John, nor do Sean and Lenny have the same emotional attachment/baggage in regards to Dutch. They're loyal of course, because they feel a sense of obligation to the gang, because it provides them with safety, friends, and allies, in an otherwise unkind world.

But what then happens when that changes?

How do you expect Sean and Lenny to respond when the gang starts turning on itself? When Dutch visibly starts losing it? When people start snapping at each other and threatening one another in the middle of camp?

(I have a half-formed thought here about how people would ABSOLUTELY be snapping and talking down to Sean in a way more cruel way towards the end of the game, for trying to keep things light and easy, yknow, fulfilling his role in the gang. I can only imagine what that'd end up doing to him, tbh.)

And, I'll be repeating myself from other posts here, but how do you think Lenny, a young black man painfully aware of the social structure as it exists in America at that point in time, would react to realizing what Dutch's plan with the Wapiti is? Same goes for Sean, who has SEVERAL instances through the game showing him just as politically aware as Lenny - certainly moreso than Arthur.

Would the outcome for the Wapiti tribe be the same, do you think, if Charles had more people than a very sick and tired Arthur to lean on, willing to help? Would Lenny in particular want to stick around to see Dutch attempt to drive the tribe into the ground for his own gain?

Also, I'm sorry but like, Lenny has a camp interaction with Dutch where he disagrees with him (about Miller, Dutch's favorite author) and explains why in a very well-articulated manner. In one instance, Dutch gets straight up offended by it, bcz Lenny can argue very well (and is RIGHT mind you lol).

I do absolutely believe that Lenny would not just sit around quietly in Beaver Hollow. I'd expect him to be among the most vocal in their discontent with the situation, and probably the best at arguing against Dutch.

That is, up until a certain point. Lenny is a young black boy, and Dutch is a white authority figure. Watch Dutch snap and yell at him, like he does John in Ch6 for example, and see how much longer Lenny sticks around fr. The trade is loyalty for safety and the same in kind. Why do you think members start leaving when things start looking their worst? And don't you think Lenny would be among the first to see the writing on the wall?

Though that is hinging on that very specific vibe in Beaver Hollow, where they're all scattered and losing their ties to one another. Add then in Sean, who is VITAL as social glue, and for making conversations easier. If he, and Lenny, and Mary-Beth, Tilly, Arthur, Charles, etc etc, insert your favorites here, managed to retain some of that community feeling, despite it all, then I absolutely see Lenny sticking around for them.

Same goes for Sean, tbh. I can see him leaving earlier, bcz the trade stops being equal and bcz he's not being taken seriously, and I can see him staying, for his friends.

There IS also a version of things where things are similar and I do see Sean siding with Dutch; but that is a very sad and lonely Sean, who is VERY different from where he's at in Clemens Point, and I think that's an unfair perspective to take for him in general.

Okay so, now we're back to that final confrontation, after I said I found it unlikely, why is that? Because, with every question I've posed thus far, about what Lenny & Sean's reactions might've been to canon events after their deaths, I have essentially presented a variable that comes with their survival to those points. Them being there for it, HAS to mean a change, has to mean something different happens, because their deaths are direct contributors to the path we already know the story takes WITHOUT their presences.

Now, what are those differences and changes? I honestly can't answer; something being different earlier or later can butterfly-effect into something completely new or remarkably similar to what we already know. I could sit here all day and wax poetic about all the different options and possibilities for where things could go, were ANY character to survive past their death point, BUT thankfully, that is what fanfiction is for, lol.

I hope this satisfied some of your curiosity, dear anon!! It was a lot of fun for me to write and think about, so thank you very much for asking!!!

[merge-conflict]

5 (it's wonc isn't it 😞) 16, 20, 21, and 22

ty for the ask :3 questions are here

5. worst discord server and why

idk the modding one? because it has a billion channels and as soon as I joined I got overwhelmed, muted it and haven't opened it again. you say wonc like I'm not logging on every day and going into a brainrot thread to play ocs. sammy and I are deep in a brain cancer arc right now. xD

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

getting Johnny back his original body. I don't hate it, but it seems like such an easy fix given how the original relic trials went and that it's not just growing a new limb but a whole body including the brain. saburo doesn't even do that with all his money in the DE, which tells me it probably would take a while to grow a clone like that, if it's even possible (if it was, why would they have tested on random bodies and know that that process works best with relatives?). and it's not like johnny was ever a well-adjusted guy in his original body.

I know the answer is fix-it fic. But I'm surprised more people don't want to explore the inherent body issues/compromises in the genre. But! I do think it's interesting if people do or do not write Johnny getting a cybernetic arm again -> something that both fucked him up and defined him. what a choice between honoring what was and trying to get a truly clean slate. anyway it's something like the happy ending with children thing where I don't personally see the appeal, and that's okay. I was just honestly surprised it was so popular!

20. part of canon you found tedious or boring

I already complained about tech and the blackwall in a previous post. I guess on replays I really get bored playing Johnny's sequences or doing the BD stuff because once you know what happens it's just a slog to get through.

21. part of canon you think is overhyped

overhyped would mean that I hear about it a lot? and I so rarely hear meta discussions that I'm kinda starved for it. I guess I'm disappointed to hear the sequel in planning has a big AI component because I wasn't a fan of how the story seems to be going in the original game (i.e. I think they're going with a straight forward apocalypse monster angle which doesn't serve the underlying themes the way I personally want it to, which as we all know is what would be objectively correct).

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

this is a hard one because again I don't see a lot of discussion about it but again I see very little lore discussion so I could pick anything.

I think it's fascinating Johnny never once discusses where he gets the bomb (it's a Militech bomb) or the fact that bombing Arasaka tower is as good for Militech as it is for him. I thought maybe it'd come up in PL but nope! in game there's a shard that describes a Militech convoy being robbed by nomads, implied to be the one that was carrying nuclear armaments. was it a setup by Militech? or did they not want it stolen but get what they wanted anyway when they got Arasaka thrown out of NC? How did that contribute to the war later where NUSA tried to grab NC and failed and resulted in Dogtown's creation and Arasaka being let in? When Johnny signed up as a corpo soldier who was it that he joined? Was it Militech or some other corp that broke him by sending him into battle? Why can't you even discuss the fallout of Johnny's actions? Especially in that dream of his where he apologizes to the netrunner whose husband got killed in the blast? (does anyone else think it's spooky you can find that NPC selling vinyls on the street?)

Anyway besides Johnny's enormous hate-on for Arasaka I want to know what his opinions are on the other major corpo players beyond the simple fact he thinks they suck. But not even canon delivers on that sadly.

[dizzybevvie]

boy how do you reblog such great things

been cultivating my dash for years. i also found most of them in my drafts

[broodygaming]

idk if that poll means viv betrays you or like. solas. he kinda betrays you by wanting to end the world ig

Yes! Yes sorry i tried to say that later in my tags haha, I just mean the whole betrayal thing reminds me of this very intense first impression of Viv, that's all. Whenever I think about the whole "mage betrayal" thing, I think of that just because I knew that my hurt feelings over Anders "betrayal" REALLY colored my choices in that (fairly early) character quest, ya know? And I feel bad haha, like it sucks and I wish she'd just given me more context T_T

[arolesbianism]

Every day I mourn the fact that none of my family and friends give a single shit abt oni lore, I don't wanna keep repeating shit I've already said before on here but every now and then I just remember the horrors™ and nearly explode not being able to scream abt it again

[elegyofthemoon]

In the cool, plush core of the moon sleeps a mouse as we speak, dreaming of a world lush and green, then golden and undulating, then chopping and churning, a world of many surfaces with skies of many moods.

When it awakes, it will poke its tiny head out of a crater and bask in your glow as it does every morning. Here, all is still and silent. On that sparkling planet in the deep black distance, the sun seems capricious. But the mouse lives in the abyss of the body and therefore with a unique perspective on its essence. The mouse sees what other life does not see.

One needn't worry about unbecoming for the sake of containing a sun. Clouds may blanket the atmosphere of a planet, but still there burns a sun. The spots on the sun's surface may grow and shrink and shift, but still there it burns. And if one decides to cool it down like a waning flame or expand it in a cataclysmic supernova, still there it burns, and one has the right to revoke the state of their existence and become new.

Because perhaps the truth is you are not the sun--not alone--but it is rather a part of you. Your body is the solar system, each planet a world within the body, and each knows this glow in different ways. Some are nurtured by its warmth, others by its distance. Regardless of the sun's changes, they stay the course encircling it.

The universe cannot be held back, harnessed, fully comprehended. It pulls at the seams of solar systems as it pulls on its own seams. In that unstoppable shifting, we stumble. Sometimes it feels like our love and light slips from our fingers, shattering irrevocably in our falls. But what makes us cannot be seperated from us, even in times where our essence is obscured.

There is always another life to appreciate your life, no matter what happens. And in the least, there is always a little mouse in you that understands you in telescopic clarity and offers forgiveness for every change--no matter what, right into the end of time.

❤

[valctovoel]

Hi, i was wondering for a while now, what was that deal between carlos and lucious? What did carlos want that getting a deal with demon sounded like a good idea?

Carlos is a surgeon, except he puts waay too much pressure on himself for his own good. The moment he fails he sees himself as the ultimate failure (he has massive impostor syndrome). And he does fail one time, which costs him a life, which results in him spiraling into depression and self-doubt. Shortly afterward he finds a post on a forum about a wish-granting ritual, he's mentally in the worst place possible so he tries it. He wishes to not fail again, except the ritual summons a demon (luci) who is willing to grant the wish in exchange for his soul. Carlos agrees because what other option did he have? (he had a lot but he's not the sharpest tool in the shed)

So now he's stuck with Luci who periodically comes around to annoy him (he's very irritating) and slowly Carlos just stops being afraid of him.

[neonacidtrip]

In case anyone was wondering, he does wear the robe into the water, and the artist really seems to like to draw Fred diving

ID: [Screencap taken from the Scooby Doo comic Mystery at Malibu in Scooby-Doo #9, by Marvel Comics. The scene takes place on blue water in a dark area that looks similar to a cave. In the foreground, the Surfer Ghost, who is a white surfer with a skeletal face, is destroying a red raft that holds several passengers. In the background, going from left to right, the blond character Fred can be seen diving off a sinking raft while wearing blue swim trunks and shouting “Abandon raft!”. A blond lady named Taffy Dare is wearing a green bikini and is falling backward off the raft. The brunette character Shaggy is wearing a brightly colored robe and is yelling “Women and craven cowards first! That means us, Scoob!” The great dane Scooby, who is brown with black spots and wears a blue collar, can be seen behind the Surfer Ghost screaming in fear. A small man who looks like a caveman with his entire face and chest covered with brown hair is wearing an orange and black patterned outfit; he is holding a club and shouting “Wug-Gump!” as he falls into the water.]

ID: [Screencap of the cover page from the Scooby Doo comic Mystery at Malibu in Scooby-Doo #9, by Marvel Comics. In the background, the Surfer Ghost, who is a white surfer with a skeletal face, is destroying a purple surf board. In the foreground, the blond character Fred can be seen falling off the surf board into the water while wearing blue swim trunks. The great dane character Scooby, who is brown with black spots and wears a blue collar with a yellow ID tag, is also falling off the surf board. There is a speech bubble in the upper right hand corner that says “Surfer ghost on a rampage!”, and there are several advertisements for other Hanna-Barbara comic characters on the left side of the cover]

Source links:

https://scoobydoo.fandom.com/wiki/Scooby-Doo_(Marvel_Comics)_issue_9

https://scoobydoo.fandom.com/wiki/Mystery_at_Malibu

summer mood