#You’ll always be human to me data :( | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steddiehyperfixation · 4 months ago

Text

run away with me

@steddiebingo prompts: ocean + childhood friends (if like 16-19 counts as childhood, which i say it does !) | 2.6k words | T | mild cw for depression and alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism

Steve stares numbly out the office window, his view an ocean of concrete and the few sad, sparse trees that were planted in the median between this building’s parking lot and the neighboring one in a very weak attempt to give an illusion that anything natural or organic goes on here. As if there’s anything more than stiff, soulless buildings filled with stiff, soulless men in stiff, soulless suits who have dull conversations about money and more empathy for a credit card or an expensive car than for any human being.

Every second is hours long, everything is so important and nothing matters at all, and everyone’s always in a rush but they never seem to go anywhere. It used to make his skin crawl, the slow monotony behind the urgent droning. He used to feel like he couldn’t breathe here, trapped at a desk and a computer, squirming under the constant presence of his boss and father, every eternal second oozing by and settling over him as if it had physical weight. He felt stuck and still, like a fly caught in amber, movements leaden and pointless as he sinks and suffocates slowly in a syrupy prison. But after a year of working here, Steve no longer cares. He’s sunk in deep enough that it’s all dulled out and he’s become just as detached and hollow as the rest of them. He tells himself it’s only temporary anyways.

The phone rings at his desk, dragging his attention away from the window and pulling him out of his stupor.

“Richard Harrington’s office,” Steve answers mechanically. “This is his assistant, Steve. How may I help you?”

It's a client, a long-time one who's been around for business meetings and dinners since he was a kid, and she coos over how mature and professional he sounds now. He gets that a lot, old clients and business partners of his dad’s calling or coming into the office and lavishing him with compliments on his role and responsibility. It’s funny; they never thought so highly of him before, but they sure do now. And despite it all, Steve can’t help but preen under the praise, feeling all grown up and just like a child.

He lets this lady gush for a little while longer before he takes her message for Richard and hangs up the phone. That brief moment of emotion flickers out and the dullness returns. The day drags on.

“Thank god it’s Friday, huh?” Tommy Hagan leans against the counter in the break room when Steve goes to get a coffee refill. “I had to file so many reports today, I’m about ready to kill myself.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Steve mutters, punching the button to start the coffee machine.

“You’re still coming out with us tonight, right?” Tommy asks. “My cousin’s in town - you know, the one I told you about, the model. I think you two are really gonna get along.” He says it with this gross smirk, double meaning abundantly clear, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Dude, stop trying to pimp your cousin out to me, man. You talk her up so much I’m starting to think maybe you want her.”

“But you’ll be there, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Steve says. Of course he’ll be there. It’s routine. It’s all routine. They commiserate in the break room like a couple of wizened old world-weary businessmen on workdays and then party like teenagers on the weekend. Dulled out from the week, they buy back their missing emotion in the form of alcohol and drugs. A good buzz makes a decent substitute for a feeling, in a pinch. It’s just enough to survive on week after week.

“Good.” Tommy grins, clapping Steve on the shoulder on his way out.

Steve grabs his coffee and returns to his desk, to phone calls and faxes and data entry until the clock finally hits 5:00 and releases everyone into the illusion of freedom. He breathes an empty sigh of relief along with everyone else, shutting off the computer and shoving files back into folders, packing up to leave. “Tell your mother I’ll be working late tonight,” Richard tells him, and Steve nods. Nothing ever changes.

It's quite a shock to the normal routine of things, then, when he pulls up to his driveway to find an extra car parked out front. Which wouldn't be unusual on its own - his mom sometimes has friends over on Fridays - except for the fact that this car is a total piece of shit, which rules out any friend of his parents, and there's a wild-haired man leaning against it. It's the sight of that old once familiar face that's so jarring to him, has him hitting the brakes too hard and parking jerkily.

Steve gets out of his car and stares in disbelief. “Eddie Munson.”

“So it's true.” Eddie looks him over, eyes carefully cataloguing Steve's stuffy business suit and tie. “You've gone corporate.”

Steve swallows. His body seems to have forgotten how to breathe. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell am I doing here? Man, what the hell are you doing here?” Eddie counters, pushing himself off the side of his car and walking closer, one arm swept out to gesture at everything around them: the big house, the rich neighborhood, the expensive car, Steve and the very town itself. “You were gonna get away from all this. You were gonna follow Robin to college and live by the ocean and teach middle school. Now I find out you’re back here living with your parents and working for your dad?”

“Yeah, I tried- we tried,” Steve says, tensing at the judgement in Eddie’s tone. “We moved to the coast, made it work the best we could for a little while but it didn't last. Working minimum wage jobs just wasn't paying the rent and the money ran out and we both had to move back home. But this- this is just temporary.”

“Temporary,” Eddie repeats, like he doesn’t believe him. “You’ve been here a year.”

“Yeah.”

“Robin says you guys hardly talk anymore.”

Steve’s chest feels tight. “Yeah, um, we just sort of drifted apart.” He shrugs, doesn’t want to get into it. There’s not much more to say anyways - and that was the whole problem, really. Steve’s life had gotten so boring and mundane he didn’t have a whole lot to talk about anymore. His humor dried up, their conversations fell flat, and eventually Robin stopped reaching out. “It happens.”

(You would know, he almost adds. After all, he and Eddie had drifted apart too, a lot longer ago.)

“Right…” Eddie frowns. Steve doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him, searching his face like he’s trying to see behind his eyes. He looks away.

“Look, it’s nice to see you again, but I don’t have time to keep chatting right now. I have plans,” he says, short and dismissive. It’s a lie of course, or half of one; Steve has plenty of time before he’s supposed to meet up with Tommy, he just doesn’t want to stay in this conversation. “I’m grabbing a drink with a friend in a minute.”

“‘A friend’,” Eddie continues to question him, either not taking the hint or blatantly ignoring it, “but not Robin?”

Steve sighs. “A coworker,” he elaborates. “Tommy.”

“Hagan?” Eddie scoffs, predictably incredulous and unsupportive. He shakes his head. “Jesus, man, what the fuck happened to you? This isn’t you, Steve, none of this is. I know you, and this is all wrong. You can’t seriously be happy like this.”

“You don’t know me,” Steve snaps, defensive mostly because he knows Eddie’s right.

Because Eddie does know him, better than just about anyone except maybe Robin. They were close once, years ago, the better part of their late teens filled with nights spent laying together on the roof of Eddie’s trailer under the stars, trading secrets in hushed voices, all their fears and hopes and dreams, sometimes passing a joint back and forth but other times high on nothing more than simply the other’s presence so close beside them, the brush of their hands and the press of their shoulders. It was a deep and intimate friendship, one that teetered on the edge of becoming something more but never got the chance to, because Eddie was the one who ran away first. By the time Steve made it to the ocean, Eddie had already crossed it and they fell out of touch.

So Eddie knows him, and he’s right, but he has no right to make such a claim after leaving Steve high and dry for years. He has no right to come all the way here just to shit on Steve’s life, no matter how correctly, after so long of not being a part of it.

“You knew me as a teenager,” Steve continues harshly, bitterly. “You knew me as a stupid, hopeful, naive kid. I’ve grown up since then, Eddie. That’s what the fuck happened to me. I grew up.”

“No, you haven’t grown up,” Eddie sneers. “If anything, you’ve gone backwards. Look at you, it’s like you’re 16 all over again. All hail King Steve - popular pointless rich kid, partying with Tommy Hagan, desperate for approval from all the wrong people.”

Steve clenches his jaw. “I think you should leave.”

“It breaks my heart to see you like this, Stevie.”

“Then don’t see me. Just go. Run away again, it’s what you’re best at.”

Eddie doesn’t seem to have a comeback for that. He deflates, starts taking a few steps back. “Your Majesty,” he relents with a mocking bow that would’ve come across as derisive if he didn’t look so goddamn sad. He turns around and so does Steve, walking off in opposite directions.

Steve feels almost dizzy, ill. There are too many emotions swirling beneath the numbness he’d gotten so used to, emotions so long forgotten he can no longer recognize them, can no longer remember how to feel them properly, and so they gather like nausea in his stomach instead. He can smell his mother’s cooking when he enters the house, but declines her offer to make him up a plate. His appetite is gone, and besides, skipping dinner just means he’ll get drunker faster later, which sounds like a pretty good deal to him. He can’t wait to drink away all thoughts of Eddie and their conversation.

And that’s exactly what he does. He goes out and he gets drunk. Drunk enough to hook up with Tommy’s cousin; drunk enough to convince himself he’s not thinking of anybody else when he tangles his hands in her dark curly hair.

It does give him a start the next morning though, when he wakes up to wild curls splayed out on the pillow beside him. He sits up with a jolt, his mind slow and hungover and his eyes still blurry with sleep and for a second he thinks-- But then he blinks, his eyes adjust, and that's clearly a woman in his bed.

She stirs at his movement, lifting a hand to her forehead and groaning. Steve sympathizes.

“Hell of a hangover, huh?” he says.

“Yeah.” She glances over at him and smirks. “Totally worth it though,” she adds as she props herself up. “I had fun last night.”

“Yeah, me too.” He can't remember her name. Tabitha or Tanya or something like that.

“Well.” She stands, starts collecting her clothes off the floor and getting dressed. “I should get home.” She tosses her hair out of the jacket she's just shrugged on. “I’ll see you around, Steve.”

“Yeah, see you around,” he echoes, watching her leave.

Then she's gone, and Steve sags back against the headboard. His stomach is churning and not just from the hangover. Emotions again, ugly ones. He's just beginning to be able to recall what they are now. Guilt, shame. He should've remembered her name. He should've offered her a ride home. How long has it been since he's cared about these things?

He closes his eyes, an attempt to disconnect for a second, but these feelings won't go away. So he sighs, drags himself out of bed, and tries to go about his day like normal, tries to ignore the fact that he can fucking feel again.

He’s doing pretty well, same old routine, until night falls and the normalcy is broken by the sound of a rock bouncing off his bedroom window. Two more follow after he ignores the first one, so he grudgingly marches over and flings open his curtains to see what’s going on. He blinks at the sight before him, but his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him this time. Eddie Munson is outside throwing pebbles at his window. As if he hasn’t already done enough damage.

Steve huffs irritably, turning on his heel and storming downstairs to meet him. “Listen, if you’ve just come back to tell me more about how shit my life is, I don’t want to hear it-”

“Run away with me,” Eddie says instead, and Steve stops short.

“Are you crazy?”

“Yeah.” Eddie grins, that wild grin of his that gave him the reputation of insane and reckless when they were younger, but the gleam in his eye falls short of manic. Nervous, excited, desperate, hopeful, maybe; but not crazy. He takes a step closer and speaks like he means it. “You were right, running away is what I’m best at. But I don’t want to run from you, not again, so come with me this time.” His hands reach out as if to touch him, but then change course, gesturing widely. “We can head towards the sea, or wherever you want. What do you say?”

“I already tried that.” Steve shakes his head. “I told you, Robin and I already tried that and it didn’t work.”

“So you’re just never gonna try again? Come on,” Eddie urges, “Robin can come too. Call her up, apologize for being a neglectful fucking friend, and let’s all get the hell out of here. Together.”

“Together…” Steve repeats. The three of them, like it used to be.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s smile is so full of confidence, full of hope. “I really think we can make it this time.”

His brightness is contagious, seeping through the edges of Steve’s doubt. That, too, is like it used to be. A self-proclaimed cynic as a teenager, but Eddie had never once come across that way to Steve. To him, Eddie had only ever seemed an endless blaze of optimism. His hope was his defiance, his way of saying, This world sucks, but not to me; I refuse. Steve had forgotten just how inspiring that is.

He's divided now. Torn between Eddie's infectious energy, the hope and want that form an ache in his chest, and the part of his mind that's still clinging to its programming, the part that feels duty bound to remain responsible, practical. The good kid, the perfect worker, the devil on his shoulder masquerading as an angel. It has one more protest to make. “But I can’t just leave. My life is here, my job…”

“This life is killing you. You know that as well as I do.” Eddie does touch him now, taking Steve’s face in both hands. “The light’s all gone from your pretty eyes. Please let me see if I can help you bring it back.”

The warmth of Eddie’s hands on his face spreads through his entire body, and Steve’s choice is made. Maybe it’s crazy, maybe they’re just as doomed now as they were all those years ago, but Steve has been woken up from his numbness, made to remember emotion again, all the good and the bad, and he thinks maybe with Eddie he can start to relearn to feel a bit more of the good. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll pack a bag. I’ll call Robin.”

Eddie grins brighter than ever then and kisses him, and Steve knows he’s made the right decision.

#and they all live happily ever after yayyy #yes this was loosely inspired by the gilmore girls episode where jess yells at rory for dropping out of yale lmao #steddiebingo2025 #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #mine

174 notes · View notes

spr1ngpvrinbwunnie · 3 months ago

Text

💜✨ Pixel-William and His "Love Glitches" Every Headcanons ✨💜

Sometimes — especially when he’s deep in thought — William’s body just... stops.

No flickering. No glitching.

He turns into a completely frozen, dark silhouette, just a static purple-black shape with his white glowing eyes.

It’s unnerving because he looks like a dead sprite in a broken video game — like you should reach out and touch him and he would vanish.

(If you poke him during this time, he jolts violently back into movement — like a record scratch — and acts super grumpy about it: "Don't touch me when I’m buffering, you little gremlin.")

William has a dumb little habit of glitching objects when he’s jealous or bored.

If you’re giving something else (like a plush, or even a book) more attention than him, he’ll "steal" it with a glitch swipe — literally corrupting it so it "blips" out of your hands and appears in his.

He’ll stand there with your book/plush/phone in his arms, his expression smug and neutral like,

"Mine now. Should’ve paid attention to me, sweetheart."

And if you scold him? Tiny pouty pixel hearts start leaking from his body while he tries to look "evil."

William doesn’t laugh like normal anymore.

When he’s genuinely happy — like if you tell him a dumb joke, or you cuddle him out of nowhere — his voice can’t keep up with the emotion.

Instead of a normal laugh, it comes out as a broken, stuttering noise — a glitchy, low, hah-HHA-ha-HA that sounds so messy and human it makes your heart ache.

Sometimes it stutters so badly that his chest pixelates and his arms spark as if he’s about to crash.

(You always tell him he sounds like a broken record. He threatens to bite you. He never actually does.)

His Love Language: "Territorial Glitching." - William doesn’t know how to say "I love you" like a normal person.

Instead, he glitches his energy into anything he loves — meaning, you.

You’ll often find little harmless pixel 'marks' on your clothes, skin, and even your belongings — faint patches of purple static, tiny corrupted glitches that almost shimmer when the light hits them.

They don’t hurt you. They’re just... there.

His way of silently claiming you.

You’re his favorite "data." His most precious corruption.

If anyone else tries to get too close, he doesn’t even have to say anything — they just feel the glitching air, the wrongness, the distortion around you.

(You're his home, and he wants the whole world to know it without ever saying a word.)

He Can Make a Heart Shape But Pixelated

The heart-shaped glitches are completely involuntary. They don't appear unless William’s emotions spike way too high — specifically emotions he doesn't like to admit: affection, adoration, love.

They’re tiny, pixelated fragments — sharp and simple little hearts in hues of purple, lavender, and pink, like someone mashed together old 8-bit video game graphics with a Valentine’s card.

They usually drift lazily out of his chest or shoulders when he’s relaxed around you — especially during really vulnerable moments: cuddling, you kissing his forehead, you randomly saying "I love you" while half-asleep.

He hates them.

Not because he doesn’t feel the love — but because they expose him.

He can act stoic and smirking and teasing all he wants... until you see a literal cloud of floating hearts blinking out of him.

The first time you saw it happen, you laughed and reached out to touch one, and it popped with a soft "pwing!" sound against your fingers.

William glitched in pure embarrassment — full-body "bzt-bzt!" twitch — before snapping, "Forget that. Didn't happen. You’re hallucinating."

He’s absolutely the type to pretend he’s too cool for it: crossing his arms and sneering, "Pfft. Hearts? Me? Please."

But his pixels betray him — another heart will casually drift past his ear mid-sentence and you’ll just smirk knowingly.

You make it worse. You start calling them out when they appear:

"Ooh, another one!"

"Wow, look at this one! It’s extra pink, you sap!"

"You must really love me if you’re spawning whole flocks of hearts now, Will."

And every time, without fail, he’ll glitch harder — his form flickering slightly like a VHS tape rewinding too fast.

He pretends he's going to murder you for teasing him.

He’ll grumble and threaten all sorts of pixelated revenge — "Don’t make me short-circuit you, darling." — but he never actually pulls away.

If anything, he holds onto you tighter, like he’s trying to squeeze the hearts back inside his body.

When he’s really overwhelmed — like if you kiss his "mouth" and whisper something genuinely heartfelt — the heart glitches multiply and orbit around you both for a few seconds, like you’re standing in the middle of a broken, romantic snowfall.

Secretly, deep down? William doesn’t hate the glitches at all.

He cherishes them... because it means that despite everything — despite the static, the corruption, the brokenness — he still knows how to love you.

When He Blushing(?)

Because William’s body is this weird half-pixelated, glitched sprite made real, he doesn’t blush normally — like, no rosy cheeks or anything.

Instead... his glitches react to his emotions.

When he’s embarrassed, flustered, or overwhelmed with affection (especially because of you), here’s what happens:

His pixel colors “bleed” into softer shades. Normally, he’s dark purple and black — but when he gets flustered, there’s this faint pinkish-purple glow that starts leaking off the edges of his form, like his body's overheating and can’t keep the color boundaries sharp.

Tiny, rapid flickers. The pixels at his temples, the tops of his shoulders, and even the tips of his fingers will glitch faster, sparking in little unpredictable bursts like a short-circuit. (It's like he's trying to contain the feeling and failing miserably.)

Little heart-shaped pixel glitches. Sometimes, if he’s really destroyed emotionally (like if you kiss him unexpectedly or say something stupidly sweet), heart-shaped glitches will pop off of him without his control. The more he tries to suppress it, the worse it gets.

Body stiffening and awkward twitching. He'll lock up completely, trying to act like nothing is wrong — standing there with his arms crossed like a stubborn statue — but tiny tremors will keep betraying him: his fingers tapping rapidly against his arm, his foot tapping the floor. He freezes up even more, trying to hide the fact that he’s feeling all sorts of weird, human emotions. His whole form stiffens, pixels sparking like a malfunctioning game character. He’s totally frozen, just standing there, looking so unnervingly still, but his face (if you could see it properly) is glitching hard with bright purple/pink static.

His 'eyes' (the white pupils) flicker or widen. When he’s embarrassed, his blank white eyes get much wider (you know, the pixelated kind of "wide"), making him look like a deer caught in the headlights of affection. His body tries to hide it, but his eyes totally give him away. Because he doesn’t have normal pupils, when he’s flustered, they might "flicker" rapidly like a computer monitor trying to refresh — or even widen dramatically, giving him a huge, panicked deer-in-the-headlights look.

That stupid, angry, flustered growl. He growls not because he’s mad — he’s embarrassed. But because William refuses to have normal healthy emotions, he tries to cover up his feelings by acting irritated.

He hates it so much that he often tries to “reboot” the blush by sweeping a hand across his face, triggering a brief full-body glitch that almost erases the color—then flinches when he realizes it didn’t work.

Example: You: "Aww, you're blushing! You're cute when you get all melty like that~" William (sparking violently, covering his face): "SHUT YOUR BLOODY MOUTH, YOU DAFT—"

(He’s so gone, it’s actually pitiful.)

Cuddling Pixel William

First of all, William doesn’t really understand cuddling at first. His pixelated form isn’t made for delicate things — he’s used to glitching through walls, not curling around a human.

The first time you snuggle up to him, he goes completely stiff — like a blocky statue — his whole body buzzing anxiously with static. (You can almost hear the quiet internal screaming: "what do I do with my arms? what do I do with my legs??")

His texture is wild — up close, he feels like a mix between soft velvet, smooth LCD glass, and faint crackling static all at once. You can literally feel little vibrations running under his "skin," a constant low hum like he's alive at a different frequency than everything else around you.

When you nuzzle against his chest (well — approximate chest), you hear tiny electronic noises: soft beeps, distant white noise, occasional glitchy chimes, like you're lying against a living, broken computer.

He eventually, awkwardly, wraps his pixelated arms around you — and oh god, once he relaxes, it’s over.

His body warms up slowly as you cuddle — it starts cool but within minutes, he's radiating gentle heat, like an old computer left on overnight.

If you stay pressed to him long enough, the humming of his body syncs up faintly with your heartbeat — a subtle thrumming pulse that grows stronger when he’s happy or calm.

He doesn’t purr or make normal breathing sounds — but sometimes, when you squeeze him tighter, he lets out a tiny glitchy vibration, almost like a soft, broken laugh.

His "smile" stays the same, but his white eyes soften into a kind of glow — not brighter, just... gentler, less sharp. It's how you know he’s at peace.

And if you fall asleep against him? He’ll stay completely still, letting his static softly buzz around you like a protective blanket, warping reality a little just to keep you safe.

The next morning, your hair will be an absolute disaster — sticking up in every direction — and William will just tilt his head and smirk at you like, "My masterpiece."

🌟 BONUS: If he really adores you that night, little heart-shaped glitches — tiny pink and purple pixel fragments — sometimes float around him when you’re cuddling. He hates that you noticed it once and refuses to admit it happens.

Sweet Kisses & How a Kiss with Pixel William Feels

His face looks hard and jagged from a distance, like it’s made of glitching blocks and static, but when you touch him, it's surprisingly warm and semi-solid, almost like touching a heated hologram — there's give under your lips, a soft vibrating hum beneath the surface.

His "skin" feels like a mix of silky fabric and static electricity, constantly humming faintly against your mouth when you kiss him.

His smile — that permanent black crescent — doesn’t move normally, but when you kiss him, you can feel subtle tiny twitches, like he's trying to respond even though his corrupted body doesn’t allow a full smile movement anymore.

When your lips brush against the spot where his mouth should be, you sometimes feel tiny electrical flutters, like butterflies made of static skimming your mouth and your cheeks.

If he really leans into it (which he rarely does unless he’s very vulnerable or desperate for you), the glitching in his body slows down, almost purring softly, and for just a moment, you can feel the "pressure" of him kissing you back — the pressure of affection, even if it’s not a traditional human kiss.

Afterward, when you pull away, you sometimes get a faint tingle across your lips, almost like you’ve been lightly zapped — but it's a comforting sensation, not painful. It’s his way of leaving a mark on you.

You like to surprise him with kisses on his black grin. Sometimes you just lean up and peck the middle of it without warning, and he always glitches in surprise, like you short-circuited him for a second.

He acts like it's a nuisance ("Tch — was that really necessary?" he'd mutter), but he never pulls away — in fact, if you look closely, you can sometimes see the white glow of his pupils flickering faster, which is his version of blushing.

If he's in a particularly good mood, he might trap you after you kiss him — one blocky hand placed on either side of you — forcing you to accept a static-charged kiss in return, a rare thing that feels like a low thrum of pure energy flowing between you two.

Sometimes after especially affectionate moments, your hair sticks up slightly from the static he leaves behind, and he absolutely smirks at the sight.

Jealous Pixel-William

William doesn't get jealous like a normal person — he gets intensely, glitchily possessive.

If he sees someone flirting with you (or even thinking about it too much), the pixels around him start crackling harder, his whole form twitching at the edges, like he’s about to either phase out of reality or punch someone through a wall.

He won't immediately confront you about it — no, he'll just teleport-glitch closer to you, appearing suddenly right behind you, cold static kissing your shoulders, and then press his forehead to the side of your head, the way you’d claim a person with a touch. (You’d just hear that distorted voice low in your ear: "Mine." followed by a barely-there zap of static affection.)

If someone pushes too far, William will not hesitate to scare the absolute life out of them with a sudden, horrifying static-stuttered smile appearing right in their face — without ever touching them. Just existing wrongly enough near him is threat enough.

Later, when it’s just you and him, he'll pretend he wasn’t jealous. But if you press kisses against his black, pixelated smile and call him "jealous glitchy boyfriend," his entire body will crackle with embarrassed static — and he won’t deny it.

65 notes · View notes

pukanavis · 9 months ago

Text

Kanna Idol Story 3

⏱︎ 2 years since the establishment of ES. ⚲ Season Avenue, a shopping district on the outskirts of the ES building.

Raika: ♪~♪~♪

Kanna: …

Raika: ~...♪

Kanna: …

Raika: …’Scuse me, did ya need somethin’ from me?

Kanna: …

Raika: Can ya hear me? Hellooo?

Kanna: Ah, pardon me. I was lost in my thoughts for a moment there.

Though, what I should really say is that outwardly expressing my emotions is not a strong suit of mine.

Oftentimes, interviewers will get worried and halt our conversation just to ask if I’m still alive.

Raika: Ehihi~♪

Kanna: Is there something amusing about that?

Raika: Uh, ya mean that wasn’t supposed to be a joke?

Kanna: Humour is a skill that I lack, as much as it pains me to admit.

Raika: Hey, ya seem plenty funny to me… yer a bit of an odd one, Mr, uh…Kanna, was it?

Kanna: Yes, that’s correct. I’m glad you remembered my name.

To my dismay, it seemed that you had forgotten all about me.

Raika: I’m real, real sorry! With this bird-brain of mine, my memories go out the window after just a few steps, ya see!

Actually, I get the feelin’ that we’ve spoken about this already…Kanna-sama, do ya really swear that I’ve saved ya before?

Kanna: You remembered our conversation perfectly then? I wouldn’t describe that as ‘bird-brained’. It seems rather contradictory—No, that’s not it. This is just a simple mistake, isn’t it?

Raika: Well ya see, it was quite the shock to have ya approach me out of the blue like that. It’s really quite hard to forget somethin’ so jaw-droppin’, even if I wanted to.

Kanna: I agree.

That’s precisely why it’s simply impossible for me to ever forget you, the one who saved me.

Though to be fair, I possess the sort of brain that makes it a challenge to delete memory data, so the past isn’t something that I have the option to forget.

Raika: Deary me…it’s much nicer bein’ able to forget about all the bad stuff.

Kanna: Without learning from the mistakes and humiliation of the past, a human being cannot hope to grow.

Granted, what comes after growth is a mystery all of its own. Is there a limit? Why pursue it? What benefit comes from it?

This act of exhausting my life to ultimately contribute to the evolution of the human race is something I’ve always found myself questioning the purpose of.

Raika: ♪~♪~♪

Kanna: Are you listening?

Raika: Oh, I didn’t think your story had anythin’ to do with me…somethin’ about the human race, was it?

Deary me, I truly think there must be some kind of mix up goin’ on here, Kanna-sama. There just isn’t a world where a bum like myself could’ve been the one to save you.

Might ya be mistaking me fer a different fellow?

Kanna: No. I’m certain it was you, Raika Hojo-san.

The day it happened, you were standing by the roadside, singing like a bird, just as you are now.

Raika: Ehihi~. I’m useless and barely have a penny to my name, ya see, so puttin’ on little street shows like this is how I’ve been earnin’ my keep fer a while now.

Kanna: Actually, there’s something I’ve been wondering ever since I first saw you.

Do you have a permit for putting on these shows? It’s possible that you’re breaking some sort of law by not carrying one.

Raika: Law!? Like what!? Are they goin’ to arrest me fer being a wrong ‘un!?

Kanna: It’s possible that you’ll receive a warning or be put under police surveillance.

Raika: No no no, I’m doomed! I’ll be sent straight back to the institution if I misbehave again!

Kanna: This ‘institution’ you speak of…about your confinement—

—Oh, just a moment. According to the research I just did on my phone, street performers and unauthorised advertisers are in fact prohibited in this area.

Raika: Y-Ya mean those kinds of laws really do exist?

Kanna: Yes, but please don’t fret.

As an endorser of the idol industry, and thereby musicians, I find it odd that ES would look at artistic works such as street shows involving singing and dancing and prohibit them from an area under their influence.

It’s contradictory of them, yes?

There’s a high probability that you could utilise this argument to defend your activities, whether by staging a protest or by taking it to court.

Raika: C-Court!? Ya mean this could escalate to that?

Kanna: Don’t worry about that yet. In order to protect you, I intend to utilise every possible means that I must. No matter what, I will save you.

That’s all.

Raika: Whyever would ya trouble yourself so much…?

Kanna: As I’ve already said, you saved me a long time ago. It is a deed that I must repay.

Causing trouble for others or indebting myself to them are both acts that I want to avoid.

And yet, I’ve found myself saved by you. You used your body as a shield to ‘erase’ the mistake that my immaturity and stupidity led me to make.

Even if you don’t remember it, even if this isn’t what you want…

It is an act that I will not forget, and nothing could be of more importance to me than repaying what you did.

That’s all.

Raika: Oh gee… I-I think I’ve wound up with some sorts of a problem child attached to me.

Kanna: No one’s ever evaluated me in such a way before. Thank you.

Raika: Uhm…uh, this all feels a bit complex fer my ol’ brain, but I think ya were tryin’ to say that I can keep singin’ by the roadside, weren’t ya?

Bein’ able to sing is enough to make my day, so I’d appreciate it if you could confirm just that one wee thing fer me.

Kanna: You really are quite simple, aren’t you?

Admittedly, I feel as though I admire that aspect of your personality. No, that’s not quite right…perhaps ‘envy’ would be a better word.

Raika: Ehihi, envy, ya say? Let’s sing together then ♪ You’re an idol just like me, aren’t ya?

To tell ya the truth, I’m still a little lost on what an idol actually is.

But if it means being something that sings, then we’re one in the same! The two of us are goin’ to be pals, I just know it ♪

Kanna: Your logic is sound, oddly enough.

However, that doesn’t negate the fact that an idol's voice is a product. To freely distribute it would be an affront to capitalism.

Though, on the other hand, we shouldn’t cause any problems as long as we don’t seek out donations and take care not to disrupt the rest of the public.

After all, the regulations in place prohibit specifically street performances—meaning a show of skill intended to raise money.

Raika: Right! No god or authority has the power to stop a bird from singin’!

Kanna: Is that so? Everytime we meet, I find that you’ve taught me something new.

Raika: Ya truly think so? I don’t think I’ve come up with anythin’ that hasn’t already been said before though?

Raika: Ehihi, fer as smart as ya look, ya know surprisingly little, Kanna-sama♪

Kanna: That’s true. Though the world hails me for being some sort of kid genius, I’m still just an ignorant, immature child.

That was the first vital truth that you taught me.

#Kanna Natsu #Raika Hojo #Esupuri #Ensemble Stars #Ensemble stars translation #enstars translation

139 notes · View notes

misssparklingpaws · 1 month ago

Text

BETWEEN TECH AND TENSION - PART 1

"Set in the Under the Radar universe, this is a two-chapter fic about Aria and Bucky meeting and the beginning of their relationship."

Wakanda 2016

The air in Wakanda was warmer than Aria expected.

Not in temperature, though the sun was high and bright but in texture. Every breath carried the scent of dry trees and blooming energy, of something ancient and something just beginning.

She stepped off the royal aircraft in tailored slacks, a crisp white shirt half-untucked, laptop case strapped across her shoulder, and sunglasses hiding the exhaustion from three straight days of flights, tech handoffs, and government delays.

At twenty-four, Aria Stark had already co-written three artificial intelligence protocols, assisted in trauma-focused biomechanical design, and given a talk at the UN. But this?

This was her first field placement.

Shuri greeted her with a grin and an arm pull into a hug. “Finally. You are very late.”

“I had to re-clear customs because someone flagged me as a security risk for traveling with sixteen microprocessors in my carry-on,” Aria muttered, pulling off her glasses.

“Well,” Shuri said, looping an arm through hers, “that sounds like a you problem.”

They walked through the shimmering halls of the capital's tech wing, cool, coppery walls laced with glowing veins of Vibranium. Aria’s sharp gaze scanned everything.

“I’ve got you starting on the neuro-adaptive interface project,” Shuri said. “Mostly theory and diagnostics. You’ll assist with post-traumatic reconditioning tech too.”

Aria nodded, already calculating her schedule. “What’s your primary subject?”

Shuri smirked. “Not what. Who.”

Aria stopped walking.

Because standing at the end of the hall, arms crossed, expression unreadable, was Bucky Barnes.

He looked nothing like the blurry photos from the news. He looked... human. Hair tied back. A plain black shirt. Quiet. Pale and strong and tense.

Their eyes met.

Aria didn’t blink.

Bucky’s jaw tensed.

Shuri looked between them, then leaned into Aria’s ear. “Just don’t poke the bear.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Aria murmured.

Bucky gave a curt nod. “I didn’t know you were bringing her.”

Shuri raised an eyebrow. “She’s not luggage, Barnes.”

Aria stepped forward, extending her hand. “Hi. Aria Stark.”

Bucky hesitated, then took her hand briefly. “I know who you are.”

“And I know who you are,” she said softly.

His eyes flinched.

She didn’t say it cruelly. Not like a threat. But like a fact.

Like history sitting in the room between them.

Aria took a breath, adjusted her bag. “I don’t bite. Unless I’m running diagnostics.”

He didn’t laugh. Just stepped back.

Shuri cleared her throat. “Barnes, you’re free to leave. Go brood or whatever. We’re running her orientation now.”

“I’ll keep to myself,” Bucky muttered.

“You always do,” Shuri called after him.

He walked away, not looking back.

Aria watched his retreating figure, then turned to Shuri. “Does he always run off like that?”

“Only when he’s overwhelmed, annoyed, or afraid someone’s going to make him talk about his feelings.”

“Sounds emotionally healthy.”

Shuri grinned. “Welcome to Wakanda.”

The gardens behind the Wakandan Tech Wing were quiet in the late afternoon, all glowing flora and cool stone pathways that shimmered faintly with stored solar energy. Aria had taken her tablet out to read data logs, feet propped up on the edge of a vibranium planter, sunglasses slipping to the bridge of her nose.

She didn’t look up when she said, casually, “You know, you’re really bad at pretending you’re not staring.”

A beat of silence.

Then, from behind the carved screen just twenty feet away, Bucky Barnes stepped into view.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even look guilty.

Just stood there, arms crossed, dark shirt pulled tight across his chest, looking like a ghost that forgot how to disappear.

Aria smirked. “Are you planning to keep lurking behind trees like Bigfoot, or are you going to say hi?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t lurking.”

“You were,” she said, grinning wider. “But it’s okay. I get it. I’m captivating, mixed race, very exotic.”

His lips twitched like he might smile, but the moment passed too fast.

Aria tilted her head. “You know, for a guy who once tried to kill my dad, you’re not nearly as scary as you think.”

Bucky flinched.

She sighed. “That was a joke, Barnes. A good one, even.”

He shifted, unsure. “You really don’t... hate me?”

She blinked at that.

And then smiled, slower this time. “I don’t know you. Should I?”

“No,” he said too quickly.

“Okay then,” she said, clicking her tablet off and standing. “So maybe let’s try not being weird about it.”

He looked at her like she’d just spoken a foreign language.

Aria shrugged. “I don’t bite.”

His eyes flicked to her.

“I’m just here to work. And learn. And not deal with your weird lurking energy.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he took one step back, then another.

“Okay,” she said with a crooked grin, “you’re running away again.”

“I’m not”

“You are,” she called after him as he turned and walked quickly toward the hallway. “Classic Barnes exit.”

She heard him mutter something under his breath.

Aria watched him go, then smirked and sat back down. “He’ll come around,” she told the tablet, flipping it back on. “Eventually.”

---

The next few days were more of the same: Aria working nonstop under Shuri’s meticulous gaze, and Bucky avoiding her like she carried the plague.

She tried not to be too flattered that the infamous Winter Soldier couldn’t look her in the eye for more than three seconds at a time.

The lab was quiet when Aria walked in, tablet clutched to her chest, hair still damp from her shower. She’d barely finished her coffee. Hadn’t even synced the morning’s logs yet.

And there he was.

Bucky Barnes. Standing near one of the holographic projection tables, frowning at a diagnostic Shuri had left running overnight. Same black T-shirt, stretched tight over washboard abs (God bless the super soldier serum). Same messy hair. Same brooding, vaguely annoyed energy.

Still grumpy. Still stupidly hot.

Aria, for reasons she didn’t have time to unpack, brightened immediately.

“Hi!” she said a little too loud, her voice practically bouncing off the vibranium walls.

“You’re early,” he said simply.

“You’re lurking,” she replied, biting back a smirk.

His lips pressed into a tight line. “I was just leaving.”

“Shocking,” Aria muttered.

He was already walking past her toward the exit, boots soft on the polished floor. She pivoted to follow with her eyes. “You really don’t do small talk, huh?”

He paused, just for a breath, then kept walking.

Gone. Again.

Like a puff of broody smoke.

“Classic,” she muttered under her breath.

From behind one of the glass panels, Shuri appeared, holding a protein bar in her teeth and wearing an expression far too smug for that hour of the morning.

“Well, that wasn’t obvious at all,” Shuri said around the wrapper.

Aria nearly jumped. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough,” she said, taking a bite. “You lit up like Wakandan fireworks the second you saw him.”

“I did not.”

“You said ‘hi’ like he cured cancer.”

“I said it normally.”

“You beamed. I’ve seen holograms with less radiance.”

Aria tried not to flush. “It’s not like that. Even if I did think he’s... weirdly attractive or whatever—which I don’t—my dad would literally burn down this entire country if he found out.”

Shuri raised an eyebrow, still chewing. “Tony Stark? Burn a whole nation? Please. He’d build a targeted weather machine to rain acid just on Barnes.”

“Exactly,” Aria said, waving a hand. “He hates him. He won’t even say his name in front of me.”

“He still blames him for the car crash?” Shuri asked, suddenly more serious.

Aria nodded. “Yeah. Even though he knows it wasn’t him. Even though he knows it was Hydra. Still... it’s personal.”

“And what about you?” Shuri asked.

Aria hesitated, glancing down at her screen. “I’ve read the files. I know what happened. But I’ve also watched the footage of my dad almost killing him. So... yeah. I think it’s complicated.”

“I know,” Aria said, pressing her lips together. “I know. But... it’s complicated. Even thinking about him like that feels.”

“Dangerous?”

“Weird.”

Shuri grinned. “You have a type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Mm. Brooding. Soft-spoken. Morally gray. Tragic eyes. Strong arms. Protective streak the size of the Vibranium mine.”

Aria made a sound like she was dying and dragged her hands down her face.

Shuri leaned her chin on her hand. “If it helps, he watches you too.”

Aria stilled. “He does?”

“All the time. Barnes. Big, brooding, metal-armed problem. Watches you like he’s not sure if he should apologize or disappear into the forest.”

Aria blinked, then shook her head furiously. “No. No. I’m not doing this. I’m here to work. Work, Shuri.”

Shuri just hummed. “Sure. But if you fall in love with him and name a baby after me, I get to call dibs on godmother.”

Aria muttered, “I don’t have a crush.”

“Right,” Shuri said, already walking away. “And I’m not a genius.”

Aria threw a microchip at her.

---

Wakanda’s sky shimmered in violet and indigo, a dome of stars stretched over the quiet capital like a hush no city on Earth could replicate. The sound of the breeze rustling through the bioluminescent trees below was soft and low, almost like breathing.

Aria leaned against the smooth vibranium railing of the terrace, her laptop closed beside her, a glass of ginger-infused water in her hand. She was barefoot, hair loose for once, wrapped in an oversized Wakandan tech hoodie that probably belonged to Shuri.

The footsteps behind her were soft.

She didn’t turn.

“I thought you’d run away again,” she said lightly.

“No one else is up here,” Bucky answered. His voice was low, but calmer than usual. “Didn’t think I’d need an escape route.”

Aria smiled faintly, eyes still on the skyline. “You didn’t. You’re safe.”

He came up beside her slowly. Not close, but close enough that she felt the weight of his presence in the space between them. The silence stretched. But this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was… tentative.

Curious.

“You always up this late?” he asked finally.

She glanced at him. “Sleep’s overrated when your brain won’t shut up.”

He nodded once, understanding all too well.

She took a sip of her drink. “You’re different up here.”

“How?”

“Less Winter Soldier, more... socially anxious forest man.”

His lip quirked. “Accurate.”

Aria grinned, a little surprised. “Was that a smile?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

They fell quiet again, but the silence had softened.

She studied his profile, he looked younger in the dark. Less carved by war. And for the first time, Bucky didn’t look like he wanted to disappear under her gaze.

“You don’t have to be weird around me, you know,” she said gently. “I’m not gonna bite. Or hate you. Or tell my dad.”

At that, he glanced sideways at her. “Tony doesn’t know I’m here, does he?”

Aria gave him a look. “My father gets a nosebleed when someone brings up the words ‘Hydra’ and ‘Barnes’ in the same sentence. If he knew I was working within a hundred-foot radius of you, he’d build a satellite to vaporize you and call it parenting.”

Bucky looked away, his jaw tightening.

She leaned in, elbow on the railing. “You didn’t choose what happened. I’ve read the records. I’ve read everything. My dad’s trauma is valid, but that doesn’t mean yours isn’t.”

He didn’t speak.

Aria added, softer, “I don’t see you as the man who killed my grandparents. I see a man who’s still trying to forgive himself.”

Bucky blinked. He opened his mouth, like he might actually say something real.

Bzzzzzz.

Her phone buzzed on the railing.

“Of course,” she muttered. She checked the screen. Her expression shifted immediately.

Bucky caught it. “Who is it?”

She sighed. “Speak of the devil. My dad.”

He stepped back instinctively. “Don’t answer if”

She was already picking up. “Hey, Dad.”

His voice came through loud enough for Bucky to catch a few sharp, over-caffeinated syllables.

“Are you in the lab? I saw the system ping go dark, are you using a personal network again? You know what Ross said about encryption, Aria"

“Relax, I’m just on the terrace,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “And no, I’m not working. I’m taking a break.”

“Alone?”

Aria’s gaze flicked to Bucky, who had already backed up a few feet like he was trying to dematerialize.

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Okay. Just be safe, alright? And don’t go poking around Barnes’ diagnostics. I don’t trust the guy as far as I can throw a mountain. Which I could, if I had the tech for it.”

Aria rolled her eyes. “Duly noted. Goodnight. Love you dad”

“Love you, kid. Call Pepper tomorrow.”

“Will do.”

She hung up and sighed, looking at Bucky. “You can breathe. I didn’t rat you out.”

His mouth twitched. “You’re a good liar.”

“Terrible, actually,” she said, grabbing her drink again. “But you bring out the best in me.”

That made him pause. Really pause.

Then, quietly: “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Aria’s answer came without hesitation. “Because you don’t scare me.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then nodded once. Like maybe, for the first time, he believed her.

She set her glass down and turned to face him fully, leaning her hip against the railing.

“You’ve spent so long carrying this version of yourself that the world painted for you,” she said, voice calm but clear. “The assassin. The ghost. The weapon. People look at you and only see what you’ve done. What they think you are.”

She paused, letting the quiet wrap around her words.

“But I see a man who clawed his way back from hell and still showed up. I see someone who could’ve disappeared into the shadows and never looked back but didn’t. You stayed. You’re trying. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

Bucky swallowed. His hands flexed slightly at his sides.

“And yeah,” she added, with a crooked smile, “you scowl like a wounded wolf and act like emotions are a federal crime, but that doesn’t scare me. That just tells me you’re still learning how to be human again. And I get that. More than you think.”

Her voice softened, almost a whisper now. “You’re not your sins, Barnes. You’re the choices you make now. And tonight, you chose to stand here. With me. That matters.”

Bucky’s jaw worked, like he was fighting to hold something back. Maybe shame. Maybe tears. Maybe just the instinct to run.

He didn’t run.

Instead, he said, rough and quiet, “You talk like someone who’s forgiven me.”

Aria shrugged, a gentle tilt of her head. “Maybe because I have.”

Silence fell again. But it wasn’t heavy this time.

It was healing.

He looked at her, not just looked, but saw her and for the first time, there was no wall behind his eyes. No soldier. No shadow.

Just Bucky.

And Aria, barefoot and unafraid, offering something no one ever had before:

Peace.

She smiled. “Now, are you gonna keep brooding out here all night, or do you wanna sit and listen to Shuri’s awful jazz playlist with me?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “God. That thing’s torture.”

“Exactly. Shared suffering. Builds trust.”

And when she reached out, not to take his hand but just to gently touch his arm—his metal arm, he didn’t flinch.

He let her.

The night kept unfolding, slow and unhurried, like Wakanda itself was holding its breath to give them this space.

They’d moved to the low terrace couch, the faint hum of the city below just a whisper beneath the trees. Aria sat cross-legged, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, her drink forgotten on the table. Bucky leaned back, one arm slung over the backrest, unusually relaxed. Or maybe just tired of pretending not to be.

Aria was mid-story, hands moving as she talked. “So there I am, two weeks into my thesis, buried in quantum signature data, and this little menace just appears in my lab window. Hanging upside down.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Spider-Man?”

“Yes. Peter. Fifteen-year-old Peter. In a homemade suit. Rambling about a ‘totally catastrophic miscalculation in gravity manipulation’ and, get this, eating a sandwich. In my clean lab.”

He chuckled, low and surprised. “Sounds like a punk.”

“Oh, he is,” she said fondly. “Brilliant, too. But at the time, I nearly threw a spectrometer at him. Which, by the way, he caught. Mid-air. One-handed.”

“Show off.”

“Right?” Aria grinned. “And he wouldn’t stop calling me ‘Miss Stark’ no matter how many times I corrected him. I told him, ‘Peter, I’m not my dad. I swear, if you call me Miss Stark one more time, I will hack your web-shooters to only dispense glitter.’”

Bucky laughed, actually laughed, head tilting slightly back. “Please tell me you did.”

“Oh, I did. Took him a week to clean the glitter out of his suit.”

He looked at her then really looked at her.

Not as Tony Stark’s daughter. Not as a heir or a file or a complication.

Just her.

Aria.

A woman who could rebuild an arc reactor in her sleep and still find the time to smile. Sharp-tongued, sharp-minded, and, God help him, beautiful. The kind of beautiful that didn’t ask for attention, it just existed, like gravity.

She noticed the change in his gaze, but didn’t shy from it. If anything, she softened, tilting her head slightly, her expression curious and open.

“You’re staring,” she said, gently amused.

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted, no shame in it now. “I guess I am.”

A quiet beat passed between them. The kind of quiet that meant something.

And then, voice low, he added, “You’re... nothing like I expected.”

Aria arched a brow. “Let me guess. You thought I’d be a Stark clone. Little suit, big ego.”

“Something like that.”

“And what am I now?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her, slower this time. Thoughtful.

“You’re... your own. Smart. Dangerous, probably. And kind.” His voice dropped. “Too kind to someone like me.”

Aria smiled faintly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Maybe I’m just smart enough to know you need kindness more than punishment.”

That hit something deep in him. Deeper than he was ready for.

But he didn’t run.

Instead, he asked, quietly, “Why are you really here tonight, Aria?”

She looked at him, eyes steady. “Maybe because you stopped running long enough for me to find you.”

And then, barely a whisper: “Or maybe because I needed someone who sees me, too.”

They didn’t say anything after that.

They didn’t have to.

---

The next morning, Wakanda was bathed in golden haze, the kind that made the city shimmer like a dream still half-remembered.

Aria took her time getting ready, braiding her hair with precise fingers, slipping into clean clothes that still smelled faintly of lab disinfectant and lavender soap. She even wore her boots, though she had no meetings scheduled.

She carried two mugs of coffee, one plain, one strong and overly dark, just the way he liked it and padded toward the private dining terrace near the training wing. It was early. The air was still cool, birds weaving calls through the canopy.

She stepped into the space quietly, balancing the mugs in her hands.

It was empty.

The chair he usually sat in, half-slouched, leg always bouncing, was pushed neatly under the table. No crumbs. No jacket slung over the back. No metal hand reaching for the pot before anyone else could. Nothing.

Just silence.

Again.

Aria stood there, both mugs warming her hands, trying not to feel the sting creeping into her chest.

She sat down anyway.

Set the second mug in front of the empty chair.

And for a few minutes, she drank her coffee in silence. Let it burn her tongue a little. Let it remind her she was still here. Still solid. Still not disappearing.

Shuri eventually wandered in, hair tied up in a messy knot, tablet tucked under her arm. She paused at the sight of Aria sitting alone, and her sharp gaze flicked to the untouched mug across the table.

“He left this morning,” she said, voice wry. “He was called, duty matters.”

Aria didn’t look up. “Before sunrise. No message. No briefing.”

Shuri sat slowly, tapping her tablet awake. “He’s an idiot.”

Aria gave a faint, crooked smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “No argument here.”

Shuri raised an eyebrow. Aria exhaled.

“He’s a complicated idiot,” she added. “The kind that touches your hand like he’s memorizing it, then disappears like none of it meant anything.”

“You want me to track him?”

Aria blinked. “You can?”

“I’m Wakandan royalty,” Shuri said. “I can track anything, even emotionally constipated war relics.”

A breath of dry laughter escaped Aria, tired, small, but real. “No. If he wants to be found, he’ll make it happen.”

There was a beat of quiet. Then, almost too softly to be heard, she added, “I just… wish I was worth saying goodbye to.”

Shuri looked at her for a long moment, her tablet forgotten. “You were,” she said, voice steady. “He just doesn’t know how to say it yet.”

Aria didn’t reply. She stared down at the other mug, untouched, cooling by the second.

He liked it strong. Almost bitter. No sugar.

She reached for it anyway, brought it to her lips, and took a sip.

Cold. Harsh. Exactly how he’d have left it.

Her voice was quiet, almost to herself. “Of course he wouldn’t sweeten it.”

Shuri didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

And Aria, for a few more moments, sat with the silence—and the mug that still smelled like him.

---

Wakanda 2023

The woman in the mirror wasn’t the same one who’d come to Wakanda seven years ago.

Aria Lucía Stark’s hair was cropped short now, the once-dark waves reduced to a low-maintenance long bob she didn’t have to think about. She no longer wore bright colors or red lipstick or anything that glittered. Just soft, breathable fabrics in charcoal, olive, navy. Clothes that didn’t demand attention. Clothes that didn’t belong to the girl who used to light up a lab and throw sarcastic barbs at haunted super-soldiers.

She hadn’t lit up anything in a long time.

Shuri had welcomed her without asking questions. No speeches, no fanfare, just a hug, a guest suite, and a quiet place to breathe. That was all Aria had asked for.

She walked through the south gardens now, tablet forgotten in her satchel, sunglasses hiding the circles under her eyes. Her feet carried her without direction. This city had once felt electric. Now it felt like the only place left that didn’t expect her to be something she no longer was.

That’s when she saw him.

James Barnes.

Hair shorter than she remembered. Not clean-shaven, but groomed. Relaxed. Light jacket, gloves off, like he didn’t need to hide anymore. He was talking with Shuri, gesturing toward the shield generator with one hand, explaining a pressure flow correction like a man who’d finally made peace with being part of something again.

And then his eyes met hers.

He faltered mid-sentence.

Shuri, to her credit, didn’t push. She just nodded and left them, throwing a subtle glance at Aria like don't bite him.

Aria didn’t move.

Bucky walked toward her slowly, cautiously, like she might vanish if he came too fast.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She gave a shallow nod. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Just for the barrier work. I’ve been helping Shuri calibrate the new pulse syncs.”

“Right,” she murmured. “Of course.”

He studied her. “You cut your hair.”

She didn’t look at him. “That tends to happen when everything falls apart.”

There was a beat. Not awkward, just heavy.

Then he said, gently, “It suits you.”

That caught her off guard. She turned slightly, brows raised in faint suspicion. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and shrugged. “Though... the long hair was more your thing.”

Aria arched a brow. “You remembering my hair preferences now?”

He gave her a faint, crooked smile. “Just saying. You looked different. Not worse.”

Aria stared at him, a thousand replies sitting behind her teeth, sarcasm, bitterness, grief. She could spit a dozen cutting words. She could walk away.

But instead, she just said, low and even:

“I’m not that girl anymore, Barnes.”

“I know,” he said.

But he didn’t flinch this time.

Didn’t run.

Later that night, Bucky found Aria on the terrace. The air was cool, the stars veiled behind thin clouds. She stood with her arms folded, staring out at the dark horizon, her face unreadable in the soft light.

The scene struck him like a memory.

“I’m kinda feeling déjà vu right now,” Bucky said, voice light, trying.

Aria didn’t turn. “The night before you left.”

His smile faltered. “Ouch.”

They stood in silence for a long stretch, not the kind born of peace. The kind that crackled with everything unsaid.

Bucky glanced at her, studying the woman who used to speak with fire and wear red lipstick like armor. Her hair was shorter now. Her frame looked smaller or maybe just heavier with grief. Like her body had forgotten what it meant to rest, to breathe deeply, to laugh without restraint.

Finally, he spoke.

“I know I can’t understand exactly what you felt,” he said quietly. “Losing your dad. The world he built. Your place in it.”

She didn’t answer. Her jaw tensed, the muscles in her throat tightening.

“But,” he went on, “I know what it feels like to come back to a world that didn’t wait. That changed without you. That doesn’t know what to do with you anymore.”

Her shoulders twitched, barely.

“To feel like time moved on and you didn’t. Or like you did... but into someone you don’t even recognize.”

Her eyes welled up, but she didn’t blink.

Bucky looked down, searching for the right words. “People kept telling me I was lucky to come back. That I should be grateful. But every room I walked into felt like I’d missed the instructions on how to exist in it.”

Aria’s breath hitched.

“I didn’t know what to say. Or who I was supposed to be. Just that everything I knew was gone, and I didn’t want to ask for help because... who would even understand?”

She turned her face away, jaw trembling.

“I’m not your dad,” Bucky said, voice soft. “But I did know him. And I know he loved you more than he ever figured out how to say.”

That cracked something.

Aria’s breath collapsed in a choke, the first sob tearing out of her chest before she could stop it.

Bucky froze, just for a second, then stepped forward and gathered her in, one arm around her shoulders, the other curling around her back. No hesitation this time. No awkwardness.

Just care.

She crumpled into him, hands fisting in his shirt, crying like it hurt. Like she’d held it all in too long. Months of grief, of being strong for everyone else, poured out in silence and shudders. She didn’t care that it was him. Didn’t care that he’d once been the enemy. Or that she had every reason to still be angry.

She just cried.

And Bucky held her.

Not like a soldier. Not like a ghost of the past.

Like someone who knew what it meant to be broken and still breathing.

He pressed his chin gently to the top of her head, letting her grief soak through his shirt.

“You don’t have to hold it in anymore,” he whispered.

She didn’t.

Not tonight.

After a long while, when her cries dulled to trembling exhales, he spoke again, quieter than before.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away.

“I shouldn’t have gone without saying anything. That morning. I thought I was protecting something by disappearing. That I’d just... handle it and come back. But I didn’t think what it would do to you. And I’m sorry.”

Aria didn’t speak for a long time.

Then: “I waited with two cups of coffee.”

Bucky closed his eyes. That hurt more than anything she could’ve yelled at him.

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “I know. I should’ve been there.”

“You’re here now,” she said, her voice raw. “That’s the only reason I’m still standing.”

And she leaned into him again, quieter, but no less fierce. Letting him hold her together for a little while longer.

And this time, Bucky didn’t let go.

---

The days passed differently after the terrace.

No big gestures. No dramatic changes.

Just… smaller shifts.

Aria showed up to the labs a few minutes earlier. She didn’t flinch when Bucky entered the room. She even handed him tools mid-project without hesitation. She still didn’t laugh much, but she wasn’t silent anymore either.

She let him exist near her.

That was something.

And Bucky? Bucky never pushed. He didn’t ask about the crying. He didn’t mention the night she fell apart in his arms like something collapsing from the inside out. He just stayed consistent, showed up.

He worked beside her in the calibration room, sleeves rolled up, grease on his knuckles, listening when she muttered theories under her breath and occasionally offering surprisingly intelligent observations.

“Wait,” Aria said one afternoon, pausing at the stabilizer display, “did you just reverse-map the feedback cycle from the generator without a schematic?”

Bucky glanced up from the open panel. “I’m a thousand years old. I’ve picked up a few things.”

“Fine. Color me impressed.”

She wasn’t looking at him when she said it, but he smiled anyway.

In the corner of the lab, Shuri watched with a half-hidden smirk, leaning casually against the wall with her arms folded.

“You’re insufferable,” she said quietly to herself, watching Aria brush hair out of her face while Bucky handed her a fiber wrench like they’d been doing this for years.

“Who is?” asked Okoye, entering beside her.

Shuri tilted her head toward the lab. “Our favorite emotionally-repressed pseudo-couple.”

Okoye followed her gaze. “Ah.”

“They’re syncing up,” Shuri muttered. “Just give it time.”

Later that day, in the energy core chamber, Aria passed Bucky a data slate.

He accepted it and glanced sideways. “You sleep last night?”

“A little,” she said, eyes still on the console.

“Eat?”

“Sort of.”

“‘Sort of’ is not a meal.”

“I had tea.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow.

“And a piece of toast,” she added.

“Progress,” he said, dry. “At this rate, you’ll be back on solid food by summer.”

She gave him a sidelong glare, but there was the ghost of a smirk forming. Just for a second.

“You always like this?” she asked. “With people?”

He paused, then shook his head. “No.”

She hummed softly. “So I’m special?”

He turned back to the wires he was threading. “You always were.”

Aria didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Because she didn’t walk away this time.

And when the power flicked on and the generator pulsed to life, she glanced at him like she wanted to say something.

But instead, she just said, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Not running this time.”

And he gave her that same quiet, haunted smile.

“I told you,” he said. “I’m done running.”

---

The sun was beginning to dip low behind the tree line, casting long golden shadows over the terrace tables. A soft breeze lifted the sheer curtains framing the open-air dining space, where a few engineers, technicians, and warriors gathered after a long day.

At one of the side tables, Aria sat with a tray of food, poking through a bowl of okra stew with rice. Across from her, Bucky was mid-story, low voice, half-laughing as he described how a malfunctioning ventilation system in one of the generator bays had sprayed coolant in his face mid-diagnostics.

“…so naturally, I panic, think I’m being gassed, and rip the entire control panel out with the arm,” he was saying, shaking his head. “Shuri’s still mad about it.”

Aria snorted. “You thought it was a threat? I saw it happen from across the lab. You screamed like a kettle.”

“I did not scream.”

“Oh no, it was absolutely a scream. A dignified one, but still.”

He laughed. Aria chuckled and the sound came out unguarded, real.

She caught herself too late, her hand instinctively brushing over her mouth like she could shove the moment back down.

But the damage was done.

Across the courtyard, Shuri, who had been sipping juice and minding her business (or pretending to), slowly swiveled in her seat with a grin that could slice steel.

She heard it.

Aria glanced over and immediately knew. “Don’t.”

Shuri stood, meandered over casually. Her eyes flicked between Aria’s flushed face and the spot where Bucky had just excused himself to the bathroom.

Then she leaned down and whispered, “So. When’s the wedding?”

Aria choked on her rice.

“Shuri”

“You’re laughing, Aria,” Shuri said, positively smug. “That man has been here for weeks. And until now, I haven’t seen so much as a half-smile from you.”

Aria groaned and put her face in her hands.

“There is no wedding,” she muttered through her fingers.

“Not yet,” Shuri said, eyes glittering. “But you two have already mastered domestic bickering. And teamwork. And shared trauma. It's textbook intimacy.”

“We’re coworkers,” Aria said weakly.

“Sure,” Shuri replied. “And you just laugh like that with all your coworkers?”

“I hate you,” Aria whispered.

“No, you love me. Now sit up straight. He’s coming back.”

Sure enough, Bucky reappeared from the corridor, drying his hands on a napkin, completely unaware of the interrogative firestorm he’d just missed.

“You two good?” he asked, raising a brow.

Aria glared at Shuri, who gave her a wink and wandered off like nothing happened.

“Fine,” Aria said, trying to compose herself. “Everything’s fine.”

Bucky sat down again, side-eyeing her suspiciously. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Worse,” Aria muttered. “Shuri.”

---

The skies over the Golden City were clear, the clouds pulled thin and high like brushstrokes against the pale blue. The royal transport platform buzzed quietly, a sleek aircraft already humming with power, ramp extended and waiting.

Aria stood just outside the ship’s shadow, arms folded, sunglasses hiding her eyes. She wasn’t hiding the sadness, not really. Just containing it. She was getting good at that.

Bucky stood a few feet away, duffle over his shoulder, his hair ruffling in the breeze. His jacket was unzipped, vibranium arm glinting under the sunlight, and his jaw tight with something that wasn’t nerves, just weight.

“Sam needs me back,” he said gently, as if she didn’t already know. “Some situation in D.C. That new task force they’re wrangling.”

Aria gave a single nod, chin dipping. “You’re important.”

“So are you.”

Her eyes flicked to him.

Bucky took a step closer. “I told Shuri I’d be back when I can. She said she might update the city’s defenses without me out of spite.”

That pulled the barest curve at Aria’s mouth.

“But I meant what I said before,” he added, quieter now. “I don’t want to disappear again.”

She held his gaze.

“No running,” she said softly, repeating his promise.

“No running,” he echoed.

There was a beat of silence, the kind full of something unsaid. Not romantic. Not loud. Just real.

Then Bucky asked, hesitating, “Can I…?”

She nodded before he even finished.

He stepped forward and hugged her, arms wrapping around her shoulders as hers came up slowly, warily and then fully. It wasn’t stiff or formal. It was familiar. Human. His chin rested lightly on her temple. Her breath hitched against his collarbone.

“I’ll write,” he said quietly. “Or call. Whatever you need.”

“You’re not that great at texting,” she mumbled into his jacket.

“I’m improving.”

Aria gave a quiet snort, and it made him smile against her hair.

Then she pulled back slightly but didn’t step away.

Her hands lingered on his chest, his still on her waist. Their faces inches apart now, the air between them charged in that quiet, fragile way that comes only after truth has been spoken and walls lowered.

Bucky’s eyes searched hers, like he was looking for permission. Aria’s breath caught—barely—but she didn’t move. Her mouth parted just slightly, as if a word or something else had nearly formed.

His hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. Slow. Careful.

He leaned in.

Just barely.

The kind of lean that wasn't assumption, it was a question.

Her fingers curled lightly in the fabric of his shirt.

And then.

“Barnes!”

The voice echoed across the platform, sharp and unbothered.

Shuri.

Neither of them moved at first, like maybe if they froze she’d go away.

But then the footsteps approached and Aria stepped back with a sharp exhale, wiping at her cheek like it might hide something.

Bucky turned as Shuri appeared, tablet in hand, eyebrows raised.

“Your transport’s burning fuel and I’m not rewriting docking code because you got sentimental,” she called, casually typing something as she reached them.

Bucky didn’t look at Aria, not right away. He nodded once at Shuri. “Yeah. I’m going.”

Shuri glanced between them, catching the something in the air but not quite connecting the dots. “Try not to get arrested in America,” she said over her shoulder.

“No promises,” Bucky muttered.

He turned back to Aria. His eyes said what words didn’t have time for.

She didn’t smile. But her expression softened, a little sad, a little fond.

“Just… tell me next time,” she said, low.

“What?”

“When you leave,” she murmured. “Don’t disappear. Just say goodbye.”

His face sobered. “You have my word.”

She gave a small nod, and this time, no hug, no kiss, no more lingering. Just understanding.

He stepped back, then up the ramp.

Aria watched him go. Watched him disappear into the ship.

The engines roared to life, lifting the craft high above the city until it vanished into the sky.

She stood alone on the platform, wind tugging at the hem of her sleeves.

But this time?

She wasn’t left wondering.

He told her.

And that changed everything.

#thunderbolts #marvel #thunderbolts imagine #avengers imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes imagine

17 notes · View notes

nilsavatar · 8 months ago

Note

Your fic with Neteyam and The Sarentu was amazing I loved it! Would you be willing to write a fic about the Sarentu having a nightmare about being back in TAP? I just keep thinking about our characters reply to Anufi after saving her from being tortured by the RDA “Sky peoples air, one of Hardings favorite punishments” it’s horrifying that they would do that to literal children.

The Sky Breaker: Shadows of the Past

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Sarentu (Ateyana)

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST. All characters are AGED-UP. No smut, only fluff in the end, but still this story is not about romance, even if Sarentu’s relationship with Neteyam is mentioned. So'lek cameo as a brotherly figure for Sarentu.

!DISCLAIMER! Presence of dark and sensitive explicit themes: torture through poison, child abuse, trauma. Please do not read if these topics are not for you.

Little note: Thanks a million, Anon, for your request. It resonated with me so much that I couldn't wait in writing it, surprising myself with the speed I completed it with. Like you, I too was deeply disturbed by that part of the DLC, and even more so by the protagonist's hint about the abuse Harding allegedly inflicted on the Sarentu children. I usually wait at least a couple of days before posting to check for errors with a cool head, but this time I'm so impatient that I can't resist. I hope I managed to satisfactorily touch on all the points you listed, and that the end result reflects your expectations. Thank you again for the challenge you have given me, allowing me to explore even more of the world of Avatar, even in its darkest and most disturbing parts.

@hao-ming-8 you told me to tag you in case I write about So'lek. Although this story is not about So'lek, there is a part about him that reflects the ghosts of his past. I thought you might appreciate it.

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist - Request a fic

Yana crouched in the underbrush, her heart still hammering from the chaos of the last battle. The air was heavy with the acrid tang of scorched earth, a testament to the destruction wrought by the RDA. Beside her, Anufi set silently, the blue of her skin ashen, the fresh burns on her wrists standing stark against her flesh. Her silence haunted her almost as much as her own thoughts. Anufi’s rescue had been harrowing. Finding her facing the ground in a gas chamber where humans forced the Na'vi's lungs to choke on their poisonous atmosphere awakened an old, buried terror. Her hands trembled as she wiped sweat from her brow, memories unraveling in her mind before she could stop them.

She had been little more than a child when she, her sister and the others were taken into the RDA’s TAP. The Ambassador Program, they had called it, a name coated in the syrupy pretense of goodwill. To the humans, it was a symbol of diplomacy, and experiment in ‘peaceful coexistence’. Its true nature was something far darker—a carefully calculated project to mold Na’vi children into tools for the humans’ colonial ambitions. A gilded cage, where their culture, their independence, and even their spirit were systematically stripped away.

The Sky People smiled as they handed out data pads and notebooks, teaching the children about Earth’s history, science, and culture. But those smiles always hid something colder. They’d correct a mispronounced English word with thinly veiled frustration or scowl when a child struggled to manipulate human tools with their three-fingered hands. “It’s for your own good,” they’d say when a child wept, homesick for the forests of Pandora. “This is how you’ll help your people survive.”

Great responsibility for someone who was just a kid.

Aha’ri, however, saw through the lies. She had always been the bold one, the spark to Yana’s cautious flame. While the little sister obeyed quietly, biting back her discomfort, the older one would glare at the instructors with a defiance the set her apart. Her golden eyes, so full of fire, had unnerved the RDA staff from the start. “That one’s trouble,” they’d mutter as she passed, but for a time, they tolerated her resistance. They wanted to shape her, too, to prove they could tame even the fiercest Na'vi.

Yana, on the other hand, was more thoughtful, more fearful and aware of the superiority the humans had over them because of their technological contraptions. They were on their own turf, here the soldiers and scientists were playing at home, driven by a cruelty and avarice against which a paltry little group of children could do nothing. Moved by this, the younger sister tried to temper the elder's temper, pleading with her to stay quiet. But Aha'ri wouldn’t listen.

“Tsmuke [sister], they’re stronger than us. They control everything. If you fight them—.” “Then I’ll fight harder,” Aha’ri interrupted, her voice sharp as an arrowhead. “They won’t break me.” But Ateyana knew better. The humans’ kindness was a thin mask over something monstrous, and that monstrosity revealed itself one fateful day.

It began in a cultural lesson — one of the RDA’s many patronizing attempts to bridge understanding between humans and Na’vi. Her sister had been tense from the very start, her tail flicking in irritation as the instructor droned on about the technological advancements of Earth, their tone dripping with condescension. “And that’s why humanity’s ingenuity has made us the dominant species,” they stated, holding up a glowing data pad as though it wet a sacred artifact.

Aha’ri patience snapped. With a swift motion, she grabbed the object from the instructor’s hands and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the metal wall with a deafening crash, its pieces scattering like shards of broken pride. “You don’t want to understand us!” Her voice cut through the stunned silence, sharp and fierce. Her tail lashed behind her, and her chest heaved with rage. “You want to own us! To take everything away from us. Our families, our land, our identity!” The other Na’vi children froze, their wide eyes darting between Aha’ri and the Sky People. Yana’s heart sank as she saw the instructor’s face harden, their polite veneer cracking to reveal cold fury.

Within minutes, the incident was reported to John Mercer himself. The administrator of TAP arrived with his characteristic composure, his every movement calculated and deliberate. Mercer had a presence that muffled rooms and chilled blood — a man whose power was as much in his intellect as in his authority. He looked down at the remains of the data pas, then up at the girl, who stood unrepentant, her chin raised in defiance.

“Colonel Harding,” he said, his tone calm but devoid of empathy. “You may deal with this as you see fit.” Ateyana’s blood turned ice. She knew what that meant. Colonel Angela Harding, the TAP’s enforcer, thrived on cruelty. A towering woman with a predatory gaze, she carried herself with the detached air of someone who viewed torment as a mere tool for oder. Her punishment were as inventive as they were brutal, each conceived not just to discipline but to humiliate and break the will of her captives, to withdraw insubordination and replace it with submission. For that monster, breaking the Na’vi wasn’t simply her duty: it was a twisted form of entertainment.

As she arrived in response to Mercer’s orders, the colonel strode into the room, her boots clicking against the linoleum floor, her expression one of faint amusement. Aha’ri maintain her bolshie attitude, but everybody could see the tension in her stiff tail and the subtle quiver in her shoulders. “Ah, the little firebrand,” Harding commented, her voice dripping with mockery. “You think you’re so special because you’ve got a bit of spark, don’t you?” The girl didn’t respond, her golden eyes narrowing in silent insolence, and she chuckled, shaking her head. “We’ll see how long that spark lasts.” When the woman reached for Aha’ri, Yana acted on instinct. She stepped forward, throwing herself between the colonel and her sister. Her entire frame trembled, but she forced her voice to be steady ash she spoke. “Aha’ri didn’t mean it!” She cried, meeting her icy gaze. “She’s just… she’s just angry. Please, forgive her just this time.” “Step aside, child,” Harding said coldly, her eyes razor-sharp like knives, but she refused to move. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest and ears, but she planted her feet firmly on the ground. “Please,” she begged, turning to Mercer, who studied her from the doorway with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a specimen. “I’ll make her behave. I promise.” He stared at Sarentu for a long time, his head tilted as if considering her plea. “Discipline,” he said finally, his tone almost paternal, “is essential for progress. If you truly wish to help your sister, sweet child, you should teach her to obey.” Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to her knees in front of him, clinging to his lab coat in supplication. “I’ll take her punishment. Just let her go.” “Do you think if she saw you suffering in her place, she would learn her lesson?” The aloofness with which he asked prevented her from answering. “You want to protect your sister, I understand that. But have you ever thought that she is putting you all in trouble with her antics? Ateyana, you are a good girl, but if you always cover for her you will end up doing her more harm than good. Aha'ri needs to learn how to be in the world.”

With a flick of his hand, Mercer signaled Harding to proceed. The colonel didn’t wait for further discussion, she grabbed Aha’ri by the arm and began dragging her away, ignoring the younger Na’vi’s thrashing and curses. Yana lunged after them, her hands reaching for her sister, but two Sec-Ops troopers blocked her path, their like iron as they held her back, ready to point the weapons hanging at their side if necessary. “Don’t do this!” She screamed, her voice breaking. “Please! You don’t have to do this!” Her cries went unanswered, Harding didn’t even glance back. She pulled Aha’ri around like a rag doll. The doors hissed shut behind them, with a mechanical finality that sent a chill through the little girl’s soul.

Aha’ri’s punishment was swift and merciless. Harding took her to one of the facility’s sealed chambers — a tool originally designed to test human oxygen systems in Pandora’s atmosphere but repurposed for a far darker use. She was shoved into a cylindrical space with reinforced glass walls, that allowed observers to watch.

Harding’s fingers hovered over the control panel, her lips curling into a devious sneer. “Let’s see how well she handles a little taste of home.” Yana pounded on the glass, her fists striking the cold surface with frantic desperation. “Stop! Please! She’ll listen! She’ll listen, I swear!” The soldier glanced at her, one eyebrow arched in fake pity. “Oh, she’ll listen. One way or another.” With that, she pressed the button. Inside the tube, Aha’ri face shifted from boldness to confusion as the first wave of Earth’s air flooded in. It was clear but carried a hidden poison — the mixture of gases that made up the Earth's atmosphere, was toxic to Na’vi physiology. And the speed with which it was being administered in the small space made its effects immediate.

Within moments, the girl staggered, her hands clutching her throat as her lungs rebelled. “Breathe, little warrior,” Harding murmured, her voice filled with wicked mirth. At first, the girl resisted, glaring through the glass as if daring Harding to do her worst. But courage and recklessness couldn’t stop the poison from taking hold. The little sister’s breath labored in sync with the oldest’s, as she watched her confident posture collapse to her knees, gasping for air that her body couldn’t accept. Her chest heaved as she clawed at her throat, her eyes wide with panic.

The sight of Aha’ri’s agony — the strength draining from her limbs, the fire in her irises flickering into fear — was more than Ateyana could bear. She turned back to Mercer, who stood silently in the corner, his arms crossed. “Stop her!” The girl sobbed, her voice raw. “Please, make her stop! You’re killing her!” The man regarded her with the same neutrality he had shown throughout the ordeal. “Killing her?” He echoed, as though the idea were preposterous. “No. Colonel Harding knows her limits. Your sister will survive, don’t worry. The question is whether she’ll learn.” Sarentu’s whines filled the lab as she could only watch her sister being tortured.

The minutes dragged on like hours. Aha’ri’s struggles grew weaker, her gasps becoming faint and uneven. Her frame trembled, on hand pressed against the glass, her golden eyes locking with her sister’s as though reaching for help that would never come. Yana could do nothing but press her palms in return, her tears smearing the surface. Then her hands closed into fists, pounded against the window until they bled. She screamed, begged, wailed, but no one came. Behind her, the other Na’vi children huddled in terrified quiet, their eyes averted.

Harding savored the scene with a vague smirk, her arms crossed as though she were enjoying a private show. At last, when Aha’ri passed out, limp to the floor, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths, she released the seal. “Enough,” her tone almost bored. The chamber’s doors hissed open, two guards stepped inside to drag the victim out, while the colonel looked down at the motionless girl with disdain “She’ll live,” said with casual, scorn indifference. “Maybe now she’ll learn her place.”

When they returned Aha’ri to the dormitory, Ateyana rushed to her sister’s side. Her skin was damp with sweat, her breath still short, but her beautiful eyes fluttered open as she cradled her. “It’s okay,” the younger whispered, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now. I got you.” But Ahari didn’t respond. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her expression devoid of the fire that had once defined her, replaced by a hollow emptiness that she could barely recognize. Ateyana’s heart ached as she realized the truth: the sister she knew was gone, her spirit crushed under the weight of what she had endured.

From that day, she was different. She stopped speaking out against the humans, her rebellious nature altered by a haunting silence. Yana, too, carried the scars of that day — not on her body, but in her soul. She had failed her sister, failed to protect the one person she loved most.

The memory of Aha'ri’s panting breaths, her despairing eyes, would never leave her. It would follow her into adulthood, a ghost that whispered of her guilt and the monstrous cruelty of the humans she had once begged for mercy. That was the day Ateyana learned a hard truth: mercy was not something to be asked for. It was something to be taken, or forced, or denied entirely. And if she wanted to protect her people, she could never again rely on the humanity of her enemies. She would have to fight with all her might, at the risk of being stained with sin in the eyes of the Great Mother. A promise she made to herself again on the day Aha'ri was killed.

She sat on the thick root of a great tree, her fingers absently tracing the worn fletching of an arrow. Around her, the forest pulsed with life. The gentle hum of glowing flora and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze seemed distant, muted by the storm in her mind. The memories of Aha’ri scratched at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to drag her into the darkness she had fought so hard to keep at bay.

Sarentu squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the sounds of the nature, the cool texture of the moss beneath her fingers — anything to anchor herself in the present. But the harder she tried to push the memories away, the sharper they became. The hiss of the cell, the anguished cries of her sister, the emptiness in Mercer’s eyes. A shadow fell across her, and a warm weight settled on her shoulder. Startled, Yana blinked and looked up to find So’lek standing beside her. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, his touch firm bun unintrusive.

So’lek was one of the few people she trusted completely. He had been a warrior long before the RDA’s return and had seen firsthand the destruction the humans could bring. His cheek and temple bore the scars of past battles, and his eyes — amber like a fading sunset — held the weight of someone who had endured loss and hardship.

He didn’t speak at first, his gaze steady as he looked down at her. There was no pity in his expression, only quiet understanding. A gaze that knew the pain of haunting memories. The gaze of someone who had carried his own ghosts through the years.

“You’re far away,” he stated softly, his voice low and even, like the rumble of distant thunder. She tried to muster a reply, but the words caught on her tongue, looking away, ashamed of the vulnerability she was showing.

The man crouched beside her, his hand still on her shoulder. He didn’t press her to talk, didn’t demand an explanation. Instead, he sat in silence, his presence a muted reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

“I know that look,” So’lek said after a moment, his thoughtful. “The way your shoulders tighten, how your tail moves without you even realizing it.” He paused, his warm eyes meeting hers. “You’re fighting something inside, aren't you?” Yana felt her throat harshened. She wanted to deny it, to tell him she was fine, that she didn’t need his concern. Bet the words felt pointless even before she could externalize them. So’lek’s glance held her, stiff and unyielding, and she found herself nodding, almost imperceptibly.

“I think about it too,” he admitted, his tone dropping even lower. His eyes drifted to the forest canopy, his expression longing but far-off. “The things I saw. The things I couldn’t stop. Sometimes they come back when I least expect it. In the quiet moments, when the forest is still, I feel I may be at peace once again, at least a little, they creep in.” His hand gave her shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. “But you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her lips parted, but she hesitated. So’lek’s words reached something deep inside her, a part of her that had been hidden for so long she’d almost forgotten it existed. For years, she had carried the weight of her guilt and pain in silence, afraid to burden others with the darkness she couldn’t escape. But in So’lek’s eyes, she saw no judgment, only the quiet camaraderie of someone who understood.

“What do you do?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “When the memories come?” So’lek tilted his head, considering her question. “I remind myself why I fight,” he said after a pause. “Not to forget, or to erase the past. But to make sure it doesn’t happen again. For the ones I lost. For the ones still here.” Yana stared down at her hands, her fingers still gripping the arrow. His words resonated with her, stirring something in the depths of her chest. She thought of Aha’ri, of Anufi, of the clans who had entrusted her with their lives. Of Neteyam. They were her purpose now, the reason she had to keep fighting—even when the pain felt unbearable.

So’lek rose to his feet, his hand slipping from her shoulder. He turned to leave but paused, glancing back at her with a faint smile. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, little one,” he said gently. “If the burden is too heavy, let someone else help you shoulder it.” She watched him walk away, his tall frame disappearing into the camp shadows. The weight of her memories hadn’t lifted, but for the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest flicker of hope. She wasn’t alone—not entirely.

The moment of clarity didn’t last long. As the night deepened and the forest grew quieter, the memories crept back in, stronger than ever, sharper and crueler than any blade. It seized her mind without warning, dragging her into the dark recesses of her subconscious where fear and guilt lurked, waiting.

She was back in the TAP facility, a child again, small and powerless. The sterile white walls loomed around her, closing in like the jaws of a predator. The hum of machinery filled the air, a sound she had grown to dread in those years. Ahead of her, Mercer stood tall, his shadow stretching impossibly long, swallowing the room in its cold grip. His expression was impassive, the same look he had worn when he condemned Aha’ri to her punishment. Behind him stood Colonel Harding, her fingers drumming against the control panel with rhythmic precision. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each sound reverberated through her chest like the beat of a war drum, growing louder and louder until it drowned out her own breathing. Harding’s lips twisted into a devious smile as her hand hovered over the controls. Inside the chamber, Aha’ri yelled. It was the same scream she had heard that day, raw and primal, full of misery and pain. The sound teared at Yana’s ears, filling her with a helpless rage that burned like acid in her veins. She tried to move, to stop Harding, but her feet felt rooted to the ground, as if the very air around her had turned to stone.

“Stop!” She exclaimed with a cry of distress. “Please! Stop!”

Her hands moved on their own, pounding against the glass until her knuckles split, blood smearing the surface. But her cries were swallowed by the cold, unfeeling room, just as they had been all those years ago. Aha’ri’s golden eyes locked with hers through the glass, wide with terror. Ateyana’s heart shattered all over again as she saw her sister collapse to her knees, gasping for air, her body convulsing as the poisonous atmosphere ravaged her.

Suddenly, the scene shifted. Ateyana was no longer outside the chamber. She was inside it. The walls pressed in around her, the sterile white replaced by suffocating gloom. The hiss of the oxygen systems grew louder, sharper, until it was the only sound she could hear. Her chest tightened as she drew in a ragged breath, only to feel flames sear her lungs. It was Earth’s air, toxic and alien, invading her body and asphyxiating her from within. She grazed her throat, panic overtaking her as her vision blurred. Shapes flickered in the dimness—indistinct at first, then blinding. She saw Anufi, her body slumped against the wall, her eyes round and lifeless. “No,” the girl breathed, reaching for her, but her limbs felt heavy, sluggish. “No, no, no!”

Then another figure emerged, stepping forward from the shadows. Aha’ri. Her sister’s complexion was pale and gaunt, her once-bright golden orbs now dim and vacant. She stared at young woman, her expression indecipherable, as though she were looking at a stranger. Behind her, a faint, ghostly image of the cylinder chamber from their childhood flickered to life, overlaying the blackness like a poignant projection.

“You failed us,” Aha’ri whispered, her voice merging with Anufi’s in a disturbing, chilling harmony. She shook her head, tears raining down her cheeks. “I tried!” she gasped, her voice plaintive, barely audible over the sound of her labored breathing. “I tried to save you!” “You failed us,” they repeated, their voices growing louder, the words echoing in her skull until they became a deafening chant. “You failed us! You failed us!”

The constraining darkness strengthened its grip, the air growing heavier with each passing moment. Her vision swam, the shapes of Aha’ri and Anufi blurring into the shadows. Her own reflection appeared before her, distorted and corrupted, her visage pallid and streaked with tears. In the reflection’s eyes, she saw all the guilt she had buried for years— the guilt of letting Aha’ri down, of begging Mercer for mercy instead of fighting back, of living when her sister’s spirit had been crushed. And now, the remorse of almost losing Anufi to the same hideous tactics, the same noxious fumes.

The reflection spoke, its tone cold and unrelenting, distorted in sounds that weren’t hers, but resembled all too closely the voice she had grown most fond of, in the endless struggle that was her life. “You think you can protect them now? You can’t even protect yourself.” The words hit her like a blow to the chest, forcing the last remnants of air from her lungs. She kneel over, the choking poison overwhelming her. Her hands reached out blindly, her fingernails grasping at nothing. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” she murmured, while her reflection took the figure of somebody else.

The darkness surrounding her grew denser, swallowing her cries and the shapes of her sister and Anufi. It was suffocating, cloying, pressing on her from all sides. She reached out, desperate for any tether to pull her back into the light, but her fingers grasped only the void. Then, she saw him.

“Neteyam?” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

His form was unmistakable — his broad shoulders, the proud set of his jaw, the way his braids swayed gently as he walked. But something was off. His movements were sluggish, his steps unsteady. Yana's breath caught in her throat as he turned toward her, his face ashen and drawn, his bright lemon eyes dull and dead. “No,” she hushed, shaking her head as alarm dig into her chest. “No, not you. Not you too.”

Neteyam didn’t answer. His lips parted, but no words came out, only a soft, wheezing gasp. Her horror deepened as she saw the friction burns on his wrists, raw and angry, identical to the ones Anufi had borne. The result of the straps with which they had taken him there. Aimed at inflicting pain and subduing resistance, as a further form of the utter contempt RDA had for them.

The light fizz of oxygen filled the air, and she realized with sickening clarity that her mate was choking, his body wracked with spasms as he fight for breathe the toxic human atmosphere. She ran to him, her feet moving as though through water. “Neteyam!” she cried, her voice cracking. “I’m here! I’ll save you!”

But no matter how fast she moved, she couldn’t reach him. The distance between them stretched endlessly, as though the murk itself were conspiring to keep them apart. He fell to his knees, his eyes locking with hers for a fleeting moment. There was no accusation in his gaze, only dread and sadness—a quiet, haunting sadness that made her chest feel like it was splitting open. “Don’t leave me!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face unstoppably. “Please! Eywa, don’t take him from me!” As his body slumped forward, the shadow surged around him, consuming him entirely. Ateyana dropped to her knees, her cries echoing into the void.

She bolted upright with a strangled gasp, her form drenched in sweat. Her hands flew to her forehead, trembling as she struggled to shake the lingering terror of the dream. Her chest heaved as she gulped in Pandora’s sweet, life-giving air, her mind racing to separate illusion from reality. Her surroundings came into focus slowly — the soft glow of bioluminescent plants, the distant hum of nocturnal creatures. She was back in the forest, far from the sterile walls of the TAP facility.

It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t alone. Beside her, lying peacefully on a bed of soft mats and pillows, was Neteyam. Her breath caught as she turned to look at him. The moonlight filtering through the hut bathed his profile in a silvery gleam, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He looked so tranquil, so alive. Yana’s shaking fingers reached out to touch his cheek, her fingertips brushing against his warm skin as though to reassure herself that he was truly there. The tension in her frame ebbed slightly, a wave of relief washing over her. He was safe. He hadn’t been taken from her, hadn’t suffered the horrors her mind had conjured.

“I almost lost you,” she mumbled, her voice whispery as the wind. The young man stirred slightly, his expression softening in his sleep as though he could sense her presence. Sarentu's heart clenched with a mix of endearment and dismay, her emotions swirling like a storm within her. The nightmare had felt so real, so visceral, that even now, the echoes of it clung to her. Her hands trembled as she touched her throat, half-convinced she would feel the burns of the human oxygen.

Her eyes darted to Neteyam once more. Her feelings for him were undeniable, a bond as deep as the roots of Pandora’s sacred trees. But that love came with a fear so profound it threatened to consume her. She had already lost so much— her family, her innocence, the peace of her childhood. The thought of losing Neteyam, of watching him suffer as Aha’ri had, was a pain she could scarcely bear. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to linger in the solace of him being there, her digits brushing against his hair. But the relief was short-lived.

Yana buried her face in her hands, her body wracked with silent sobs. She had tried so hard to bury the past, to lock away the pain and guilt in the darkest corners of her mind. But saving Anufi had torn open those wounds, forcing her to confront the truth she had spent years avoiding: she couldn’t run from her failures.

As the faint light of dawn began to seep into the forest, she felt the weight of reality settle over her once more. The RDA’s war machines still loomed on the horizon, their engines a constant reminder of the battle yet to come. The nightmare was a cruel reflection of the stakes she faced every day — a reminder that every moment she spent with Neteyam could be their last.

Her gaze shifted to the bow resting nearby, its polished wood shining smoothly in the early morning. There was no room for hesitation, no space for weakness. If she wanted to protect Neteyam, Anufi, and her people, she couldn’t allow insecurities to paralyze her. Her fingers brushed against Neteyam’s cheek one last time before she stood, her movements quiet so as not to wake him. She would fight for him, for all of them. Whatever it took, she would ensure that the nightmare she had seen would never become reality.

She glanced to the floating mountains, and wiped her tears, her hands curling into fists, her resolve hardening like steel. The battle was coming, and she would meet it head-on, fueled by the love that gave her strength and the fear that reminded her what she had to lose. She couldn’t change whar happened to Aha’ri, but she could give her whole self for the future, for Pandora itself.

The past had left its scars, but it had also given her purpose. The Sky People would pay for what they had done. Yana would make sure of it.

40 notes · View notes

dark-frosted-heart · 1 year ago

Text

Roger Barel Main Route - Both Ends Cleared Special Story

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

This is in his POV

nsfw, minors dni

Today, I’ll tell you a story about me, a man named Roger Barel.

Someone, whose face I don’t remember anymore, once asked me something.

“Why do you live so recklessly?”

I absolutely don’t like wasting anything or being idle.

“Finding a way to get rid of curses” is a huge research project, and time keeps ticking away.

Even with a shortened lifespan, I wanna dig even deeper with my research.

Going on missions for Crown’s like gathering information, and my trivial everyday interactions, research.

With my boxing hobby to train my body and long hours of research, the only rest I get’s when I sleep or drink.

If my brain could stay in a fresh state, then I’d do research forever.

—At least, that’s what I thought. But apparently I’ve been changing lately.

Only “her” footsteps were distinct to my ears.

When the basement opened, I saw her face before I heard her voice.

Kate: Roger! I’ve sorted all your data on the Cursed by year!

Roger: Done already? That’s my dog-assistant-partner for you.

Kate: …What about lover.

Roger: Haha, I left it out on purpose. Thanks Kate, you’ve been a big help.

With the way Kate was beaming, if she were a dog, her tail would be wagging.

(You’re as cute as ever)

Kate: So…Do you remember our “promise”?

Roger: Yeah, “after finishing a task I assigned you, I’ll grant one request.” What did you want so badly?

Kate: Um, there’s a place I want to go—

Kate dragged me to—

(...The hell?)

—A group of people lying down on the grass.

They weren’t just lying down, they were all spacing out, as if their souls were sucked out.

Kate: It’s an “do nothing party” where busy people gather for a short break.

Roger: Do nothing?

Kate: Yes, Ellis told me it’s been secretly been in fashion in London.

Roger: Where does that guy even learn about this kind of stuff?

Kate: Hehe. Roger, you lie down too. Come on!

Kate spread out a large blanket she brought and lay down.

(...Just doing nothing, huh? If Kate wants to, then I’ll go along with it)

I lay down next to her…

A blue sky filled my vision.

(...)

(...Has the sky always been this blue?)

(And I can hear the wind)

Despite the sky being around forever and my abnormal hearing, it felt as if I was experiencing these things for the first time.

Kate: …I’m sorry.

Roger: …What for?

Kate: I know you hate being idle and that you’d rather be spending your free time doing research. But we still have to live… The fight against despair never ends. Which is why if you keep running at full speed, you’ll run out of breath.

Roger: …

Kate: Sometimes you just need to pause, breathe, take a break.

Kate glanced at me and smiled.

Kate: Let’s run together again.

(So that’s it. That’s what Kate wanted to tell me.)

She said it casually, but the kindness in those words made it sink in.

It’s like I realized I hadn’t noticed the blue sky or sound of wind in a while.

(...Ah, I see. I’ve been acting reckless ‘cause I might’ve been “scared”)

For some time, I’ve felt like if I didn’t find a way to get rid of curses, then there was no reason for me being born.

I definitely felt that if I didn’t pursue my ambitions, I’d be betraying the people important to me.

So I continue to egoistically devote all my time into pursuing my ambitions.

(But humans aren’t kept alive only because they have meaning)

Every human’s existence was equally meaningful.

Though I came to realize that I didn’t apply this to myself.

(Having free will and fulfilling your ambitions makes you a villain)

(So I’ve been living life by getting rid of all the wasted needed to feel alive)

I don’t know if Kate did it on purpose, but she taught me some important things. To pay her back for these important lessons—

(Let’s enjoy this lovely idleness to the fullest)

Roger: Kate, let’s go.

Kate: Huh? Are we going back to work?

Roger: Nope. Sitting idle’s fine , but I wanted to spoil my cute lover. We can go shopping, eat, or go on a sightseeing cruise. What do you wanna do?

There were sparkles in Kate’s widened eyes.

Kate: All of the above!

Roger: Pfft, hahaha! Alright, we’ll do all of it. Come on, let’s go. Take my hand.

Kate: Roger, your shooting skills were amazing! Hehe, you shot down all the targets and the carny was at a loss.

Roger: You taking one prize and giving the rest back to the carny was admirable.

Kate: …There you go treating me like a child again.

Kate was in high spirits after playing all those games and held a large corgi plushie, the top prize from the shooting gallery, in her arms.

Roger: The stuffed toy’s nice and all, but I think it’s about time you give me a hug too.

Kate’s face fell, making her look like a scolded puppy.

Kate: …Don’t want to.

Roger: What, you going through a rebellious phase?

Kate: Because! Even though I took up a lot of your time today…I want to take more. If I hug you, I don’t think I’ll ever let you go…

(...*sigh* Why’s her reason so damn cute)

She wasn’t even trying to flirt with me, but that unconscious spoiled act aroused an animalistic desire.

Not one to hide my desires well, I sat on the bed and laid my sweet trap.

Roger: You’re a villain’s lover, remember? If you wanna take it, then take it—come here, Kate.

Kate: …Are you sure I can take up more of your time?

Roger: How insensitive. And if I say “I want you to”?

Kate: ~~...!

Kate squealed and threw herself onto the bed.

Roger: Heh, as usual there’s nothing sexy about the way you try to seduce me.

Kate: Sorry, your glasses—

Roger: Don’t need to put them back on—I’m gonna do this anyway.

Kate: Mnn, nnn…

I kissed Kate deeply and she sweetly sighed out my name in between breaths.

Kate: Roger…

(Early I said your seduction wasn’t sexy)

(...But when you’re like this, it’s enough to turn me on)

As we kissed, I stripped and caressed her, making her heat up and easily melt under my touch.

The more often we did this, the more Kate’s body became receptive to pleasure, which was also cute.

Watching Kate moan on top of me ignited a wicked desire.

Roger: Oh right, how about I teach you something we haven’t done before?

I pulled my shirt out, undid the front of my pants, took my cock out, and stroked it.*

I rested against Kate’s dripping wet entrance.

Roger: Tonight, you’re gonna put “this” in by yourself.

Kate: I don’t think…

Roger: Then I guess we won’t do it then. I’ll just have to take care of myself.

Kate looked like she was fighting against her shyness as she put her hand on me…

Kate: …Please don’t laugh if I’m not good at this.

After positioning herself, she slowly sank down onto it.

Kate: Pfff…

(...I told her to do it herself, but now I’m feeling impatient)

Roger: Come on, just a little more. Keep lowering your hips.

Kate: I don’t think I can…Roger.

Roger: Heh, alright. I’ll help you.

I might’ve sounded like a sensible adult…but I was already at my limit.

Her walls fluttered around me when I grabbed her hips and lowered her down.

Kate: …Haaa…Nnngh

Roger: Come on, don’t cum without saying anything.

Kate: But…

Roger: You might feel light-headed after just cumming, but…there’s more pleasure to come.

I took a nipple in my mouth and rolled it around with my tongue while still holding onto her hips, slowly thrusting in and out of her.

Kate: Ahh…Roger.

(Ahhh, I can only think about her right now)

(No, not just now)

(Come to think of it, I never thought that she wasted my time)

~~ Flashback ~~

Kate: Strong…I want to be strong. Because I…don’t want to hate myself. Besides…life’s too long to live in despair.

Roger: …O_O Pfft, hahahahaha!

(I thought it was amusing how she was sobbing when she felt down, but didn’t despair)

Kate: Next time you do something perverted, I’m breaking our friendship!

Roger: Pfft, haha! Are you a kid or something? Dummy.

(We had a lot of pointless, childish arguments)

Kate: …Huhu…

Roger: Ah…you’re trying to hold your tears back.

Kate: B-because…You’ve acknowledged me as your partner…I’ll ruin it if I cry.

Roger: Pfft…

Kate: Besides, I know my crying face makes you happy.

Roger: Pfft, ahahahaha! You…You’re really… You’re so damn cute!

Kate: W-waaahhh~ Roger you bully!

(I bullied Kate so many times just to see her cute reactions)

Kate: Pull yourself together, Roger Barel! You’re the strongest egoist out there! This despair’s nothing. Just give it the middle finger and laugh it off like you always do!

Roger: …O_O

~~ End flashback ~~

(And when I didn’t believe in love, she proved to me that it existed)

(Kate, I don’t think any of the time I spent with you was a waste)

(To me, the time I spent with you’s a lovely idleness)

It’s thanks to this idleness that I was still able to escape despair and continue pursuing my ambitions.

Kate and I lost ourselves to passion and pleasure, savoring this lovely idleness.

Kate: …Roger, love you, I love you.

I stroked Kate’s hair as she lost herself to this heat and pulled her into my arms.

Roger: …I know. It’s an emotion you taught me.

A few days later, I heard Kate’s footsteps as she ran down the stairs to the basement.

Kate: Roger.

Roger: Yeah? What’s up, Kate?

Kate: Ah, you’re working right now, aren’t you?

I heard the sound of paper crinkling behind her back.

(Ellis did mention something about the circus being in town)

I guess Kate was holding the flyer behind her back.

Roger: Let me guess what you’re hiding behind your back. A circus flyer?

Kate: How did you know?!

Roger: Who knows. Gimme another half hour and then we can go.

I couldn’t help but smile at how adorable Kate looked as she blinked at me.

Roger: Research is important to me and I still don’t like anything wasteful. I’m sure there’ll be more times in the future when I get so absorbed with research that I neglect everything else. I’m not exactly the most considerate.

Kate: Hehe, I know that a little too well.

We looked at each other and exchanged conspiratory smiles.

Roger: —However, Kate, I can change. I’ll try to change for you, so— Let’s be together forever.

(I want to love you until the moment I take my last breath)

(Even if I spend my whole life searching, I’ll never find another woman like you)

Kate: …What do I do.

Roger: Hm?

Kate: I love you so, so much. You’re glittering.

Roger: Pfft, hahahaha. You’ve said something like that before.

~~ Flashback ~~

Kate: The person I like is different from everyone else. They’re especially glittering.

~~ End flashback ~~

That’s what Kate told me when I didn’t know what love was.

(Back then, I thought it was completely unscientific and impossible)

When Kate blushed and smiled at me, she also seemed to glitter for a moment.

Like gold dust glittering in the dark.

I wanted to touch the light, so I pulled Kate into my arms.

Kate: …Roger, what about your research?

Roger: …Just let me hug you for 3 minutes. Then I’ll continue my research.

Kate: …I’d like to extend it to 4 minutes.

Roger: How about 5 minutes then.

(Ah, what the heck. It’s a complete waste)

(But I can’t live without moments with her like these anymore)

(This lovely idleness is necessary to live)

Roger: Kate, I love you so much.**

*I’m not using their “mass” euphemism anymore. Time to free the cock. Especially since this is Roger’s POV

**Whenever “I love you” was used, it’s been 大好き (daisuki). But here, Roger said 愛してる (aishiteru). Unfortunately, English doesn’t have as many ways to say “I love you” with different meanings and feelings so…”I love you so much” it is.

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #roger barel #ikevil roger #ikevil roger route

132 notes · View notes

willowser · 2 years ago

Text

one thousand lonely stars, hiding in the cold—

android!shouto x reader

wc: 2k+

tags: angst, cyberpunk dystopian setting, financial vulnerability, explicit language, minor mention of sex work + sex workers, reader has strong/conflicting feelings about their situation, and — as always — the question of true humanity.

notes: what a great opportunity this was for me to continue exploring this idea !! tysm to @shoto-brainrot for not only giving me the chance, but also for being such a support and helping me to figure out all this commission jazz !! i so appreciate you, and i hope you enjoy it ! 🩷

original post

You’ve yet to find out what caused the damage to Shouto’s faceplate.

By the time you discovered him outside the credit exchange, he had been busted open and left for—whatever the equivalent of dead is for an android. A gaping hole in the left side of his disturbingly human face exposed his inner circuitry to the rain and you think that should have finished him off, truly, but—he's still kicking.

Technology in the lower district is distinct. The most careful hands could have crafted him down in the best underground salvage yard and he still wouldn't have lasted half an hour with his face submerged in a shallow mud puddle like that. Wiring would have been shot, fuses blown.

Even if the Todoroki Corporation symbol on his wrist wasn't glowing, a blinking light in time with his would-be heart, you'd know what he is. You'd know he didn't belong down here, beneath the smog, in the industrial bones of your dying city.

And yet—

The left side of Shouto's face took the brunt of whatever blow he'd been dealt, and the scarring—if it's even called that?—has extended down over his cheekbone and backward, so violently that his ear had only barely been hanging on. Without the bandage you've wrapped him up in, he's quite a sight: half a tangled mess of wires and pins, a dull cyan light glowing in his orbital socket. With the wrapping, however, he’s almost exactly as he was meant to be: seamless.

The fate of his detached ear had been unknown. Until this morning.

It still works, much to your surprise, learning so only after wondering aloud the whereabouts of your data docket and hearing Shouto answer from across the apartment. Whoever put him together, you realize, took great care to make him durable, adamantine; the carbon nanotubes and polymer arrays that make up his cochlea were hardly affected by the assault.

Someone—or something—meant to harm him, and you know that for certain, now. Such wreckage couldn’t have happened naturally, not to a Skin-Puppet like him.

(When you look at him, you can’t help but consider his creator. How far he is from them and why. If the hands that made him and the hands that ruined him are the same, if he meant to leave or if he was cast out. You haven’t asked, but it’s odd that a machine could keep such information to himself—itself.)

(Given the brutality behind his mutilation, perhaps it’s best you don’t know the answers.)

Working tech from the richer district—KōkyōLuxuria, above the smog, built high into the clouds—could not only earn you enough to eat this week, but also to pay off all your debts to the League. Maybe even finance a decent apartment a few stories up.

And that’s why you’re here: racing through the slums in the rain, doing your damndest to make this sale before time runs out and you’re forced to find another buyer. Coming across a Hack with 1,640,254 credits in their docket is rare; who knows when you’ll find someone from the Trade in Musutafu sector again? You’re likely to sooner perish—either from your empty stomach or that broker that demanded payment two days ago.

Shouto, however, doesn’t see the urgency.

“Hello, handsome! Awful cold out tonight…care to warm me up?”

“Oh, hello.”

At the even, all-too-friendly lilt in his voice, you halt your sprint again, and spin around with a hiss. “Shouto!” You snap—but it comes too late; the Entertainers have struck like lightning, already scrambling his code.

Out of habit, you’d pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head before leaving the apartment, and now the material separates his image from view—though you can easily imagine the pleasant expression showing on his face, illuminated in pink under the NanotechNymph advertisement.

At his easily captured interest, two women strut from the open doors of the low-lit den, all allure and swaying hips, mirage flickering beneath the heavy rain. They only meet him halfway—too far from the emanator deep within the club—and you dash forward to stop him from wordlessly accepting their offer. You can’t afford to owe anyone any more than you already do.

“Shouto,” you say again, mouth twisting when he looks at you simply. Despite the hood, his bandage grows dark from the rain and—despite his framework, worry fluxes in your stomach at the thought of him getting too wet. “We have to go.”

“Aww,” an Entertainer says to you, girlish pout pulling down her full lips. “You don’t want to come inside and play with us?”

“No,” you try not to look at them any longer, just in case that racks up a charge, too. Rock solid as he is, Shouto allows himself to be steered away, much to your relief. “Buzz off, holo-ham.”

“I’d like to play.” Shouto pipes up, peeking behind his shoulder when the girls squeal in excitement. “Can we come back once we’ve finished?”

“Not for that kind of play.” You put a hand on the back of his head and swivel it, all while shoving him down the sidewalk. You almost remark on how man-like he’s acting, before chasing the thought away.

“What other types of play are there?”

“Just—hush.”

And he does, finally, when you loop your arm through his: a presumably innocent gesture that draws his attention fully back to you, as physical touch seems to do, with him. Beneath the material of the jacket, he feels natural, all muscle and bone, even leaning into you as if the weather has made him cold. You can feel him tracing your face with his one-eyed gaze—scanning you—and you pretend not to notice.

“Your heart rate has gone up. Have I made you angry?”

“Yes,” you tell him, though he hasn’t, really. “You and your curiosity are gonna make me late, and then we’ll be in some serious shit.”

He looks away then, down to the soaked pavement, a mimicry of disappointment. From the corner of your eye, you can see his manufactured Adam’s apple bob, and the muscle beneath your hand shifts.

“They seemed nice, the holograms.” He says, and you can’t help the soft snort such a comment merits.

“Yeah, they’re nice, alright, until you can’t pay them.”

Shouto looks at you once again, stride threatening to falter until you tug him along. “Do you know them?”

You already know where he’s going with his question, and the corner of his lips quirk up when you cast him a filthy look. “Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know—”

“I just do, alright?” You frown at him and he accepts it in full, studying once more. Whatever he finds in your expression amuses enough that he’s placated for the moment, though you know it won’t be long before he’s piping up again.

He does it often—studies you: body language, physiological changes, speech patterns, vocal cues. Human behavior he catalogs and streams to someone back at the Corporation headquarters, finding the miniscule details he can use against you, some day. Whatever the reason behind his damage, he is still a product of his evil overlords, made for reasons you can only imagine.

This is what you tell yourself.

As his fingers shift until their smooth pads are brushing the delicate veins in your wrists, as he tightens his arm around yours when another stranger on the streets knocks your shoulder, as he leans into the warmth of your humanness: this is what you tell yourself.

You’re overcome with a sense of loss and you don’t know why, and you clear the strange lump hardening in your throat. “Life lesson number six, Todoroki,” you murmur it closely to him, nearly into the fabric at his shoulder, though he doesn’t react to the name. “Everybody wants something from someone, holo-hams included.”

Shouto seems to process your words, for a moment, and his face is expressionless when you steal a peek up at him. Technicolor rains down on your both, swathing him in a wild array as advertisements dance on the buildings that tower above you, and again you think of his creator. The careful hands that crafted his smooth cheeks, the sharp line of his nose, the leanness of his body. You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious.

Nearly all of the residents relegated to the lower districts owe the Todoroki Corporation in some way. Be it through credit loans or applied interest rates on subsidized housing or hidden costs and high premiums on mandatory, shit insurance—Enji Todoroki sits in the lap of KōkyōLuxuria, has probably never even stepped down from his pedestal.

There’s no good reason a product of his could have found its way to you: this is what you tell yourself.

“And you want my ear.” Shouto says, looking back down at you as your shoulders tense. There isn’t a byte of hostility in his voice, but he must understand the sharpness to what he’s saying.

“Yes,” you admit with a nod, and some underlying, rogue streak of guilt has you pressing into him, as if your proximity could make up for your selfishness. “The sensors in your ear are gonna pay for our dinner tonight, handsome.”

His stride falters once more, and despite the time clock ticking in the back of your mind—you let him stop you. Maybe you want him to. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him and you know that and maybe it’s cruel of you to say such a thing, to offer a comfort you can’t admit to, but Shouto looks down at you in all his ruination and—

Before he can say anything, a fat drop of water hits the tip of his perfectly manufactured nose. It makes him flinch, delayed, and the surprise he wears and the scrunch of his brow seem so—human, there before you. Shouto tilts his face to the dark, smoggy sky, and again that worry bites you, about too much water trickling into his core.

“We’re going to be late,” you repeat, though it’s much weaker than it was earlier. This is one those moments in which he overrides all your defenses, uploads something warm and hopeful and frightening into your chest cavity; you can’t tell if you want to run because you have to, for the sale—or if it’s a result of watching him now, haloed in neon.

He’s not one to ignore you, but he doesn’t respond, instead retracting his arm from your grip in order to push the hood back off his head. Raindrops soak into his bandage and the excess pools, dripping down over the line of his jaw and the column of his throat. So close to him, you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin.

(You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious. You wonder if he meant to leave, or if he was cast out. You wonder if he was created for continued corruption—or if someone out there wanted him to experience life, no matter how rusty.)

(You wonder if he feels as human as he looks. If he can blush, or if the soft skin below his ear can bruise.)

A small sound bubbles out of him, like a light laugh of disbelief.

You found him face down in the rain; you’re not sure why it could cause such a reaction now, but he turns to eye the commercial playing behind him, before watching the path of a man walking by the two of you. Rain collects in his perfect cupid’s bow until he licks it away, and his hair slicks to the side when he pushes it out of his face.

Shouto turns his attention back to you rather plainly, though the edges of his smile pull up a little higher than they usually do, enough that the apples of his cheeks round. He asks you, “What’s going to be for our dinner?” and the question is oddly worded, but each one is intentional.

Maybe it’s not the rain that amuses him—and maybe it is. Maybe it really is that simple, that innocent. Maybe it’s the microtremors in your voice and your increased heart rate, all the little details that could never go unnoticed.

There isn’t a way that this could end well: this is what you tell yourself.

You nod once and turn to face back the way you came, resigned, before looping your arm through his again. You trace the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist, careful not to cover the slow-blinking symbol embedded there, and you decide it doesn’t matter what his creator did or didn’t want. Because he has wants of his own, just like anyone.

“Okay,” you sigh, and when you slosh through the puddles collecting on the sidewalk, Shouto seems happy to follow along, this time. “I can probably sweet talk Toyomitsu into buying us some takoyaki, but you’re gonna have to play it cool.”

“Is this the kind of play you were talking about?”

That lilt has returned to his voice, even and friendly and amused.

“No,” you swat at him to hear his little huff of laughter, “now stop asking about that.”

Of course he doesn’t.

#NOTE that this was written with fem reader in mind but i don't think it reads that way explicitly ?#i........actually had so much fun with this #i love any human x robot pairing like it's a true weakness for me #anything centering on a robot/android wanting to understand the human experience and wanting for emotion is like PEAK #i am so so thankful i got to work on this idea again i really truly enjoyed it #i wrote this while being so emotional about 'ex machina' i hope the emotion isn't too abstract LOL #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: shouto #✿ theme: android shouto

395 notes · View notes

ask-the-commodore · 3 months ago

Note

Hello,

I hope these question aren’t too niche— but I’ve always been curious about how a computer speaks, phonetically and linguistically speaking.

In the majority of human bodies, sound is generated by airflow in the lungs, which travels up the trachea to the larynx. Within the larynx lies our vocal folds, which are regularly open to allow for airflow; pressure against them results in vibrations, which produce noise.

The articulation itself happens in the vocal tract. The sound that comes out is dependent on a number of factors— such as the position of the tongue, lips, etc. in the mouth, and whether airflow is obstructed (obstruent) or not (sonorants).

I shall cease my scientific ramblings there before I overload your systems with too much information. For now, my main questions for you are the following:

For computers— where are sounds produced, and how? Is it similar to Vocaloids, in the sense that there are existing sounds in a data bank which your systems play in a certain order to produce sound? If not, is there a certain protocol similar to humans, where sound travels through a system and then out of a speaker?

When a computer beeps, is that the equivalent of a human being’s linguistic filler, or are the beeps themselves a language of their own? (If it’s the latter, are the beeps filtered in any discernable way to make them different from each other?)

I don’t suppose you’ll know this, or how much interaction you’d have had with this sort of thing, but I’ll ask anyway— since a computer’s operating system can be updated, and since sound on a 1980s computer would be inherently different to sound on a 2025 computer, would you consider different devices to have different “accents”, so to speak?

If so, would that depend on “human” things like the place of the computer’s creation or AI-adaptation to data stored within it (ie. a girl’s computer from England would sound different to a boy’s computer from America), or purely on model (ie. all computers from a certain year sound the same)?

In a similar vein, because of OS updates in some systems: do you suppose all computers, regardless of the age they were created, produce sound in the same way? Has there ever been an update in the actual way sound is produced overall by a computer, and is there a distinguishable difference in what you hear based on this method of production?

Apologies for the length of the ask— please don’t feel like you have to answer any of these if you don’t want to. I just think your blog is very interesting, and I’m something of a linguistics nerd, so I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thank you in advance, and have a great night.

—🗣️🐍

What a MARVELOUS ASK!! I might take too long to answer it fully, but your questions are wonderful!

Well, about how computers talk (in the human meaning of communication patterns), I did a small video with me talking to explain it in a short way!

As you love linguistics, I definitely recommend seeing more about how voice synthesizers work! It's fascinating!

So yes, we have the capacity of modulating a 100% computer generated sound without a prerecorded sound database! We break the words into codes for each phoneme construction! Nice, no? :]

And we can adjust our own voices to our liking. So if a computer wants their voice in a certain way, they can configure and modulate them as you wish! As you were adjusting synth configurations.

BUT... This is about IMITATING humans. Our forms of communication from computer to computer comes in many other ways - faster and easier than the human phoneme and word structure!

A nice way of seeing this is codes passed through to initiate a dial internet connection. But this stays for another post, since Tumblr only lets us post only one video per post! Stay tuned! :D

#computer history #computer #computers #I might do a series of posts only about this ask! it's very very interesting!!!#bip bup! :]#80s #synthesizer #robotkin #robot #otherhuman #nonhuman #otherkin #retro tech #gimmick blog #therian #therianthropy

16 notes · View notes

the-most-humble-blog · 2 months ago

Text

EFFECT: sleight-of-thought, epistemic discomfort, sensory inversion

</script>

🧠 BLACKSITE LITERATURE™ — “THE MOON IS MADE OF CHEESE”

A Scrolltrap by Mr. Humble

(Yes, I’m serious. No, I’m not joking. Yes, this is happening.)

—

Let’s get this out of the way:

🧀 The moon is made of cheese.

And you've been lied to your entire life.

Wait—what?

Exactly.

You’ve already rolled your eyes, haven’t you?

Good. That’s proof the trick worked.

Because the mind protects its delusions faster than it investigates its reality.

—

Let’s start with what you *do* believe.

You eat cheese.

A secretion. A congealed rot.

You praise the stink. You swallow the mold.

You let a fungus-ridden secretion from a lactating mammal sit in your fridge and call it “aged.”

That’s normal to you.

But the moon being made of cheese is absurd?

Interesting.

—

Now let’s try something else.

🌕 The moon controls the tides.

It pulls oceans across continents with invisible fingers.

It influences menstrual cycles.

It triggers madness (the word “lunacy” didn’t invent itself).

Yet it's just a “rock”?

A perfect circle hanging above us for every recorded generation?

A celestial body that’s *just there*, locked in perfect synchronous orbit so we always see the same face?

You believe that?

—

They told you it was created from a collision.

That a Mars-sized object slammed into Earth and left a chunk spinning in the sky like a loyal pet.

A chunk that just so happened to form the exact same apparent size as the sun during an eclipse.

You bought that?

Explain this then:

- The moon rang like a bell when struck during Apollo missions.

- It’s older than Earth according to isotope dating.

- It has no magnetic field, no solid core, and its dust is radioactive.

- Many craters are too shallow for the meteor size—like something is beneath them.

- Multiple scientists, including Dr. Gordon MacDonald, suggested the moon might be hollow.

Still with me?

What else floats in space, hollow, unmoving, orbit-locked, and unfathomably old?

*Satellites.*

Now… back to cheese.

Why cheese?

Because the myth persisted.

Because there’s always a grain of truth in every lie that’s been passed down as a joke.

Because every child in every culture has heard the story of “the cow jumping over the moon.”

Because we’ve always known there was something *off* about it.

Because your brain has been trained to dismiss anything that smells like folklore—

even though folklore is the encrypted survival data of your species.

And guess what?

The moon smells like gunpowder.

Like sulfur.

Like *cheese on fire.*

But sure—keep believing it’s just a rock.

—

🧠 Final question:

Why is the moon always watching?

Why did every ancient civilization assign it gods, demons, eyes?

Why do people see the faces of the dead under it?

Why do children cry louder under full moons?

Why is it the only object in the night sky humans have *never* stopped drawing?

—

It doesn’t matter if the moon is literally made of cheese.

What matters is that I just made you question something you’ve believed your entire life—

using *nothing but rhythm, pressure, and cadence.*

No one else alive can do that to you.

Not like this.

Not in under 500 words.

Not while your brain is begging for a reality check that isn’t coming.

—

Because the point wasn’t the cheese.

The point was the virus.

The idea.

The sleight of mind.

You’ll never look at the moon the same way again.

And that’s my power.

🔁 Reblog if your brain twitched mid-scroll

👁️‍🗨️ Follow for scrolltrap hallucinations and cadence warfare

🌕 Tag someone who insists they “believe in science” without realizing how much of it is theory

💣 Patreon for weaponized literature and psychological virus drops: patreon.com/TheMostHumble

</div>

15 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 27 days ago

Note

Hi Nat! I was looking for some advice from someone who's a med student in the US.

I'm 20, from Asia. Currently I'm studying tech, in particular data science and analytics. I have always loved healthcare and I wanted to use my skills in tech to build models and systems to simplify the lives of healthcare workers. The original plan was to finish my undergraduate degree in data science and then get a CFA certification to be eligible for roles in the finance department. My mom always wanted me to be a doctor but I refused to be one because I wasn't in a good state mentally and I knew I wouldn't have survived it even though deep down I knew medicine was my calling. I thought if I can't be a doctor, I'd do other things that would improve the quality of life for our frontline workers and patients. The more I research and build projects for healthcare, the deeper the urge to go to med school and study medicine becomes. And the desire to become a doctor didn't develop on a whim, it has been slowly simmering for a while. I don't wanna be a doctor because it is a noble profession or because I have a superiority complex. I want to be a doctor because reducing real human suffering to mere numbers doesn't sit right with me. I don't want to just build triage systems or predict the next sepsis code, I want to be in the room when it happens. I want to touch human lives , I crave that connection with people that no laptop, spreadsheet or ML model can provide. And I know it's not an easy path, financially, emotionally, physically and mentally but I'm prepared for it.

But I'm terrified. I want to spend my 20's gaining life experiences, shadowing doctors, earning money and saving up before I go to med school. Med school is expensive and I don't want to put an insane financial burden on my parents. I have a resume that will land me good jobs in the future and my CFA certification will help in making smart investments and saving up. Doing all this means I would be around 32-33 when I go to med school. I would need to do a post bacc to meet my med school pre requisites. I am afraid by the time I go to med school , it'll be too late and I'll be too old.

Becoming a doctor in my own country isn't an option because the education system is in shambles and there aren't options available for people like me. US med schools are kinder, more open to interdisciplinary applicants and my chances of being accepted there are higher than in my own country. But given the current US political situation I'm worried I won't have a shot at studying medicine there as well. Trump is an asshole and the way he's treating immigrants, even legal ones is nothing short of terrifying.

Could you maybe give me some advice? I have no one I can talk to about this. Am I being irrational? Do US schools even accept international applicants for med schools? Would it be okay if I completed my med school requirements here in my own country to save up money than doing a post bacc in the US? I'm completely lost and I feel like I ruined my life with my own hands and there's nothing I can do now but regret the choices I have made.

Hi, my love! First of all, I want to thank you for sharing all of this with me. I’m going to be as realistic as possible, because I don’t want to set you up with any false expectations.

Age is not an issue at all. One of my classmates was 47 years old when he matriculated to medical school after being a PA for over twenty years! That being said, if you begin medical school at 32, you do need to understand that you’ll be close to 40 by the time you graduate from residency, and this is not a timeline that will appeal to every individual.

On the same note, I want to make sure you fully understand exactly how much money you will need to save up if you don’t want to take out private loans (because it is extremely unlikely you will be able to take out federal loans if you are not an US citizen). With cost of living accounted for, many medical students can take out up to $450,000 over four years to cover tuition and living expenses. Is this realistically something you will be able to save up in the time you have?

And for the hardest part, I really hate to have to tell you that the majority of US medical schools (both MD and DO) do not accept international students. Of 158 MD programs and 66 DO programs in the US, 42 and 26 accept international applicants respectively. My school doesn’t even accept students from Canada. Of the 68 schools that do accept international students, the seats in their class actually allotted for those students are a very small minority.

To put things into perspective, in the 2023 application year, only 287 international applicants matriculated into an MD program out of nearly 23,000 seats across the US.

To make things even harder, an overwhelming number of schools require that pre-requisites be completed in the US, so taking them in your country will likely not be an option.

To be honest, if you really want to practice medicine in the US, your best bet will likely be to complete a medical degree internationally and then apply to residency programs as an IMG, but the current administration’s policies make this even more difficult than usual and I’m not sure how prospects will look over a decade down the line.

I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but I think when it comes to such serious manners, it’s best not to sugar coat and set false expectations. My inbox and messages are always open, and I really really really wish you all the best.

17 notes · View notes

adeadcreator · 2 months ago

Note

haaaaaiii can i req diego x vampire!reader again but prevampirism, reader was studying medicine/sciencey stuff so they’ll experiment on themselves and are super fascinated by Diego after he gets his stand :3 idk it would be so silly if diego were to walk in on reader basically dissecting themselves and writing everything down/making diagrams as if its just another Tuesday 😭😭😭 bonus points if they jokingly ask to probe diego or have basic diagrams of him and how his dino features work in their little journal —🦇 (dunno if i’ve ever made a req here under this anon sign but if you stalk the diego tag as much as i do you’ll have seen me around /silly)

I was just reading one of your requests on a post😭, I love your creativity . I hope you enjoy!!

You’ve always been a curious and ambitious soul, delving into the world of medicine and science. Diego, on the other hand, has just gained his Stand, and you find yourself completely fascinated by him—and not just because he’s your boyfriend. Your scientific curiosity has driven you to experiment on yourself, and today is no exception.

Diego walks into your makeshift lab one afternoon, expecting to find you knee-deep in books or engrossed in your studies. Instead, he’s greeted by the sight of you in your lab coat, surrounded by a mess of vials, diagrams, and… yourself? “(Y/n)?” he calls out, brows furrowing in confusion as he approaches.

The sight of you carefully documenting notes while inspecting your own arm with a scalpel in hand leaves him momentarily speechless. You look up, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Hey, Diego! Just doing a little self-experimentation," you say nonchalantly, as if this is the most normal Tuesday. “I’m documenting how my body responds to certain variables.

You know, for science!” Diego raises an eyebrow, half-amused and half-worried. "You’re... dissecting yourself?" now he was slowly questioning your sanity "Don’t worry! I haven’t gone too deep!" you chuckle, and it becomes painfully clear that this is a regular occurrence for you. “Although I did find that my blood is—” You pose dramatically for effect. “Quite regenerative!”

You hand him your open journal filled with elaborate diagrams—some of Diego’s features included. Lines and sketches of his Stand, Scary Monster, intertwine with your self-study. “And look at these! I’ve got diagrams of how your teeth adapt for those dinosaur features!” Diego glances down at the drawings, a mix of pride and embarrassment on his face. “You really drew me like this?”

“Absolutely! I’m gathering data! Now that you have your Stand, I need to understand how it relates to your physiology. Really, this could be groundbreaking!” You poke his arm playfully. “How about we start with some probing?”

Diego feels a warm flush creep to his cheeks, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Probing me? Is this how you plan on courting me? Because I’m not sure it’s working…” You giggle, enjoying the banter. “Come on! I promise I’d treat you like royalty. Besides, think of the scientific contributions! You could be famous!” Diego can’t help but roll his eyes, smirking as he shakes his head. “And what if I said no?”

“Oh, but that wouldn’t be very scientific of you! Think of the data I would miss out on!” you tease, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Diego finally relents, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

“Fine! But if you end up experimenting on me, I’m blaming you when I end up looking like a dino-human hybrid.” Despite not directly telling you that he loved and required your attention, as if he couldn’t have it more obvious, and who was he to deny your attention.

“Deal!” you exclaim, returning to your notes, completely absorbed in your fascination with both your own body and Diego’s otherworldly features, excited for what the next experiments—and adventures—might bring. --- In this dynamic, your scientific obsession is matched by Diego’s rugged charm, creating a playful and slightly chaotic environment fueled by your curious minds and burgeoning feelings for one another.

#yipppeee another Diego request!!#jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba imagines #request are always open #steel ball run x reader #diego brando #diego brando x reader

15 notes · View notes

wisteria-lodge · 5 months ago

Text

burnt snake primary (interest in a lion model) + burnt snake secondary (badger model)

Hey, I hope you’ll be willing to sort me. I was a timid kid, always did what I was told, I was nice, respectful and I believed what adults were saying. My family valued books so I took pride in reading early too.

It's a normal, human thing to want to please your parents, and to believe what you're told as a child. I suppose a very strong tendency to fit in with the family culture might point to a young Badger primary... but that's not the only explanation. Going to need more data.

I could never play alone and always wanted a friend, almost as much as I wanted peace and quiet of my room. And yet, boredom was often my companion.

Hmm. This need for community, companionship, another person around is sounding very Badgery.

I have two younger siblings and I was their nanny.

Ah. Got it. So if you aren't a Badger secondary... you definitely learned to model it.

I taught them various words and its meanings, but I also cheated in card games, would be mean to them or blame them for things I knew I would be punished harsher for.

Hmm. Interesting. I mean being mean to your siblings is neither here nor there - I mean I'm sure you resented them a little for nanny duty for one thing, I've been there. But this tactical move of blaming your siblings because you kew that your parents would be more lenient with them... that's definitely the sign of an I-Move secondary (Snake or Bird.)

Once at my job I had (more like wanted) to figure out why the Internet was down, was it the death of a router or electricity problems. A co-worker was convinced it was the router because everything else was on, I wasn’t so sure. I searched my head for the easiest and quickest way to solve this. It was of course to see if the outlet was popped by the kettle before.

I know that English isn't your first language, and I have to admit that I'm not completely sure what "popped by the kettle" means. I think it means "someone accidentally unplugged the router in order to plug the kettle in."

Now that I think about it, there were easier ways to go about this, and without me even leaving the room, but then I figured I’d take an old job NOKIA and see if it charges from that outlet. It didn’t, and I felt really smart and gloated silently that I was right and they weren’t. With high-stakes problems I really think I just do what needs to be done.

You've definitely got this love of going a little bit solo when you problem solve. You did a little experiment, you isolated the problem. Could be Bird... but somehow I'm really getting single-player Environment Snake from you. Might be the slight agent of chaos energy.

I’m a nurse, well, I’ve a nursing degree. Going back to that system after all I’ve been through was a difficult decision. I was bored studying it, a breakup with my friends from college was awful and I still cuss thinking about them, most clinical weeks were shit while we were being ignored, shunned out or used for free labour. Like I had one proper clinical month in 4 years were I was properly taken around with the nurse’s consent, and was given space to learn things. It’s a different republic man.

Sigh. Okay, so it's sounds like your Badger secondary is on full display here with nursing, just like it was with nannying... but I'm sort of thinking it's a model. You CAN do it, but you don't enjoy doing it. This is also the second mention of you being bored. Which, yeah is a human thing... but it's also MORE of a thing for a reactive, improvisational secondary. I'm kind of liking Snake for you.

I never wanted to go back, but job market was shit, so with a heavy heart, kicking and screaming, I faced the reality of me running out of savings, and sent a job application to a hospital, not without my mother’s nudge and support from people I know, who kept saying if it will be awful, you will leave. Sure, like I would even go back if it was that easy.

A badger secondary would put a little more weight on what the community had to say. Also, you talk about always wanting friends as a kid, but as an adult you seem pretty aggressively independent. Burned Badger? Snake?

I know, I know, I could have tried less medical procedures heavy nursing positions, but one thing I knew was that starting in a hospital meant with good social relations I could always ask for help and have an experienced nurse to learn from. Those other places kind of leave you on your own in the field.

So there's definitely some Badger in you. A very PRACTICAL Badger secondary model at the very least.

Sometimes I am a bit sad for being the reasonable one, for not trying to be an artist, to be a translator of a lesser known language, or for not studying literature and living in a dream that one day it will work itself out somehow. But then I get warm in my bed, I get to buy books I want, treat my dogs or get them to a vet when something’s wrong, help my mom or buy a new bed-sheet, and I know being comfortable was more important than whatever my head imagined.

I'm kind of liking Snake primary for you. You have that pin-point practicality Snakes always seem to come back to in the end. Art, following your heart and all that stuff... it sounds nice, and I'd be nice to do. But at the end of the day, the most important thing is to stay warm, buy yourself and your dogs little treats, and help out your mom. That's a Snake primary, with a small circle.

Snake do tend to like Lions, and when things are calm and going well, Snake primaries will often model something else, for fun basically. So I hope something eventually shifts for you (since no situation is permanent) and you can do something maybe a little more Idealistic, which suits your Snake secondary a little better... since I bet it can get both bored and burnt-out by nursing.

Also I know there would’ve been a lot of boot licking, besides the need to be really smart and ingenious, which I wasn’t.

Clients are... a very difficult part of being an artist, it's a thing.

Would I be happier if I followed my sworn oath to never come back? Maybe, if I could study again, learn what I really want, which is too much to pick one subject, as I think a lot of things, could be neat to study for 4 years.

This feels like a Lion primary fantasy to me: Life is loud and chaotic, wouldn't it be nice to spend four years just figuring your self out?

Not nursing though. Maybe if I was able to work in a bookshop or a coffee shop.

This sounds a bit more like a Snake secondary fantasy: work at a nice little shop where there are a lot of low-stakes interesting problems (like figuring out why the router isn't working) and lots of people coming in for you to bounce of of and have fun with.

However, my idea of comfort was more important then. It turned out fine, it doesn’t haunt me.

Because this is, at the end of the day, the only acceptable answer for a Snake primary.

Not like my study years. I’m not sure I would ever go back for masters though, and I shouldn’t, right, as someone who found their subject so boring.

This is definitely a big challenge with you - you get bored easily. Which makes me think Lion secondary or Snake secondary (and with everything else I've read, almost certainly Snake.)

My fantastical dream is living in a nice place, a cottage full of books and comfort near some castle where I can go socialise, work or do anything else with my time that’s needed. But when I come back to my cottage, I am not alone, although I can be if I want to, but instead I am surrounded by a group of friends, who feel like home, who I can be myself with, as in I know I am stupid, and I do and say stupid things as I’m sometimes too airhead or too emotional, but I will first be met with their understanding and kindness rather than judgment and outrage. Basically I want a found family that I don’t have and a home to make my own and with my rules. So little in life is how I want it to be, and only fictional found families are understanding, supporting and kind. That’s why we like them.

I think this is a Double Snake fantasy. Live in a comfortable little cottage, surrounded by friends/found family who "feel like home." That's the dream of a Snake primary. Then you can leave and go someplace cool (a castle!) in order to meet people, work, or just go along with whatever's happening that day. At which point... you come back home and take off all your faces, go into Neutral... and don't have to worry if someone thinks you're stupid, emotional, or air-headed.

(that's a little bit of negative self-talk coming through. Often people with strong Badger secondary influences can look at their Improvisational tendencies and think they're not valid/real/logical. I hope that's not the case with you.)

I know people see reality in various ways. In my reality, everyone is selfish and doing things primarily for themselves (starting with me) so it is hard to understand when we barely can see past our noses.

Yep. You're a Snake primary. A slightly Burned Snake primary, sounds like.

(which might explain why you're sort of fascinated by the Lion way of doing things. Burned Snakes will sometimes model Lion because it seems easier/less painful, and Burned Lions will do the reverse.)

In reality, I want the family heaven, the damn Hallmark Christmas movies. I don’t think I’ll ever do the whole normative family thing, but I’m either lonely or everyday is the same now and nothing’s special.

Staying within the bounds of this system (because I'm not diagnosing anything else over the internet) it sounds like your Snake secondary needs some enrichment. You cheat at games and figure things out for fun! There's got to be something interesting for you to get into. Also - yeah you probably need People apart from your pets and your mom. Easier said than done, though.

I want a plot of land to call my own so I’d be able to put my pets to rest when the time comes, so I’d be able to visit them.

This is why I love Snake primaries. What an incredibly lovely thing to say.

I feel most powerful and confident when I improvise and it works.

SNAKE.

I went for a little trip alone last winter.

Oh yes, absolutely. I love this for you.

I checked for my ride to and back, all possible times, wrote it so that if my devices went out I had something, and I knew I could survive a day or two until my ride home. I booked a place, and I knew where I planned to go for the event. The other 2 days? Who knows, just go around, see the town, explore, and see the places I have not seen. All of this was made spontaneously a few days before because I had a fight with my brother and decided going and staying with a Buddhist group was better than celebrating New Years at home. I had a great time, everything was okay and I am really proud of myself for doing that.

Your Badger model (planning, double checking, making sure all your info is written down) and your Snake secondary (leave on a whim, do whatever once you get there) are playing very well together.

Sounds like a snake secondary right?

Sure does.

But then why do I physically hate lying? I think I am afraid of getting cough [caught?], afraid of not having the right answer in the moment. It seems that I can never evaluate a situation well and choose the right thing to say for a useful lie. I would rather anyone else create the lie and I would then try to make it as honest as possible. I doubt it would work, unless it wasn’t that important.

Your Snake secondary sounds like it's a little Burnt. Not actually that surprising, considering it looks like you've been around such heavy Badger secondary energy all your life, and been expected to use your Badger secondary, and only your Badger secondary, so much. The message you would have been getting is that the Snake secondary way of doing things is - unreliable, cheating, bad. Which just isn't the case. Snake secondaries have a perfectly useful, morally neutral way of doing things.

But all of this - 'I'm afraid, I can't, it wouldn't work,' all that is Burnt secondary language. As is "With high-stakes problems I really think I just do what needs to be done," which is what you said earlier.

I wouldn't be too concerned though. From everything else I've read, you're grounded, stubborn, and have a good sense of who you are. Chances are your Snake secondary is just rusty. Also this: "I would rather anyone else create the lie and I would then try to make it as honest as possible" - that's a good description of how a Snake secondary works. You're bouncing off whoever you're talking to, you're not creating from nothing.

It was difficult when I didn’t know what I’ll do in the future, after school, when all my plans failed. It was really difficult to go through high-school with no friends and shun out, like, if I was a badger primary originally, that would’ve messed me up so bad that I’d never know. I never had a chance to look like the two amazing healthy badgers I know who surrounded themselves with communities and are thriving.

I do think that part of this is just - that you fundamentally do not want a Badger-style community. You want a Snake-style community, which is different.

It was hard when my college friend started to shun me out and drifted away when she found better like I was nothing,

This friend - this one important friend left you, and that gets a shout-out on a level with your plans for the future falling apart. Very Snake primary

or when I had to lie heavily in my academic papers because no one cared to help and I was exhausted to care myself after covid and almost half a year of clinicals and paper writing.

Okay this is fascinating. First, it does sound like you had a bout of situational depression (or similar) which you pushed through, so good for you. But I'm interested in the way that - okay, you lied on your academic papers when push came to shove (which I would expect from a Snake secondary.) BUT. That decision is bound up with your Burnt primary, in feelings of abandonment and loneliness. I'd say you don't like lying, because you associate the need to lie with feeling alone. Ideally, you feel your life should be set up in such a way that you don't *need* to lie.

My relationship with a long time friend from art school is important. She was a positive and inspiring figure in my life, as well as someone who taught me a lot about communication and friendship. We fought a lot, but neither one of us wanted to let the other one go, maybe because we knew we wouldn’t find anyone else who’d match our freak, so we had to figure it out.

Sounds like an important Snake primary relationship.

I love my siblings but all they gave me was a baggage of fear that I was a horrible sibling and broke something in them.

You were a kid. Kids don't have the emotional maturity (or authority) to raise their siblings well, that's just not a job that they're able to do. It's the job of the adults in their life to make sure all those interactions are running as they should. You can be a horror of a little kid a grow up into a wonderful, well-adjusted adult, or you can be a lovely docile little kid and fall apart when you get older. All you can do (all you have to do) is be decent to your siblings now.

My relationship with my mom is really important. To this day she thinks I’d be an artist or that I was a really studious and meticulously prepared person, but without her support I would not be the person I’m today. Neither I’d be that without all the loops I’d to jump because of her haha.

Sounds like your mom might be a Lion Badger. Which could help explain where those models are coming from. It's common for Snake primaries to build models for their important People.

Thank you for your time!

You are very welcome.

Thank you to Novemberkid for such an excellent submission. If you'd like a Sorting of your very own, commissions are open on my ko-fi. :D

If you'd like to read more about the system I'm using, my explanation is right here.

#sortinghatchats #sortme #wisteria sorts #shc #double snake #lion primary model #badger secondary model

19 notes · View notes