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serene-victory-77 · 3 years ago

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Why The Crows Being Teenagers Is Actually Perfectly Realistic

There’s a TL;DR are the end because wow I like to rant.

I lightly discuss the general situations they’re all in to explore how they are frighteningly mature and competent, but it’s not particularly depressing or descriptive, it’s definitely lighter than the books

I thought about this post with a joke first: “People who think that Six of Crows is unrealistic because they’re so young clearly have not spent much time with traumatized honors students.”

It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the point stands.

But I decided that, hm, actually, I could make a point about this. I totally agree with the aging up of the characters in the Shadow and Bone show, but when people straight up say that the books are wrong or unrealistic for having a young crew, I get annoyed, and here’s why (other than me reading the books for the first time when I was 13 and thinking ‘Huh okay, I see it’ and now being lowkey offended when people say they ignore it for being unrealistic):

On Inej

- At first I thought Inej’s wisdom and general demeanor was one of the most unrealistic things in the book

- When I thought about it longer, I was like “Actually, she’s 16, right? I’ve sent some of the most lyrical philosophy trying to help my friends while in high school. My friends have done the same. It’s valid.”

- Frankly, teenagers love hard-hitting philosophical truths. They love repeating what they’ve read or heard in movies and in books and from family stories. They love sharing little bits of wisdom they have come up with

- Inej’s ability to hear and understand philosophy and wisdom that she was surrounded by for 14 straight years and then sit on it and elaborate it for her friends to understand, or even just to piss them off in Kaz’s case?

- Teenagers have that. They do it. So, Inej’s Wisdom passes, to me. It’s valid.

As for her being calm

- You know how everyone jokes that Kaz seems calm on the outside but when you get to his POV he’s like “What the fuck” at the Van Eck house or just straight up “Huh, is this revenge for making tree jokes” at the Djel River thingy in the Ice Court?

- Inej is like that, too. And she gets angry, and she gets confused, or exhausted.

- AKA every quiet kid ever. Like, are you kidding? Have you ever been in a situation in which it’s literally chaos all around you, people are screaming and things are being destroyed (think middle school classroom with bitchy long term substitute and even worse students), and you’re just, calm? You pick up your things, you do what you need to do?

- That’s Inej. Like, what else is she gonna do? She’s smart enough to know that panicking won’t help anyone, and so she just rides it out. Internally she might be like “Why is this happening” but frankly, her being quiet and controlled in most situations is probably a coping mechanism and I respect that

- Pretty sure this is also based on the fact that the Suli have no land for their own and constantly have to keep moving. It might align with generational trauma, I’m sure someone could explain it better than me, but being able to keep your cool while constantly having to change and adapt to new situations, in, say, a country with hellfire politics and no land to call your own? Seems like a hereditary trait that could be useful in Ketterdam, although it’s sad.

On Inej’s abilities

- Simone Biles started training when she was 6 and went to the World Artistic Gymnastics Championships when she was 16, where she qualified in all the events.

- There are videos of people walking over tightropes as young as three years old. We know Inej didn’t start that young, but not only was she naturally talented at it, but she spent a lot of time practicing. I think it’s valid. Plus, some of her family members do some pretty crazy things in her flashbacks, because that’s the whole point of what they do.

- Youngest person to beat American Ninja Warrior was 16 year old Vance Walker

- Inej has a variety of of tools that help her wall climb, and while it’s true that she started young and got good really fast, she already had a history of physical work that would help her, and from what we can gleam from the book, a surprising amount of free time in which she was actively encouraged to learn everything she could.

So that’s Inej! I think her skills are perfectly possible for someone with her history and situation. It’s true that she’s naturally skilled, but that’s not actually all that unusual. And her demeanor and wisdom do fit in with what a lot of teenagers are like and the circumstances she was brought up in

Onto Kaz!

- One thing I hear about is that Kaz is too smart for not having gone to school and also too young to know all that he does

- Do you all KNOW how many self-taught people there have been in this world? The word for people who are self-taught is autodidacts, and honestly a huge amount of famous people apply. Like many, many other people in history (there’s a whole list of them in Wikipedia), he had an vested interest in a field and he learned all he could. Sure, those fields were magic tricks and math, but still.

- Suddenly I have a lot of thoughts

- Okay, think, hyperfixations. That’s essentially what Kaz’s thing with magic tricks was, right? Have any of you ever spent time with an eight year old that clearly really, really loves dinosaurs? Those kids can spout names and facts and identify them by their skeletons and frankly know more than I ever will. Kaz’s was magic tricks. All kids are special.

- Kaz continued working on magic tricks and practicing them for years, so, I think that gets a pass.

- As for the math! Look, a Fact Of Life is that some kids are just Like That, whether it be possibly from neurodivergence or other factors:

- Flo and Kay Lyman are twins with Autism who basically have the calendar of EVER memorized. Kaz memorizing card decks is sensible, and these ladies don’t need to look up anything to figure it out, so Kaz doing sums inside his head seems plausible. His “photographic memory’ isn’t impossible, although the term itself might be incorrect.

- Katherine Johnson who worked at NASA (yes, the lady from Hidden Figures), was so good at math that she was in high school by age 10 and went to college at age 15. It’s true that she had some teaching, but 1. There’s no evidence Kaz had absolutely no schooling, even if it was just at home with books and 2. Kaz was 9 when he came to Ketterdam, and after Jordie died, when he wasn’t surviving, he was learning.

- Human calculator is a term that is applied to children a lot and there’s definitely plenty of videos showing how smart these kids are and them doing mental math easily, which he does in the books

- He had a LOT of pressure on him to figure out all he could, and if he wanted to move forward, he was going to have to learn a lot. He spent hours practicing magic tricks, for all we know he spent hours practicing math too. We know Jordie was a bit of a bookworm too, so Kaz from a young age probably already had a reason to learn. Personally, a lot of my love for books was inspired by my older sibling when I was younger

- Young people are adaptable. Kaz is incredibly adaptable. The term prodigy exists because of people like him through history.

- As for him being rational, there’s no other way to survive. Some of the greatest soldiers in history have been very, very young, and very, very smart. It’s true tacticians are generally considered to be older, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been very young ones.

- A lot of the generals I found were like, 19 years old, but Kaz is 1. not a general and 2. in a place where young people take up the mantle really, really quickly, and frankly it’s been like that for a long time. I still think this passes. This isn’t relevant but William the Conqueror was apparently called “The Bastard”?

- Frankly, underground communities of thieves probably don’t go around publishing their escapades so to me it makes sense that I can’t just look up “famous young thieves” and get anything that makes sense, but I did try

- Y’all I tried to do research on youngest escape artists since I think Kaz qualifies and I found myself in what I think is a magicians forum? It’s from 2002-ish and I feel like I’ve just found a relic. I can’t definitely prove they’re all saying the truth, but some of the people there talk about 10-11 year olds at magic camps, so, it’s not impossible for this to be a skill Kaz learned really young, particularly when he made a habit of following around magicians

- I think he passes the realism check overall

For the other Crows:

- Nina being so proficiently multilingual makes sense to me, because she’s been in the Little Palace almost her entire life with all the best teachers they could afford at her disposal. Some people just click with languages. One such would be Timothy Doner, who spoke 23 languages at 16.

- Nina is a child soldier. She of course can handle the battlefield, although I imagine there’s a degree of trauma that she has to deal with (although it’s true that most of her work was always meant to angle her towards being a spy).

- Jesper was taught to shoot from a young age by Aditi, who was likely incredibly proficient. Plus, there’s mentions of him and his father being on some sort of frontier at one point in the books, so, it’s likely that Jesper got his fair share of ‘being a child soldier” since he would’ve been 15 or younger. Plus, with being a Fabrikator, he gets a leg up

- Jesper’s smart y’all, he just also likes to have fun

- I am a little terrified by the fact that I looked up ‘youngest sharpshooter’ and found out about a 9 year old girl (Addysson “Addy” Soltau) who can indeed shoot guns, but uh, it does prove my point

- Matthias... I haven’t heard anyone really argue about Matthias. He’s the oldest at 18 and again, he’s essentially a religious child soldier. Of course he would be built af and know how to handle himself in a fight, and in a flashback about meeting Trassel, we’re told that he was actually distanced from the other boys and was the biggest and strongest/smartest of the group. Perhaps not compared to Kaz, but still

- We know how Wylan ended up how he is, so I don’t think i have to defend how he’s both a musical prodigy, good at math, and good at chemistry. Plenty of kids who can’t do one thing will immediately gravitate to a different field (think AP math students who can’t write essays, or those kids who could analyse a book and it’s metaphors in class but didn’t understand geometry).

- Granted he took it far but it’s kinda implied that his father ignored him eventually and what else was Wylan going to do

- I don’t really know how he did chemistry while not being able to read the symbols and stuff, but that’s likely because I’ve never had to learn the way he did and also I really suck at Chemistry, but I refuse to believe that it invalidates his capabilities

Final Thoughts:

- They’re Traumatized Honors Students

- People might say that “it’s unrealistic that all the smart ones somehow ended up together” but again they’re traumatized honors students and those gravitate to each other

- Of course the smart ones ended up together, they’re the ones in those crazy situations precisely because they are prodigies. Nina wouldn’t have met Matthias if she wasn’t skilled and a spy, Kaz wouldn’t have known Inej if she hadn’t been skilled at silence (I can’t explain that one but uh ninjas did/do exist and it IS still a fantasy world). Kaz would have never been a leader of the Dregs in a position to find Jesper if he hadn’t been so determined to rise to the top, and Jesper wouldn’t have been in Ketterdam if his father hadn’t thought that Jesper was smart enough to get that chance.

- You know how those fringe revolutionary artists for new eras end up knowing all knowing each other and even hanging out? That’s them.

- I have decided there is a strong basis for Autistic Kaz, someone who is more studied than me should feel free to explore this.

- I read this book a few years ago, A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah. It’s about this guy’s experiences as a boy soldier and it’s a painful read so I’m not sure I recommend it as a casual read, but he talked about these young kids being able to actually make competent military strategies and handle warfare. It’s an extreme example of what I’m trying to explain when it comes to them being able to handle the brutality of their situation, but it’s true, essentially

- They are definitely serious, but if you think they’re not teenagers I just, disagree so much. They have moments of lighthearted banter, they make light of their situation, they try to support each other Nina covers it so well in her farewell at the end of Crooked Kingdom: The little rescues of laughing at each others jokes or eating together and just supporting each other, is not only a very human thing, but a very teenager thing.

- Scary experiences that shape us happen all the time, and although for most it’s not the things that the Crows experience, picking each other up is a big part of why they do read as teenagers to me. I’ve seen kids be able to seriously converse about things like being questioned by the police, or being left to their own devices for days at a time, or the general impending doom they all feel, and it’s dark, but they’re also going to joke about silly puns 20 minutes later.

- Teenagers aren’t exempt from terrifying maturity and competence

- Finally: Despite all I said, it’s a fantasy story and doesn’t have to be realistic

In the end, everyone can believe what they want to believe, but this is my case for my opinion.

TL;DR The Crows are all prodigies and a lot of their achievements and capabilities are based in reality and there are real people who actually achieved things like what they’ve done. Messed up prodigies gravitate to messed up prodigies, hence how they all end up together. When it comes to their mental state, most of them have been brought up their entire lives in situations that required for them to problem solve and keep their cool even when things are going to hell.

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fallencomrade · 4 years ago

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━━ 𝟑s

please repost, don’t reblog.

𝟑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐇𝐒

▘ LOYALTY ➺ a shining trait of james barnes that ( somehow ) survived the passing of time and tribulation. since his early brooklyn days, bucky barnes displayed a steadfast loyalty and dedication towards those he loved and cherished. growing up during a time when there was a heavy emphasis on duty and responsibility, james understood his role as the eldest and only male child of george and winifred barnes - and assumed that role with ease and enthusiasm. this loyalty extended beyond blood though, as was proven by james’ devotion to close friends, the most notorious being his everlasting friendship with steven rogers. hydra had tried to weaponize this gleaming trait, hoping to mold it to their liking and use it to instill a unquestionable loyalty to their cause. they were pathetically unsuccessful - and the chair and cryochamber were fashioned as a result. after his time spent with hydra, TRUST is something barnes deeply struggles with. his trusted inner circle has certainly grown smaller and much more exclusive, but james still harbors this same dedication to those selected few. given his past and his current afflictions, those bonds he does manage to forge prove all the more stronger and resilient.

▘ TENACITY ➺ the serum only enhanced that which already existed within him. childhood was spent surviving the rough and tumble of brooklyn city streets, made all the more grueling with steve rogers as a best friend. as such, barnes learned at a very young age how to assess a situation, adapt to his surroundings and ( most importantly ) how to survive. dance hall skirmishes and back alley brawls were nothing though compared to the brutalities of war. still, it was this grit that helped the young man not only survive but excel as a sergeant. the army soon discovered that this notorious flirt from brooklyn exhibited a certain aptitude for sharpshooting. this impressive talent along with james’ natural charisma helped to build him a trusted reputation within the ranks and respect among his comrades. these talents were also what made the man such a formidable soldier. the bastard - serum amplified these strengths and hydra WEAPONIZED them. years blurred into decades and his skills were hellishly refined thanks to rigorous and ruthless training. the winter soldier program reconstructed the man into a living, breathing weapon capable of handling any firearm, blade, explosive, advanced weaponry, artillery or blunt object. && if he truly found himself limited and weaponless, the cybernetic arm soldered to his body proved a more than capable alternative. in combat, the soldier proved a devastating force and hydra was quick to take the credit and reap the benefits, but this staggering ability to adapt without pause and utilize his surroundings for his advantage stemmed not in the dirty lab of one arnim zola but began on the street corners of the city james barnes’ called home.

▘ VIRTUE / ETHICS ➺ growing up during the depression was not easy for anyone and neither was spending the beginning of young adulthood surviving the second world war. his childhood was marked by some of the worst and most difficult times in history - and yet james never allowed hardship or misfortune deter his regard for�� hard work, nor did he allow it to pollute his idealistic outlook on life. both his parents worked hard to support the family and that same work - ethic was imparted onto james, who assumed the role eagerly and naturally. luckily, during this time of strife, his family always had enough to provide both him and his two sisters a comfortable lifestyle, with various opportunities to explore and take advantage of - which was more than some families could boast at that time. after the death of sarah rogers, james made the decision to move into an apartment with his best friend. as young bacherlors, they did not have much but together they managed to scrape by and make an honest living. despite steve’s skepticism, james’ choices were never made out of pity or some disgruntled sense of obligation. he worked tirelessly and did what he had to because that was what he grew up believing. a man takes care of the people he loves, no matter what. whatever the cost - working two jobs, skipping a meal here and there, some months spent without heat, selling unnecessary belongings - bucky would do whatever was necessary - and did so without complaint. in fact, he woke up each morning with a smile on his face and a quip on his tongue. for him, there was no better reward or greater comfort than knowing the ones he loved were taken care of. he believes himself unrecognizable when compared to that willful man now, but certain traits of the old james barnes can still be found within him. there is a payout for hard work and the man that he is today is slowly remembering those feelings of satisfaction and fulfillment in honest labor.

𝟑 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒

▘ RUTHLESSNESS ➺ 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑢𝑚 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠. 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎��. 𝑏𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 ... before the horrible truth was unmasked, the history books painted james barnes in a favorable glow. he was known for being the young jovial, dashing side - kick of captain america. A PATRIOT - dedicated, noble, brave, honorable ;; an honest, hardworking man who cared about family, duty, honor and sacrifice. && he was many of these things. no one could deny james barnes of his genuine heart of gold. the man was willing to do anything for those he loved. anything. such love was a truly powerful thing, capable of cultivating great beauty. it could also prove to be equally as DISASTROUS. at its purest form, it inspired strength, selflessness, kindness. twisted, it became a deadly incentive. the BRUTALITY of the winter soldier was not born solely from the torture inflicted upon him or the serum he was infected with. beneath his buoyant, sprightly exterior existed a side of james barnes that was seldom exposed, unless provoked. there was a violence that lived within the darker parts of his heart, a ruthless determination to protect the things which were important to him. && if anyone dared to threaten those things ? well ... those details are far less known. if needed, james had no qualms about getting his hands dirty or splitting open his knuckles to send a very clear message. he had an ability to separate himself from his own subconscious and used this talent to become someone almost unrecognizable from his more charming counterpart. this austerity deepened into something even more callous during the war - when the enemy became much more larger and far more deadly. to switch back and forth between these personas became even more fluid and then - it became frighteningly easy. it was a duality that many were forced to adopt in order to survive the TRAUMAS of war. it was only a glimpse of what he was truly capable of though. the extent of his CRUELTY reached its full potential once he was injected with zola’s serum. bucky barnes was capable of great horror, even before he became the winter soldier - but with the serum, the torture && captivity - this capacity was exposed and steadily becoming the CRUX of his entire character. despite the size of his heart of the pureness of his intentions, there still exists a violence inside of him. ruthless and efficient, it has grown, survived, thrived and matured over the years, and still sits within his core today - its potential just as deadly and just as horrifying.

▘ DISSOCIATION / DETATCHMENT ➺ an extension of the adverse trait described above, james started to display this ability to separate himself from his more repugnant qualities early on. he was never known for being VIOLENT. that brutality was extracted and molded once hydra got their hands on him, it was assumed. the historians will tell you the winter soldier was a product of inhumane warfare, experimentation, abuse and indoctrination, but james knows the truth ... in the beginning, james did what he had to to protect the ones he loved. during his captivity, he did what he had to to survive. && now - he does what he needs to to live with himself. && what was necessary in all these occasions required the man to separate himself from his empathy - and later on, his HUMANITY. he relied so heavily on this mechanism during his time as the soldier that the disconnection became more common than not and breaking free from that impulse is something he continues to struggle with today - and something he is hesitant to even relinquish. dissociation makes it easier to exist ;; to move forward - as is expected of him. one day bleeds into another, into another, into another ... and he moves with it, no longer a phantom existing outside of time. instead, an active presence. — but his continued reliance on this crutch ? he exists. but is james barnes living ? IS HE REALLY ALIVE ?

▘ INDECISION ( current day ) ➺ a weakness that only manifested after his captivity, barnes deeply struggles with the burden of choice. freedom. autonomy. ambition. purpose. all the small ( yet crucial ) decisions and preferences that define a person’s character oftentimes feels absent from his makeup. james buchanan barnes used to have strong opinions, about anything and everything. his favorite flavor of pie, best subject in school, favored season, blondes - brunettes ? hell, he even had a favorite color. if someone were to ask this james barnes about those same sentiments, if they lasted and endured the years along with him or if they had changed with the time, james would falter and stare back with vacant eyes. individuality feels like a withered gravesite inside of him, a bottomless pit of nothing. every so often he may hear the flickering echoes of what once was, but the enthusiasm - the passion - feels distant, far - away. for decades, he had been deprived of free will. he was a WEAPON and weapons did not feel or think. weapons did not make noise unless fired by the hands authorized to use them. unbounded, given a NAME once again, a voice - and he knows he should feel grateful. && yet, the only thing he feels is overwhelmed. his mind does not hesitant when it comes to battle ;; TO KILLING. his hands know exactly which gun to reach for given a situation, how much pressure to apply to snap a bone. he no longer needs to run the numbers in his head to calculate a bullets’ trajectory given distance and wind speed. he fires without thought and never misses. he is an expert of wartime tactics. violence is second nature to him, right behind DEATH. now, alive - a free man ... they ask him what he wants and barnes ... does not know - and he inadvertently still finds himself looking to others to supply those answers ( that instruction. )

𝟑 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒

▘ SHAMEFUL INCLINATIONS ➺ to admit such whims out loud would flood him with repugnant shame. he knows it is wrong to reminisce and crave the inertia of subjection, but he cannot deny the nostalgic longing that twists inside of him on his darkest days. to think such things ;; to feel such things disgraces the efforts and sacrifices that were made in order to free him from those chains. — but james barnes has always been selfish like that. it is easy to brush off accountability and blame hydra for everything. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗒 ! 𝗁𝗒𝖽𝗋𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽. ▪ 𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞. ▪ 🇾🇴🇺 🇦🇷🇪 🇹🇭🇪 🇱🇴🇳🇬🇪🇸🇹 🇸🇪🇷🇻🇮🇳🇬 🇵🇴🇼. ▪ 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. ▪ 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾. NO CHOICE. they had absolute control over his body, his mind. (did they?) he could not refuse. (couldn’t he?) the grim reality is that, as years bled into decades, the leash hydra had chained around his neck started to loosen considerably, until the pull barely existed at all. rarely did his handlers need to rely on the early tactics to keep him in line. he COMPLIED without resistance. both masters and soldier fell into an agreeable rhythm, following a trusted routine. it made activation less agonizing, muffled the scratching of chaotic thoughts into soothing white noise. it made his orders simpler ;; made killing easier ;; made existing with himself ... easier. it was a gift ( they told him ) to be relieved of the burden of choice and there are times when he still ( shamefully ) agrees with this. to feel nothing at all, after having felt so much ... ? it is a very dangerous thing. the numbing high of indifference, apathy, inertia - can feel like FREEDOM.

▘ LIKELIHOOD OF RECOVERY ➺ the harrowing truth ... he has lived more of his life as a WEAPON than he has a person. after everything he has gone through, james feels more machine than he does human. he feels the corrosion of rust spreading through him. his body does not feel like flesh and bone, but more akin to gears and wires and metal. thoughts are mere embedded programming ... implanted, artificial. his heart feels like a gnarled knot inside his chest. his soul feels absent. morality is faint, compassion - oftentimes hard to find. to choose requires great effort ;; to think requires effort ;; to care requires effort - and james is exhausted. those on his side tell him he deserves a chance to recover, to heal - but he sometimes thinks that the best thing they could do given the situation is to take this body that feels more like a weapon, decommission it, place it in storage under lock and key and allow it to gather dust. can he heal ? can he recover ? can he exist as anything other than a weapon ? after all this time and after everything he has gone through ? he isn’t sure. optimism hasn’t been his forte since 1942. he considers himself a realist. && if his chances follow his rotten history of luck, the odds do not appear to be on his side.

▘ DRAFTED SOLDIER ➺ he will never admit it. ever. && how befitting - this dark secret. how it reveals the nature of his character ... all the blood on his hands, all the lives he has stolen, the atrocities he has committed - and this is the one thing he is most ashamed of. his head is filled with dark secrets - hydra’s, his own. all of them are shameful, ugly, brutal and yet this one secret stands out the most in his mind. this is the one that GUTS him the most, because it was before ... everything. before the war, before hydra, before the soldier. this reveals james barnes at his core. this is his blemish ;; his most reproachable trait. this destroys his character more than hydra or the soldier ever did. it is a truth he will never admit to, to anyone. he will even go as far as denying it, lying to his dying breath. — but how could he admit such a thing ? after witnessing the bravery and determination he saw in others, in his best friend - to serve, to protect - without the slightest pause or hesitation. all the while he tried to hide from the call of duty, hoping. praying. james barnes never signed up to serve the second world war. it is a secret he has never admitted to anyone. not to his friends, his father or sisters. not to the other commandoes. not even ( especially not ) steve. && it is a secret he will take to the grave.

𝟑 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒

▘ LOSING AUTONOMY ➺ while freedom has proven tumultuous, he still prefers the struggle when compared to the alternative. while under hydra’s control, james barely surfaced, but the rare times he did he saw the world though a murky sheet of ice, drifting in the inertia of the soldier’s compliance. existence felt more like an out of body experience - a resultant of trauma, he was later told. he witnessed his torture, his brutal crimes, the creeping advancement of hydra’s power, more as an onlooker than an active participant. it made certain things ... easier to stomach. the torture, the experiments ;; stasis, the chair. it made following orders ... simpler. he hardly blinked when exposed to his own potential for DEVASTATION. the violence. the breaking, rebuilding and training of more soldiers, the little spiders. torture. murder. during his less lucid states, he ( selfishly ) welcomed the disconnect, but every so often - his old sense of morality would give a kick and he would stare, wide - eyed and horrified. he would honestly try with every bit of strength he had left inside of him to stop himself, to control himself, but even his hardest endeavors failed miserably against the soldier’s rigid conditioning. nothing more than the occasional hiccup in his code, a sudden half - second hesitation - quickly roped back into submission by screaming static. to exist in such a way - condemned to watch as your shadow destroys every bit of light within, fated to feel the rot putrefy your soul, slowly - slowly ... it is a terrible thing. && it will continue to haunt james for the rest of his life. he may struggle to find purpose after his liberation, the motivation and energy to pursue a meaningful life, but the last thing he ever wants ( what he fears ) is to be used as a PUPPET again.

▘ LIVING ➺ he existed in a definite state for a very long time, long enough for him to find comfort in routine, monotony - THE EXPECTED. there was an equation to surviving hydra ( surviving himself ) - and hydra proved they would be true to their word if only he obeyed. COMPLIANCE WILL BE REWARDED. orders were clear and exact and non - negotiable. missions were organized and coordinated, objectives defined well before he was even pulled from stasis. he knew what to expect - how much pain he would need to endure, what followed activation, what proceeded mission completion - and he knew what he needed to do in order to make the process bearable. ( ready to comply ) the soldier did not like it when things did not go according to plan. like hydra, he did not like surprises. lose ends. it required him to make decisions, to think ... orders were simple. all he needed to do was complete them as quickly, as cleanly and as efficiently as possible, AS INSTRUCTED. any deviation from the expected leads quickly into CHAOS and chaos can be as dangerous and as deadly as an explosion. after the failure of project insight, the soldier was forced to adapt to his situation in order to survive. the upheaval of sudden liberation almost destroyed him. he spent those first few months in a mad attempt to regain some semblance of order. he hid out of sight, living as a ghost while struggling with whiplashing whims: the rigid impulse to return to his surviving handlers ( for orders ) or the luring urge to continue to run and observe this new form of reality he had abruptly been exposed to. it was a constant strife between soldier and man ;; compliance and curiosity. the longer he was exposed to clean air though, the more james barnes settled to the surface, the stronger his voice became. the soldier slowly started to come to terms with some truths. he did not miss the chair - or hydra’s drugs. he did not miss the violence. it was enough to justify his decision to run - and slowly, the man started to live. to be alive ( human ) opened the door to many things he did not mind. music, knowledge, the warmth of a blanket, pizza ... but there was a price. james learned in bucharest that he could not continue to live as a ghost. he could not continue to reap the benefits of living without also bearing its obligations. the more he is dragged back into the land of the living, the more responsibility is placed on his shoulders. he is forced now to make decisions that not only impact his life but others as well. it also brings into focus his past, forcing him to start coming to terms with his crimes - and his guilt. to live a life involves many things james is not yet comfortable with. he is forced to move forward, to make choices, to collaborate and trust others, to heal ... all new waters the man is deathly afraid to wade into, because it leads to uncertainty, leads to the unexpected. cause and effect. there is no equation to guarantee success ;; no trusted, proven procedure to follow. to live a full life means making decisions and then being brave enough to live with those decisions. barnes still deeply struggles with the fear of the UNKNOWN, and when overwhelmed by crippling indecision, finds himself clinging to old comforts. that same sickening desire to exist once more beyond the bounds of time, a chimera relieved of the burden of choice all together.

▘ HIMSELF ➺ his potential. his mind, body - everything contained within this cage of blood and bone terrifies him. for him ( && those made like him ) freedom is nothing more than a far - fetched pipedream. zemo shattered all illusions of freedom, and all it took was the whisper of ten choice words. regardless of the small progress he made in the years following his defection, all of it was reduced to rubble the moment he was dragged back into the plane of the living. he was careless, ignorant, sloppy - allowing himself to be curious, hopeful - and six agents paid the price for it in germany when the soldier was reactivated. the great fist of hydra is indeed a terrifying sight to behold, but james understands the soldier is simply a byproduct of himself - and that is what truly horrifies him. even before the serum was introduced into his body, his potential was ... concerning. the things he was willing to do back home ;; the things he was willing to do during the war ... the disconcerting ways he was able to manipulate his own morality. his malleable ethical code. the serum only heightened that which already existed inside of him, but it did pave a space for corruption to thrive. it made him even more dangerous, even more LETHAL. his potential for destruction was exemplified. his ability to survive, his tolerance for pain - expanded. the serum allowed hydra the opportunity to find that seed of ugliness which existed inside of him and feed it, cultivate it. they helped it grow and thrive, and then sowed the deadly fruits. the things he found himself capable of - the violence, the brutality. the things he learned to stomach ;; the horrors he found himself able to commit ... revolutionists. bright minds. visionaries. humanitarians. entire families. innocent bystanders. good people. children. he killed without blinking ;; without flinching - and then returned to the people who issued those orders and waited for more. there were a handful of times when he hesitated, questioned - but for the most part, he completed his orders without question and did so without feeling a flutter of disturbance. i had no choice. hydra had control of his mind. you couldn’t refuse them. it wasn’t your fault. he can hide behind those excuses all he wants, but barnes knows what lives inside of him. he knows what hydra put inside him and what was already there. the winter soldier might be an exaggeration of the worst parts of a person - as captain america exemplified the best - but the soldier is only a reflection of the darkness that already lived within him. && THAT IS TERRIFYING.

𝟑 𝐆𝐎𝐀𝐋𝐒

▘ PURPOSE ➺ ever since his reemergence back into the land of the living, james has struggled to understanding what to do with newfound existence. a name, a face, a place in this world, an identity and yet - on most days he still feels like a weapon. recovery feels similar to deactivation, and the soldier finds himself waiting, constantly preparing for the day when they will take him out of storage, brush off the rust and use him once more. the expectation looms over him like a dark cloud and hinders his progress. — but what else does he have to offer ? what else can he do ? if not for some useful purpose, why does he exist ? if the only thing he knows how to do is fight, kill, DESTROY - what other direction is there ? he is good at what he does. he is good at what hydra bred him to be ... but he does not want to exist for that purpose. he is tired of war, of violence - but without the constant stimulation of battle, time is a slow and dragging endeavor. he does want to prove ( to the world, hydra, steve, to himself ) that he is more than just a weapon made for war, but he finds himself more often than not questioning the validity to that statement, especially when it is the only thing that feels natural to him. the serum defines him. his skillset defines him. his past defines him - and if he has proven one thing, it is that he is a good fighter. A GOOD KILLER. he excels when it comes to battle. he is hard to stop ;; hard to kill - and these types of strengths point to one obvious path. one does not use a blade to paint a magnificent masterpiece. he was weaponized long ago and to try to be anything but what he has been for so long seems ... counterproductive. still, he does not want to keep fighting - and his doctors tell him that is important ( essential ). if he isn’t serving though, what should he do ? time is so painstakingly slow and without stasis, he does not know how to fill in the stagnant space in between. he might lose whatever shreds of sanity he has left - and there isn’t much left to spare. he needs guidance, instruction. he needs someone to tell him what to do ... they tell him it is up to him to decide, but he doesn’t know. he does not want to go back to hydra ;; he does not want to be controlled or manipulated. — but when time starts to pull and drag and his mind is left free to wander ... there are times when he feels desperate enough to long for orders. he hopes to find some kind of meaning once again to his existence and hopes this time around, it is fashioned for something good.

▘ A SENSE OF IDENTITY ➺ he is not sure he will ever truly feel natural within his own skin or inside his own mind. the face he wears now feels more like a mask, stretched to the seams to hide the husk beneath. for so long he existed as a puppet, body moving on command. his actions never felt like his own and neither did his thoughts. for far too long, he was a stranger inside his own mind and body. the strings have been cut, a name placed back on his tongue - but he still feels ... empty. who is he ? what does he like to do ? what are his hobbies ? his interests ? what does he dislike ? what makes him happy ? what makes him sad ? they ask him these questions and all he can hear are the voices of old hydra handlers inside his head. A WEAPON NEED NOT BOTHER ITSELF WITH SUCH MEANINGLESS FRIVOLITIES. — it is not a part of your code. he often needs to be reminded ( reassured ) - he is not a weapon. he is not a machine. beneath skin and bone, he has a heart. he has a mind and both these things belong to him. he is allowed to want, to feel, to explore, to refuse, to challenge ... freely. it is a hard concept for him to remember and to accept, but he has made some strides. he has discovered ( rediscovered ? ) some things he likes: the feel of sunlight against his face, the smell of coffee, the soft scratch of a record player and the fuzzy music which follows, a trusted knife, pizza, warm blankets ... he has also recognized some things he does not like. the building crackle of electricity, paralysis, the stench of death, silence so loud it hurts, eyes watching him, the sudden, sharp hiss of ice melting, prolonged pain ... meager progress maybe, but it is a start - and james hopes to some day feel the same comfort within his own body and mind that his past - self seemed to epitomize so effortlessly. TO BE HIS OWN PERSON - defined by passions, opinions ;; propelled by confident choices made with conviction ... the idea seems so unattainable given how DAMAGED he is, but it is still something he would like to attain. if only to prove to hydra ( && to himself ) that he is in fact his own person and that he does not belong to anyone - but himself.

▘ TO PROMOTE POSITIVE CHANGE ➺ after all the destruction he has blasted into the course of history, the idea seems almost ... laughable. dismissible certainly, for what other purpose could hands sharpened into blades be used for ? && perhaps even insulting, to those whose lives he ruined. like his other emotions, after his desertion his guilt was initially muted, but the longer he remains in this plane of existence - the more time allowed to heal - the more james comes face to face with those directly impacted by his crimes, and each time the discomfort inside him grows stronger. the memories are returning and most of them are HORRIFIC. the lives he cut short, the families he ripped apart. the orphans he abandoned, the parents he made bury their children ... the peace he broke in order to secure continued chaos. hydra was a parasite, feasting on the corpses of war and conflict - gorging and growing - and he was one of the reasons how they survived and thrived throughout history. the fist of hydra, zimniy soldat, the soldier, hydra’s bloodhound. he was unseen from the eyes of the world, faceless - but his actions resonated ;; his reputation notorious, even if only as a ghost story. many of his crimes have been made public thanks to the widow’s data dump, but there are many ( too many ) that are still undisclosed - known only to him, his victims and the hydra higher - ups who issued the orders. he knows it sounds silly, far - fetched, childish - but it would be nice to have some kind of impact on this world that isn’t so violent or destructive. he knows he cannot make amends for all the bad he has done. there is too much blood ( far too much blood ) but if he could do something ... to prove he can be something more than that which hydra made of him, he would like to try. there is no fixing the damage the winter soldier has caused. there is no way to restore james barnes’ promising reputation, but to leave this world knowing he could do something good - after doing so much bad - would feel ... freeing.

tagged by : stolen ! tagging : @cxpt, @justicetempered, @gcroinya, @fatedfuturist, @agntross, @mxndwitch, @toscrve

#⸢ ✪ ⸥ CHARACTER STUDY. | ‘ 𝑗𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠.#long post for ts #⸢ ✪ ⸥ OOC. | ‘ i spent waaay too much time on this. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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300iqprower · 3 years ago

Note

I don't think FGO Musashi is that much like historical Musashi, since that guy was a *massive* jackass (complimentary) who, at one point, basically walked up to a twelve year old (who'd sent a bunch of archers and riflemen to murder him), killed him, then ran the fuck away in the other direction. FGO Musashi would never be that much of a rat-bastard, or that interesting at all.

Yeah that sounds like proper Musashi. In that context I meant in terms of what their legacy is, IE Fate Nero represents completely different things in Fate than they did in life, whereas Musashi in fate is if nothing else still seen as "That badass with the dual wield style". But you're not wrong.

The problem with Fate Musashi is how...safe she is. Which is sadly proven valid by how popular she is. She was a lot more interesting to me BEFORE i did Shimosa, and it's not just because the ending to shimosa is some of the worst writing i've seen in any piece of media ever. If Olympus doesnt give me a reason to care about her i'll just have to overwrite her with my own headcanons entirely.

Specifically i thought she'd be way more crude and blunt than she actually is, and that sounded great cause I love tomboy-type characters, but like....she's not remotely what is advertised. OTHER characters make her out to be a lot more of a slob, more irresponsible, etc, hell in the Sparrow Event she's more entertaining as a ghost with one scene who isn't even actually there than she is when she's ACTUALLY there all throughout Summer 4. Engrish is not a personality trait. She's built up like she's harem protagonist level horny and a massive slob, but in reality she just...really likes food and makes a flirty comment every once in a while. Other than that she's just a standard "cool hero" character. She's not some slob with a hidden talent and heart of gold, she's this wandering warrior who's very noble and a bit rascally at most.

Nasu supposedly designed and conceptualized her and than gave all the writing to Sakurai, which has to be the reason for her, well, everything. Sakurai tends to sandblast all but exactly one character flaw off of her characters and either hyperfocus on a character trait to a grating annoyance of a fault, or to just constantly heap praises on them and make them a mary sue. Musashi is kinda both those things at once. Nasu designed a character who clearly had a very strong personality but then I'm guessing Sakurai hero worshipped her to the point that in writing Musashi didnt actually get most of the intended detail. The character had all the right ingredients thrown in, but the pot was then boiled to the point of removing most of the flavor. So what we're left with is this incredibly generic sword hero character that we're just assumed to automatically love because of their name. Which works frighteningly well in a gacha setting where you only get glimpses of the character and have all that time to build them up as more than they really are.

#fgo #fgo musashi #character analysis #never thought i'd get an ask

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nekojitachan · 4 years ago

Text

it’s been a long week but at least I got this done. And now I have to get chapter fics done. Really. But the first part of the angsty Raven!Andrew soulmate not fic is done. Not that I’m already thinking of the second part. And hey! It’s a fic that’s under 40k...

Last part can be found here

Mentions of violence (being beaten) but not explicit, but I think that’s it? Oh, references to Ichirou’s past.

*******

Waking up in pain wasn’t unusual for Andrew, not after all the years in the foster system then his time spent in juvie. He’d gotten so used to it that it had been unexpected, living with Nicky and Aaron, when he woke up most days without the sensation of pain somewhere in his body, only to be replaced with the strain from overworked muscles once he joined the Ravens (oh, and a sadistic bastard who had a thing for caning his players).

But this? The stinging throb from punches and kicks? Definitely familiar. What wasn’t? The large room with black leather couches, large, flat-screen televisions on the wall, a fancy-looking bar, and expensive artwork scattered around the place, not to mention an expanse of windows on the one side. Andrew rubbed his bound hands through the plush red carpet he lay upon and suspected that he was in the East Tower where Nathaniel spent so much time.

He’d just started to push himself into a sitting position when he heard the sound of muffled footsteps. “Looks like the runt is awake,” a deep voice called out. “Just like Junior, he bounces back fast.”

Before Andrew could turn around, he found himself jerked upright by the back of his jersey by Nathan Wesninski of all people; the bastard was dressed in black slacks and a light grey dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He barely had time to take that in before he was punched in the stomach, right where his padding was the thinnest, with enough force to make him gasp in pain, and then again in the face. As he struggled to shove the bastard away, to do something, Wesninski laughed and slammed him against the wall. “And just like Junior, you don’t know when to behave and take your punishment, you little-“

“That’s enough.”

The firmly spoken command was enough to stop Wesninski in mid-punch; the bastard grunted as he let go of Andrew’s throat and stepped away. “I was told to teach him a lesson.”

“I believe you’ve done that,” a young Asian man, dressed in a tailored black suit, told Wesninski as he stepped forward; he looked to be in his early twenties, if that, with a lean build and black hair combed back from a face which was oddly familiar.

Andrew suspected that he’d finally met Ichirou Moriyama.

“Tetsuji said-“

“And I just told you that’s enough.” Despite Ichirou not raising his voice, something in his dark gold eyes made Wesninski stiffen and bow his head. “I’ll deal with Minyard, you can leave and inform my uncle that the matter is resolved on your way out.” When Wesninski moved forward, Ichirou spoke again. “And Nathan? I’ll also deal with Nathaniel.”

Something unpleasant flashed across Wesninski’s face at the mention of his son. “It’s best if I handle my-“

Ichirou cut off the man known as ‘the Butcher’ once again as he walked over to the bar. “He’s not your anything anymore, not after you sold him to my family. You have your orders.” He looked up from pouring a drink to give Wesninski a cold look, as if daring the man to make him say anything else.

He might be a sadistic, abusive bastard, but Wesninski apparently could get the hint; he bowed his head in a curt manner then stalked out of the room.

Andrew slumped against the wall and watched him go, then focused his attention on the unknown Moriyama; well, that was partially untrue. He knew that the young man was Riko’s older brother yet had nothing to do with the asshole, and that for some reason, he tended to look out for Nathaniel.

That he appeared to be here to ‘deal’ with Andrew.

“What, no drink for me?” he drawled as he raised his bound hands to dab at his bleeding lip.

Ichirou regarded him with cool appraisal while he sipped his drink, appearing in no hurry to answer. Once the glass was empty, he set it down on the bar and refilled it. “Nat tells me that you’re intelligent, almost frighteningly so, and never forget a thing. He also says you’re very stubborn, which isn’t a surprise if you’re his soulmate.”

Andrew merely grunted in response to those facts.

“I know that you’re rather talented at Exy, considering your stats, and that you’ve been protecting Nat.” Ichirou paused to sip his drink while Andrew gazed at him with a blank expression. “And that Nat has feelings for you, because he’s never tried to sneak anything out of here before, yet he’s suddenly discovered a new appreciation for sweets, something he’s always hated before.”

“That’s quite a guess, isn’t it? Maybe he took them for Moreau,” Andrew suggested as he stared at the zip tie around his wrists as if he could will it to melt away.

Ichirou huffed as if amused and swirled the golden alcohol around in the cut crystal glass. “I’ve known Nat for years, and the only time he requests anything for his partner is when we had marzipan treats. No, this was for you, his soulmate, the man who required seven people to pry him away from Nat.”

It would have taken more than that if that prick, Riko, hadn’t smashed a racquet down on his head; only his helmet saved him from a serious injury. “I do it for all the boys who bring me cupcakes.”

“I’m sure.” The right corner of Ichirou’s mouth twitched upward as he reached into an inner pocket of his suit’s coat and pulled out a knife.

“Gonna start on that whole ‘deal with me’ thing?” Andrew asked as he eyed the weapon with care; Ichirou had a few inches on him, but he thought he could take the Japanese man even with his hands bound – at least knock him aside and get a good head’s start.

“Hmm, something like that. Hold out your hands and remain still,” Ichirou ordered as he came to a halt just out of reach. He gave Andrew a bored look while he flipped the knife in his right hand. “Unless you don’t want to have that drink and talk about something that will benefit Nat in the end.”

That… was that a trick? Andrew frowned at the Moriyama for a moment before he decided he could always beat him up if it was and held out his hands. He tensed as Ichirou slashed with the knife, but only to sever the plastic tie holding his hands bound. “What about Nat?” he asked as he rubbed his sore wrists once they were free.

“He told me that you found out about his father selling him to my family, and about what we really do,” Ichirou said as he returned to the bar and poured another glass of what turned out to be a very nice whiskey. “Don’t be upset with him, as he knows better than to lie to me.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed at that ‘knows better�� part; he forced himself to have another sip of whiskey rather than throw it in the asshole’s impassive face. “Yes, I know.” Between Jean and his truth game with Nathaniel, he finally did know why Riko thought he could do whatever the hell he wanted, consequences be damned.

“Yes, so you understand that my father is a very powerful man, one who doesn’t tolerate weakness, and he’s raised me to be the same way,” Ichirou explained as he removed his coat, which revealed a pistol in a shoulder holster, then he began to undo the cuff of his left sleeve once the coat was draped over the back of the nearest couch.

The whiskey helped a little with the pain, so Andrew poured himself another glass. “I know you’ve a pet serial killer in your pocket, and your dad disowned your little brother for some reason, which has given the psycho some serious daddy issues. Is there a point to this?”

Ichirou’s lips twitched again. “Very much so, especially in regard to Riko.” His expression turned flat when he mentioned his brother. “As I said, we’re allowed no weakness.” He turned his left forearm to Andrew, which exposed his soulmate mark.

What was left of it, that was.

Cold washed down Andrew’s spine when he realized that the shadow-like flower petals which surrounded the sword indicated that Ichirou’s soulmate was dead, and he instinctively reached for his own mark as if to confirm that it was unmarred (that Nathaniel was still alive). Ichirou noticed the movement and nodded once before he reached for his neglected drink.

“There is to be only one Moriyama heir at a time, to avoid splitting the clan apart with rivalries. My mother, my father’s soulmate, knew that, yet….” He paused for a long swallow of whiskey then refilled the glass once it was set down. “Perhaps she felt certain the child would be a girl, or that my father wouldn’t care if it was a boy since he allowed her to bear the child. Regardless, that child was Riko, and my father chose to punish her for risking the clan’s succession.”

Andrew suspected that the woman hadn’t had her credit cards cut up or something like that, not when Ichirou had another gulp of whiskey.

“It wasn’t enough that Riko took my mother away from me, but my father confirmed at his birth that he was a boy and noticed that he had no soulmate mark. He decided that was the one way that his unwanted child was better than me and resolved to spare me his own weakness.” He held up his exposed left arm and gazed at it without emotion. “When I found my soulmate, he immediately had her killed.”

Well, this was such a fascinating story, all full of fun trauma and everything, but Andrew had a living soulmate he needed to check on (and keep out of trouble). “Can we skip to the point of this? I assume there’s a reason you’re monologuing.”

Ichirou’s eyes narrowed as he rolled down his sleeve. “Riko should never have been born, yet here he is, a thorn in my father’s side. Soon he’ll be a thorn in my side, and that I won’t allow.” The young mobster’s voice grew harsh as he tugged on his suit coat. “Unlike my father, I pay attention to what happens here, I know that Tetsuji has created a monster who is one major scandal from bringing unwanted attention our way.”

“You listen to Nathaniel,” Andrew surmised as he debated one more drink but decided against it.

“Nat,” Ichirou acknowledged with a slight bob of his head, “and I’ve placed a few of my men within the Nest in the past year. There has been an increasing amount of Ravens who’ve washed out before graduation in the last couple years due to the ‘stress’ of the program, and now Kevin Day. It’s only going to get worse by the time Riko himself graduates.”

Here came the sales pitch, Andrew thought as he pulled away from the bar. “What do you expect me to do?” Someone like Ichirou didn’t save him from a beating and ply him with expensive alcohol for nothing.

The smile that had threatened to form on Ichirou’s lips finally was allowed free, though it was a slight, cold thing. “Riko has taken much from me, so in return I want him to lose everything.” He turned around to face the expanse of windows which overlooked Castle Evermore. “Everything he holds dear, I want him to see it slip from his grasp right before the life he never should have had ends.”

Andrew thought about that for a moment while he felt out the large bump on his head. “You want me to take down Riko.” Ichirou gave a curt nod. “And the Ravens?”

“The team will need new management to undo the damage Riko and Tetsuji has done to it and allow it to be useful once more.”

Okay. “That sounds like you want me to take down Tetsuji as well.” Not that he was complaining, especially after all the canings. Especially after all the canings to Nathaniel.

Ichirou looked over his shoulder, his expression impassive once more. “It needs to be done in a manner that the main branch can control, to ensure that our people are in place to pick up the pieces once those two are removed.”

Andrew clicked his tongue as he picked up the crystal decanter filled with whiskey. “You’re not asking for much, are you?” When Ichirou remained quiet, he clicked his tongue again. “What do I get out of all this?” A million bucks would be nice.

Ichirou resumed gazing upon the Exy court below. “Other than currently not being beaten half-dead by the Butcher? There is the matter of your soulmate.”

Mention of Nathaniel made Andrew stiffen, ready to throw the decanter at the first threat uttered against him. “What about Nat?” he asked, voice harsh with warning.

“He will always belong to the Moriyamas, he’s too useful and already knows too many things,” Ichirou said, his back still turned to Andrew as if unconcerned about being attacked. “But as with all things of value, he should be treated with care, not abused and locked away. Agree to this, and he’ll formally belong to the main branch. Once you’ve completed the task? Well, we can discuss allowing Nat a bit more freedom.” He turned around to give Andrew a stern look. “Within reason. He’ll always have obligations to honor.”

Andrew would deal with those ‘obligations’ one day, the main thing was protecting Nathaniel. If it also meant getting him away from the Nest by fucking up Riko? Not a problem, not a problem at all. “Can I rely on your people for assistance?” he asked, mind already busy thinking up possibilities; his biggest challenge was being restricted to the Nest most of the time.

“Of course, Nat can assist you with that.” Ichirou cocked his head to the side as he regarded Andrew. “I assume we are in agreement?”

“Make sure the assholes leave Nat alone and yes, we’re in agreement.” Andrew would be all in to kill Riko regardless, but anything that benefited Nathaniel on top was added incentive.

“Wonderful.”

Not really, that would be Andrew wiping out all the Moriyamas and the Butcher as well then riding off into the distance in a nice new Ferrari with Nathaniel beside him, but it was a start. He hummed as he walked away with the whiskey, done with the conversation (and Moriyamas) for the time being; he heard Ichirou huff behind him then speak Japanese a moment later, and found a guard waiting out in the hallway who ‘escorted’ him back to the Nest.

Ichirou might be a Moriyama bastard, but at least he knew when to pick his battles.

The halls of the Nest were unusually quiet and empty; Andrew suspected that everyone had gone to ground after their ‘king’ having a wee bit of disassociation from sanity earlier. He made his way to Nathaniel’s room and didn’t bother to knock before entering.

He found his soulmate huddled on his bed, right cheek bruised and expression startled, with Jean nowhere to be found. “Where’s Valjean?” Andrew asked as he sat down on the other end of the bed.

“Uhm, off with Toby and Leif.” Nathaniel gave him a worried look as he slowly unfurled. “Are you all right? Did Tetsuji do anything to you?”

“Just peachy.” Andrew set the bottle on the floor as he turned toward Nathaniel, sore body protesting from the movement. “Why are you alone?”

Nathaniel frowned as he reached for Andrew’s face but stopped just short of touching him. “Because Tetsuji said he called my father. I didn’t want Jean here when he comes.” He glanced at the door and shook his head. “You should go.”

Aw, was someone trying to protect him from the big, bad Butcher? “I already had the displeasure of meeting the walking sperm-bank who fathered you,” Andrew said as he got up to fetch a change of clothes, tired of wearing his uniform; he figured one of Jean’s shirts and a pair of Nathaniel’s loose cotton pants should fit. Somewhat fit.

“Wait, you did? Are you really okay?” Nathaniel asked in a rush as he got up, too (and fetched the pants once he figured out what Andrew was looking for). “Is he still here?”

“Ichirou sent him on his way and told him to leave you alone.” Andrew took the clothes and went into the bathroom to change, but left the door open a crack so they could continue to talk. He’d ache for the next couple days, but it felt good to get his gear off at last.

“Ichirou’s here, too? Great.” It sounded as if Nathaniel slumped against the wall. “Is he angry? I mean, not that he yells or anything when he’s mad, but you can tell because of how he goes all tense and fake smiley.”

Good to know. “Not with you.” If anything, Ichirou thought a little too well of ‘Nat’, especially since he didn’t have a soulmate of his own anymore, but one thing at a time.

“Oh.” Andrew stepped back into the room to find Nathaniel nibbling on his bottom lip as he dwelled on something. “Why did he talk to you, then?”

“Because he wants me to do something for him.” There was no reason to keep it a secret, not when he’d need Nathaniel’s help (and probably Jean’s as well).

And maybe a certain stubborn idiot would back down to throwing himself into trouble if he knew that there was an endgame in sight.

(Who was he kidding?)

“And what is that?” Nathaniel reached out to tug on the overlarge t-shirt Andrew wore and pull him closer, seemingly unafraid of his presence. “What does he want?”

Andrew leaned his forearms against the wall, which penned his soulmate in; Nathaniel gazed at him without fear but a growing amount of impatience. “It seems that he doesn’t care for his baby brother and wants me to take him down,” he murmured after he leaned in, his mouth close to Nathaniel’s right ear.

“You… Ichirou’s finally going to do something about Riko?” Nathaniel stared at him in disbelief. “And he wants you to help?”

Andrew clicked his tongue as he fought not to slide his fingers into his soulmate’s tousled hair. “He wants me to do all the fucking work, and he wants the psycho gone before he causes too many problems.” He’d keep quiet on the whole family drama for now, especially since Nathaniel had his own share of it.

“Oh.” Nathaniel nibbled on his bottom lip again, while Andrew struggled not to shiver in response, to lean in and suck on it to soothe the savaged flesh. “You… you don’t have to do it alone, you know. I’ll help.”

Of course he would. “I agreed to do the deal.”

“And I owe Riko for years of- I owe him,” Nathaniel argued, his voice hoarse and eyes alight with anger.

“Fine,” Andrew relented after a few seconds. “But you listen to me and don’t do anything on your own.” Nathaniel nodded and, after a moment, once more reached for his abused mouth, his fingers a scant distance away as he traced along his split lower lip.

“Are you really okay? I know… I know how my father can be.”

That was quite the understatement. “I’m fine,” Andrew insisted as he gave in and slid the fingers of his right hand into Nathaniel’s mussed curls. “What about you?”

The idiot shrugged and didn’t look away. “Tetsuji hit me a couple times but he was too busy dealing with Riko and willing to leave me to my father.” When his hand lingered near Andrew’s shoulder, Andrew caught it and rested it along the side of his neck; that time he shivered to feel his soulmate touch him.

“There and along my shoulder,” he said, his voice husky for some reason. “Yes or no?” he asked, unable to hold back when his soulmate looked at him like that, when he showed such concern, when he allowed him so close without fear. Unable to explain exactly what he meant.

Nathaniel blinked at the question, his pupils blown and reaction slow, and just when Andrew was about to pull away, used his hold on Andrew’s neck to gently pull him closer. “Yes,” he breathed out as his eyes drifted shut. “Yes.”

Later they would talk, would sit down and figure things out… but right then, all Andrew wanted to do was have Nathaniel’s lithe body against his, to do some of his own nibbling on that full bottom lip, to feel a heartbeat that pulsed in time with his own between his lips as he sucked on his soulmate’s neck…

His soulmate.

Nathaniel was addictive and almost docile in his arms, was mindful of his hands while he arched into Andrew’s touch like a cat which craved attention. He was… he was perfect, and only the aches from being hit earlier convinced Andrew that he was real.

He wanted so much more than kisses and lingering touches, but there was Nathaniel choking back on a ‘please’, was him smoothing his thumb over the ‘3’ on a flushed cheekbone. He wanted, and it seemed that his soulmate wanted, too (was it truly real?), yet he pulled away before he did something to ruin the one truly good thing that Fate had seemed to grant him in his life.

(Which he would burn the world to ash to keep safe.)

“Ohhh… wait, no,” Nathaniel breathed out as he grabbed the hem of Andrew’s borrowed shirt. “Why? Did I-“

Andrew flicked at a loose curl that fell onto his soulmate’s face. “That’s enough for now, sweetpea. Don’t want to overwhelm you with my sexiness.”

As expected, Nathaniel went from aroused to annoyed in less than two seconds. “Overwhelm me with your arrogance? Too late, hasenfürzchen.” When Andrew went to complain about his nickname, Nathaniel pushed forward and dragged him toward the bed – unfortunately, just to talk. “Now let’s figure out what to do while Jean’s not here.”

True, they’d have more time to talk about things between them on Friday, they might as well focus on getting rid of Riko as soon as possible. Part of Andrew chided him for being a fool in thinking that Nathaniel was such a ‘sure thing’, but each time his soulmate smiled at him and agreed to something long-term….

Nathaniel did the impossible and made him believe.

(Nathaniel also agreed to hide the rest of the whiskey so he didn’t have to share it with Ben, which meant he had something else to look forward to on Friday.)

He forced himself to leave eventually, aware that Jean was worried about his partner and intent on doing something before the Ravens met up for dinner. Nathaniel’s burner phone in hand (oh yes, Ichirou needed to learn some boundaries in regard to others’ soulmates very soon), he went out on court for some necessary privacy and called one of the two numbers on it (the other was going to be deleted very soon).

A familiar voice answered, sounding a bit confused. “Nat? It’s not Sunday, is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, but it’s not Nat,” Andrew told Kevin Day in French. “He did lend me this phone, though, if you hadn’t guessed.”

It was quiet on the end for several seconds. “Nat’s all right, yes? I mean, you’re his soulmate so-“

“Yes, he’s fine.” Andrew felt a bit insulted by the question. “Shut up with the stupid questions, I don’t have much time.”

“I- okay, what’s going on?”

Slightly better. “This is where you answer my questions and then listen as I tell you what’s going to happen if you want to remain free of the Moriyamas,” Andrew told him. “As well as pay back the friends who got you out of this hellhole.” Perhaps he was taking Ichirou a bit too literally with the whole ‘allow Nat more freedom’, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

(He’d kill the crime lord when he came to it, if necessary.)

All that mattered was that Kevin Day listened and obeyed, and played his part in Riko’s downfall.

(He wondered what it would take to get Nathaniel to go with him to Eden’s.)

*******

IDFK why it removes some of my italics. IDFK.

There you go, Ichirou dealing with Andrew instead of Neil/Nathaniel. I imagine it’s a lot of blank faces all around.

It hasn’t been a good migraine week and busy w/ work, so hopefully this isn’t too much gibberish.

Thanks so much, those of you who’ve stuck with this not-fic.

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in-class-daydreams · 5 years ago

Text

Parlay (Kuroo x Reader) | Ch. 3

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~2400

Genres: Fluff, angst if you squint, general buffoonery

CW: Some swearing, but otherwise none!

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kozume Kenma. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma’s volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay’s stakes only get higher each time.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

Honestly, Kuroo dreaded 2:00 pm every Tuesday and Thursday. His lecture was two and a half hours long, and it was in one of the school’s bigger lecture halls, meaning he spent two days a week sitting at an itty bitty desk in an overcrowded lecture hall. It was always hot and muggy, and there’s always that one guy that you can smell three rows back. It honestly can’t be that hard to take a shower once a while, right? Personal hygiene. What a concept!

‘Before making assumptions about a person who smells - like thinking they don’t shower - consider their living situation and the fact that not everyone has access to--’ A memory from a conversation with Bokuto flashed through his mind. He begged the Bokuto that lived inside his head to please shut his piehole.

In retrospect, he really should have taken an easier class, but no. His academic advisor had strongly advised against taking an easier class to fulfill this requirement because it wouldn’t ‘enrich his academic talents.’ He could just hear his teammate’s irritating tone.

“Don’t worry, Tetsu-Chan! It’ll be a good challenge for you!”

‘Good challenge’ his ass. He really had to stop trusting other people’s judgement.

Despite his admitted hatred for his 2:00 lecture, at least he and Bokuto got to chat beforehand. The frat boy had a class at the same time: Women and Politics in Continental America. According to him, so long as you did your work and ‘are at least a somewhat decent person,’ the class was relatively easy to get a quality grade in. So while Kuroo was dreading the next two and a half hours of his life he’ll never get back, Bokuto could talk Kuroo’s ear off about his “Owlets” without a care in the world, that bastard.

“Bruh, they’re so cute! We played freeze tag for warm ups today ‘cuz they’ve been good all week and, man, little kids are hella fast!” Kuroo cracked a smile at that. Bokuto loved both volleyball and kids, so when he started working as a youth instructor at the sports center, the guy was living his best life. About halfway through hearing a story about the Owlets dogpiling on Bokuto, Kuroo heard a group of girls giggling a little further down the hallway.

There he saw Kenma’s cute girlfriend making an exaggerated sad face. Her surrounding girlfriends were half laughing and half consoling her. They patted her back and he could vaguely hear ‘next time, next time!’ and ‘--boba right after?’

As they got closer, he heard one of the girls chime in, “Hold on, we can’t go right after. That guest speaker for Native American Lit. is speaking in Ballroom One at six.”

“Oh yeah... After that, then?” another girl offered.

(Y/N) shook her head, “I promised I’d pick up a shift at Chisai at 5:30,” she told them apologetically. Her friends collectively booed as Kuroo pushed off the wall he was leaning against.

“I’ll see you at practice, man.” Bokuto paused his story. They gave each other a bro-nod in farewell.

“Okay, ttyl.”

Kuroo halted in his tracks, “...did you just say ttyl out loud?”

“It’s easier that way. My kids like it!”

“They’re nine, Kou, they like everything you do.”

“Nine is a very enriched age and it’s important that we don’t undermine the abilities of--”

“Whoops, gotta go!” Kuroo speed walked in the direction of the group of girls. Bokuto went out of his way to stay “woke” - his words, not Kuroo’s - and it made him a great guy, but Kuroo could only handle so much social consciousness. (Y/N) noticed him before he reached them.

“Oh, Kuroo-san! You have a class in this building?” For someone he’d met only once before, she looked happier to see him than a lot of people normally would. Did she look at everyone like that?

He gave each of the girls a charming smile. Several of them looked from (Y/N) to him, wide-eyed. In all objective terms, Kuroo knew the effect he had on people. He was used to people of all genders’ gazes lingering on him. After all, he was the whole package: tall, handsome, charming, and it was obvious he drank Respect Women Juice every day.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he nodded his head towards his lecture room, “Not my favorite class this semester.”

“Well, I’m in this class, too. If we sat together, would it be less agonizing?” she asked. Before he could answer, she turned to her friends, “I’ll see you probably tomorrow.” They said their goodbyes, and a few of them flirtily waved Kuroo goodbye. In return, he gave them a sly wink, “Ladies.”

“If you have other friends in this class, though, I won’t be offended at all if you sit with them,” his attention snapped to her. He held the classroom door open and gestured her in. She unthinkingly led them to the same side of the room as the one Kuroo usually sat, a few rows ahead of his normal seat.

“Actually,” he said, “All my friends were smart enough to take other classes,” he laughed. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to sit next to a such a cute girl?” he gave her a cute wink.

‘What a flirt,’ she thought.

“Is that your signature move?” she teased.

Kuroo put a hand to his chest in mock offense, “Move? A gentleman doesn’t use ‘moves.’”

“Are you a gentleman, then, Kuroo-san?”

“If you wanted me to be.”

“Cheesy.”

“Don’t worry. I get worse over time.”

(Y/N) mentally cheered. If Kuroo was flirting with her this blatantly, surely he must have a feeling that she and Kenma weren’t serious. Then, Kenma would have to admit that she wasn’t oblivious and she’d win the bet!

Kuroo’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “But don’t think I’m trying to steal you from Kenma. Bro-code is sacred text, you know.”

Oh. Well. That’s okay! He might not figure it out right away, but surely when he sees that Kenma doesn’t care one bit that he was flirting with his ‘girlfriend,’ he’d figure it out eventually! ...right?

“Don’t worry.” She replied, “He couldn’t care less.”

The professor walked in about 2 minutes before the class officially began. The man in about his mid-40’s cracked his RhedBhull energy drink and chugged the whole thing in one go. Crushing the can in his fist, he tossed it into a nearby trashcan and started plugging the projector cable into his laptop. In a way, Kuroo was glad even the professor was having as much of a hard time with this class as much as he was.

While he’d been watching the professor prepare himself, he hadn’t noticed the girl next to him pull out a notebook, two mechanical pencils, a big eraser, a set of highlighters, some gel pens, and some sticky tabs. At first he thought she was the type to make pretty notes and not actually learn anything, but as the class dragged on, whenever he glanced at her notes, he noticed that her diagrams were frighteningly detailed and every bit of information had its place. He didn’t want to be that guy by constantly looking at her notes, but even the comments in the little text bubble she drew made more sense than anything on the lecture slides.

Leaning in towards her, the taller male whispered, “I’m sure you don’t need the help, but do you want to study together sometime?” No answer.

“Kenma can come too, if you’re worried about him getting the wrong idea.” Nothing. Was she ignoring him? Had he somehow managed to offend her? He was nearly offended until he realized that nothing was affecting her at all. Not when someone sneezed or when the glass side door slammed loudly and nearly everyone jumped out of her skin. Save for her hand working like a machine, she hardly moved. Just her hand and her eyes flitting up, down, up, down, up, down from the projector to her notes. A tornado could rip through campus and Kuroo wasn’t entirely confident that she’d move.

‘Cute.’ Kuroo shook his head at his own thoughts. Sure, she was cute, but she was as off-limits as possible.

‘Though,’ he reasoned, ‘Being friends isn’t a crime.’

Lost in thought, the end of the lecture came sooner than anticipated. Twisting in his seat, his spine made a loud crack. Ah, the ripe old age of 21. In his defense, the chairs in the lecture hall weren’t exactly ergonomic.

“I doubt that’s a healthy noise for your spine to make.” She peered at him over her bag as she gently organized all her pens into a baby pink pencil case with little green aliens on it.

‘Cute,’ he thought.

“Thanks! It was a gift,” she chirped. He blinked.

“Huh?”

“The pencil case? I got it as a gift.”

It took Kuroo a moment to register what in the world she was talking about. When the realization dawned on him he mentally kicked himself.

‘I said that out loud???’

They headed outside where the sun had nearly set. She asked him what his plans were later on, and he mentioned his volleyball scholarship.

“Wow! It’s super competitive just to get on the team here. Congratulations!” He chuckled at her enthusiasm and thanked her for being so encouraging.

“So…” she trailed off for a moment, “You’re Tooru’s teammate, then?”

Kuroo gave an ugly, barking laugh.

“Yeah. Not sure if that’s good or bad. He’s the best setter I’ve ever met, but he’s also super cheery and will smile while he roasts you within an inch of your life.”

They both chuckled. (Y/N) looked at the ground shyly and said in a small voice, “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“You know each other?” it suddenly occurred to that she and Oikawa were on a first-name basis. “You a fangirl of his?” he teased.

She squeaked. Waving her hands in front of her frantically, she said, “No, no, no! I just-- We just-- We both went to Seijoh, that’s all.” Kuroo was mildly offended that she thought he’d believe such a poorly delivered lie, but he decided to let it go. For now. Changing the subject, he said,

“So, where are you headed? Practice to watch your boyfriend?” She tensed, then quickly relaxed.

“I’ve never been to a practice since I always seem to have a shift at the same time. I have work at 5:30 today, actually.”

“You’re walking around when it’s this dark?”

“It’s only about a 20 minute walk from here. Don’t worry, I have pepper spray.”

“Mildly comforting, but not much. If you don’t mind, I could walk you there?”

His gesture was rewarded by an adorable eye smile, “Oh, that’s so kind of you. Okay, if it’s not too much trouble.”

On the walk there, she told him all about Chisai Tea House and about Grandmother, the sweet old woman who owned it.

“I worry, though. Gran is getting old. She’s not in a condition to work all day like she does.”

Kuroo looked up at the darkening sky, “When people love something, it’s hard to pull them away.”

“Mm, don’t I know it?”

Kuroo asked what kinds of things Chisai served. Besides dim sum, of course.

“What people order just depends on what they want at the time. There’s no ‘good’ thing to get because everything’s amazing! We make traditional green teas, Korean songpyeon, khao neeo mamuang, and don’t even get me started on the har gao and sumai, and all the dim sum stuff. All of our recipes have been passed down through families for generations.”

Around 5:20, she stopped at a door along the line of shops. The place was bustling with customers, and the air around it smelled of sweet treats and green teas. The whole place had a traditional Chinese feel. Through the windows, the busy place looked busy, but peaceful. On the tables nearest the window, he saw moon cakes and songpyeon that made his mouth water.

“Thank you for walking me to work! If you have some free time, would you like to come in for something to eat? My treat?” she offered.

“I wish I could, (Y/N)-san, but I have practice--!” Kuroo choked on the word. Practice! How could he forget? He’d been going to volleyball practice on weekdays since he started high school!

“Is there something wrong?” the shorter girl asked, concerned. He shook his head.

“Not at all. Thanks for keeping me company,” he winked. He didn’t want her to feel like him being late was her fault, so he waited until she was fully inside the tea shop before he turned tail and hauled ass. The gym was about a 10 minute walk, so there was a chance he could make it.

After some hardcore sprinting, the boy almost cried tears of relief when the building finally came into view. He flung himself through the locker room door. Inside, he saw all his teammates finishing up getting dressed, putting on knee pads, tying shoelaces, the like. Every head turned his way.

“Bro! What’s-- Hey! Why are you all sweaty?” Bokuto shouted from the far end of the locker room. Kuroo meant to respond, but he found himself completely out of breath. Volleyball players might not be cut out for long distance sprinting. At least, he definitely wasn’t.

“Overslept?” Iwaizumi clapped his teammate on the back as he brushed past him through the doorway.

“You know coach doesn’t like it when people are late to practice. Better hurry up, Tetsu-chan!” Oikawa said in a tone all too gleeful to be genuine. Forcing his legs to move, Kuroo stumbled as he yanked his shirt off and ran to his locker while simultaneously trying to shimmy his pants off. Bokuto came up beside him during his frantic clambering to get ready.

“What happened, man? You don’t usually get here this late?”

Kuroo glanced over his shoulder at his friend’s worried expression.

“I’m good, bro, I just...” he panted, “I just lost track of time.”

“M’kay, if you’re sure everything’s Gucci?”

“Yeah, man, I’m good.” The wing spiker nodded and headed out the door. Alone at last, Kuroo stuffed his feet into his shoes and rested his head against his locker for a moment. Next time, he’d stop creeping on Kenma’s girlfriend and focus on making it to practice on time. This wouldn’t happen again.

(A/N): At last! We have tapped into the interactions between Kuroo and (Y/N)! And yes, the Bro-Code is very important! (Well, I'm female, but I’m fully aware of how it works lol). Please continue to give/leave your feedback and thoughts on the story! Be sure to check out the Tumblr/Wattpad for more updates! Thanks and see y’all soon!

- Admin Kiwi-Chan

(A/N): Yeeeaaaaaa boiiiiiiiiiiiiii.

- Admin Mango-Chan

Taglist: @joyful-jimin

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #bokuto kotarou #kozume kenma #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tōru #oikawa tooru #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyu

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autumnleavescoffeedreams · 7 years ago

Text

... I Came (Part 2 of 2)

Fandom: My Hero Academia / Boku no Hero Academia

Characters: Katsuki Bakugou, Female!Quirkless!Reader, Izuku Midorya, Original Villain

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Author’s Note: You asked for it: here's Bakugou's POV! And somehow it ended up longer than the original piece *grins sheepishly*. Also, please read the note at the end for an announcement, thank you!

Part One | Part Two (Also available on Ao3)

**Warning: This story contains swearing, mentions of torture, and kidnapping. Do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable.**

3 Weeks Before the Kidnapping

"Hey, Earth to Baku! Are you even listening? Katsuki!"

Bakugou's attention snapped back to you, your eyes meeting his with concern. "Sorry," he muttered half-heartedly as he stirred his coffee.

You leaned forward on the cafe table across from him. Lowering your voice, you asked, "Is it work again? Something's obviously bothering you. I wouldn't have pulled you away from work for lunch if I'd known you were this stressed out..."

"No, dammit," replied Bakugou with a huff. "Lunch was fine. It's this damn villain, calls himself 'Syphon'. He drains the life of others while taking it for himself. He's already killed dozens of people with that disgusting Quirk of his. I wanna beat the little bastard into a pulp myself but he's so damn sneaky, I can't catch him. He's never been caught on camera, he never leaves traces..." Bakugou leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, the usual scowl crossing over his features. "It's seriously pissing me off."

"Maybe you should talk to Midoriya about it," you suggested. "Isn't he good at analyzing Quirks and stuff? He might be able to help you see things from a different perspective."

The smallest explosion popped from Bakugou's clenched fist and his eyebrow twitched. She did not just suggest I work with Deku of all people, right? "What the hell! Don't you think I'm strong enough to catch a damn villain on my own? Do you think I'm a weakling that can't do my job? I'm a hero, dammit!"

You rolled your eyes, not affected by his ranting in the slightest. "Of course you're strong enough, but maybe it can help speed up the process if you work with other people... especially if they have talents that can give you an advantage."

"Tch, I don't need that stupid Deku... I don't need anyone. I'll take care of it myself."

1 Week Before the Kidnapping

"... And this is the database where we keep track of all the different Quirks that have been recorded as well as their users!" Izuku Midoriya explained enthusiastically as he gestured to a complex-looking computer. "It might be a good place to start. You can use this information in so many different ways, it's amazing! You want to go ahead and use it?"

"Whatever," Bakugou mumbled, already regretting taking your stupid advice. Why did he ever listen to you?

The hot-headed hero would much rather have been out blasting apart every nook and cranny of the city until he found that life-sucking bastard, but he'd been 'advised' to do actual research on him and go from there.

After hours of searching the database and finding nothing, Bakugou had a moment of genius. She never did tell me what her Quirk was, did she? Well since she was the one that told me to work with stupid Deku in the first place, I'd say looking up her Quirk would be calling it even.

And then he typed in your name, only to find underneath a recent photo of you the words he had least expected. The words that made his heart sink in confusion and disappointment.

{ QUIRK: NONE }

"What the..." muttered Bakugou, his eyes widening in shock. He re-typed your name, hoping he'd just made a spelling error.

The result was the same.

No... she would have told me... Bakugou thought to himself, feeling his chest constrict in an unfamiliar way. Was he feeling... hurt? No, surely not.

"You lied to me?" Bakugou cried out to your photo on the screen, your innocent smile seeming to mock him. His voiced cracked as he continued. "Why did you- I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!"

He barely registered the sound of footsteps behind him. "Kacchan? Is everything all right?"

In one swift motion, Bakugou let out a pained scream and slammed his fist on the computer console, causing the screen to go blank. He stood there for a few moments recomposing himself before he turned around and walked out the door, not even sparing Deku a glance.

The Evening of the Kidnapping

The rain pelting his bedroom window was aggravating Bakugou's already existing headache as he tried to focus on the notes Deku gave him on Syphon. Together they had managed to figure out that the villain could only use his Quirk by making skin-to-skin contact. Even though he hated working with the nerd, he was satisfied with the amount of progress that had been made to catch the sicko.

Not that Bakugou would ever admit that to you.

With a huff, the blond's gaze wandered to the window. It was so dark outside he couldn't even see the droplets hitting the window pane. You would have already gotten off of work by now. Normally Bakugou accompanied you on those late-night walks home from the shop; however, he had no desire to speak to you despite the constant voicemails you left on his phone, apologizing profusely while trying to explain why you withheld the truth from him. The sense of betrayal the young hero felt was still a fresh wound...

... it just wasn't as painful as not having you around.

"Dammit," Bakugou mumbled, slamming the case file he had been trying to read on the desk. If he called you first to make up, it would be like saying that it was his fault and it sure as hell wasn't. But -

His conflicting thoughts were interrupted by the vibrating of his cell phone. Feeling hopeful yet anxious, Bakugou fished it out of his pocket expecting to see your name pop up on the screen again. However, it was only...

"DEKU!" Bakugou snarled into his cell phone. "DO YOU KNOW HOW LATE IT IS, YOU LITTLE SHIT? You better have a damned good reason-"

The voice on the other end of the phone let out a weary sigh. "Kacchan..."

"Spit it out, Deku, I don't have all night!"

“He got her, Kacchan. She was on her way home from work and..."

Midoriya hadn't needed to specify who is was referring to; his despondent tone told him all he needed to know.

"Syphon." Bakugou's blood ran cold. For a moment, he was totally devoid of all emotion. It was as if Todoroki had frozen him solid and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to thaw himself. He hated that. He hated how for the first time since All Might's final battle with All-for-One he felt completely and utterly powerless. He could've been there, watched over you from the shadows. But no, instead he stayed at home pouting like a whiny baby while you paid the price for his failure as a Pro Hero and as a friend.

"Kacchan." Midoriya's voice was low and firm. "I know what you're doing. You can't think about the past, what you could have done differently. It's not going to change what's already happened. It won't save her. You need to focus on what you're going to do now. The Kacchan I know would take immediate action so you have to pull yourself together!"

That's when the rage came. The familiar wave of heat racing through his veins greeting him like an old friend. Oh yes, this was much better than that terrible cold feeling. This he knew how to use. This would give him the power to crush that piece of trash villain and bring his girl back home.

"For once, you're actually right." Bakugou clenched his fist, explosions dancing wildly around his hand. He was getting fired up. "I'll meet you at headquarters. You better have a plan by the time I get there."

He was about to serve up a dish of deep-fried villain.

23 Hours After the Kidnapping

It turned out that Syphon had been so fixated on capturing you, he had no idea that the store next door had a video camera posted outside that caught the whole thing. In the footage, Syphon had tried to get you to come with him through intimidation. However, you fought him off to the best of your ability, forcing him to use his Quirk to subdue you. Deku noticed that the villain had removed his glove before his hand grabbed yours, weakening you almost instantly. With confidence, Deku stated that Syphon's Quirk was limited to the skin on his hands. He also managed, from thoroughly searching maps of the area, to pinpoint three possible locations Syphon was hiding out in.

Bakugou had already changed into his costume before before Deku had finished speaking.

When he arrived at the villain's hideout, Bakugou realized he had two options: he could either sneak in undetected, using the element of surprise to catch Syphon off guard, or he could just blast his way in through the wall and tackle the bastard head-on. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have thought twice about barging in there guns blazing; however, these weren't normal circumstances. You were in there. He didn't want to risk hurting you, especially if Syphon had already begun to "play" with you. The thought of your being caught in the crossfire was enough to make him hesitate...

... at least for three seconds.

"Screw it," Bakugou muttered to himself, "I want her back now."

So he took the direct approach, obliterating the brick wall in front of him and blasting through the opening he created. As he entered the building, his eyes found a weaselly-looking man leaning over what appeared to be a young woman...

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER, YOU BASTARD!" Bakugou shrieked with rage, emitting a large explosion at the villain. After Syphon dodged the attack, Bakugou quickly looked over at you to make sure you were still alive. And you were, but barely.

Your skin was frighteningly pale, causing the bruises on your body to seem more prominent. He guessed that you had received them when you were kidnapped, trying to fight him off; Bakugou's chest swelled with pride. Of course, that pride melted away and was immediately replaced by anger when he saw how much of a struggle it was for you to lift your head. He noticed the ropes and gag wrapped tightly around you were cutting off your circulation and that it had chaffed the skin so badly, it had started to bleed. Your eyes had a glassy look to them, like you were about to cry any second.

Bakugou's lips curled up in a sadistic smile. That's it, I'm gonna kill him.

Much to his chagrin, Bakugou decided not to murder Syphon. After he'd burnt the skin of the creep's hands, Bakugou knew he wouldn't be hurting anyone else for a while... if ever again. He ignored the villain's howls of pain, racing over towards you to free you from your bindings. It was only after he had taken you in his arms and felt your familiar warmth that he was able to let the tension leave his body. He also noticed that your body relaxed against his as well, though you were still trembling.

The two of you were finally able to confess those feelings you had been attempting to repress for a long time, and Bakugou lifted you into his arms. "You look like shit."

"Gee, thanks Katsuki..." you muttered sarcastically.

Bakugou huffed. "That bastard tortured you, right? You need to rest, idiot. I'm gonna take you to the hospital so better not die on me now."

"What about... us?" you asked, closing your eyes and leaning your head against Bakugou's chest.

"We'll talk about that after you rest."

"And what about Syphon?"

With one last brief glance at the crippled villain, Bakugou grinned evilly. "Don't worry, I'll come back to finish him later."

Author’s Note: I was originally going to write a third part for this, but I don't think it's necessary; this feels like a good place to end it, especially since I'm not a fan of stories that drag things out longer than they have to.

Thank you all for reading!

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfic #boku no hero academia #reader insert #female!reader #quirkless!reader #midoriya izuku #anime #fanfiction #fanfic

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tarithenurse · 7 years ago

Text

Defense of Asgard (10/11)

Wordcount: 2897 (sorry)

Warnings: violence, maybe language, smut (fingering), fluff

“Keep reading” for obvious reasons.

Loki’s PoV

Loki’s victim is gurgling on the ground in a last, futile effort to breath, and around him his fellow Asgardians are either finishing off their own adversaries or using the lack of golden maniacs to recover. Straightening up, he pushes a strand of jet-black hair out of the eyes and looks around for [Y/N]. It feels as though a cold void threatens to pull him off the planet, when he sees the weapon aimed at her face. Lurching into motion, he barely makes it three steps before the blast of the gun makes him stumble in shock. NO!! He watches as the momentum makes the love of his life collide with the bastard, sending them both sprawling onto the ground.

NonononoNO! Scrambling frantically for what feels like an eternity, it only slowly dawns on Loki that [Y/N]’s left hand is snaring the wrist of the Sovereign, keeping the gun pointing away, while the other hand is closing around the golden neck. Even from here, the prince can see how she’s biting back a scream of pain until her skill takes effect, draining the downed would-be-murderer of life and leaving him skinny and pale beneath her. The way she arches her back while the brief moment of ecstasy rolls through her, should perhaps make Loki jealous…instead it entices him. The woman is mysterious, deadly, yes even magical. And she is mine. The thought makes him smile, as his picks his way across the battlefield.

“[Y/N]?” He squads next to her, ready to leap away if instinct still is ruling her.

Turning to face him, his wife’s eyes are clear blue-grey with the tint of pleased golden freckles, but the milky sheen that would have clouded them as she drained the life out of the Sovereign is long gone. Finding her hand, Loki gently pulls her off the corpse and into an embrace. Both their heartrates are beginning slow, simultaneously with their breathing, after the fighting, and resting together for a moment allows a different kind of peace to envelop the couple. Over a field, one of the turrets hits its mark and brings down another transport in a flaming ball that lands the snow beneath before it has hit the ground.

“We’ve better get ready…” [Y/N] sighs, clearly not enjoying the battle as much as the Asgardians.

Cupping her face, Loki wipes away a smear of her own blood that has tracked red paths down her cheek and past the jaw. Despite the attempt at cleaning her, the face he adores is still blushed, although now it may be for different reasons, but she avoids meeting his eyes and there is no easy way to tell what she is feeling and thinking.

“Why do you blush, my flower?” A soft kiss is enough to coax her face towards him.

She bites her lip, coy and stubborn at the same time. “I guess you saw what happened…” [Y/N] sighs when he nods. “Yeah, well…I’m not gonna run and hide.”

“I know.” Standing up first, Loki pulls the healer to her feet. “Yet you cannot stop me from worrying.”

“Just look out for yourself, mister Trickster.” Smiling playfully at him, the woman heads off to attend to the minor injuries the defenders have sustained.

Pacing down the road, he reaches Tyr and the Warriors Three who are discussing the situation above. There, against the dark of night, it’s possible to see the faint shadows of the many different vessels. Many of them have retaken formation and Loki can guess that they are not the Ravagers, but the Xandarians who value discipline. A lightning blast slams into the ground, functioning as a warning of where his king and brother is about to land. Show off. Even if the prince rolls his eyes and sighs at Thor’s talents, it is good humoured rather than coveting, although (or perhaps because) it feels unsafe to get near it – too often has the God of Thunder amused himself by zapping his friends with small electric jolts, and it is for that very same reason, that Loki waits patiently out of reach until the air surrounding the tall, blond warrior has stopped buzzing.

“There you are, brother.” The younger of the two is leaning on his spear when he flashes a grin at Thor. “How fares the battle above?”

“Not bad,” looking around, the king takes in the scenery on the ground, “yet…they do not seem to appreciate the warm welcome.” He rolls a corpse over with a foot and nods thoughtfully. “They have retreated for now.”

Sif and [Y/N] join them, the former rubbing the stomach of her armour absentmindedly before reaching out for her husband. “I hope they are not running away?”

Her comment makes Thor snort with ill-contained amusement. “Hardly! They are too thick-skulled and proud to know when to stop!”

A slender arm snakes around Loki’s waist, and as he looks down he’s met by serious dark-blue gaze that he knows so well. Those eyes are truly a window to [Y/N]’s soul because the altering dispositions change the colours of her irises, each shade corresponding to a different frame of mind. He had learned the hard way that violet was a warning of anger or aggression. Pulling her closer, Loki hopes that she can find some consolation to stave away the sadness and regret that is filling her.

…

Reader’s PoV

Being held by her husband makes things a bit better, but [Y/N] truly hates when people die…even if they are actively trying to kill someone else. In fact, the whole reason for becoming a nurse and later a hero (thanks to the skillset the Inhuman DNA has given her) was to save lives, and she still managed to find herself in one situation after the other where not only her friends were fighting to the death, but she too had to kill. But of course, having been a member of the Avengers and SHIELD had forced her to adopt a different mindset. Everyone on the teams had had their fair share of battles and death, making them the best people to help [Y/N] deal with it when it became her turn to take a life for the first time, and it’s what had kept her relatively sane during the showdown against Thanos. And now here.

Trying not to look at the lifeless figures strewn on the ground, [Y/N] glances around at the faces of her friends in arms. They have fought hard already, but the Asgardians have impressive reserves of energy when compared to humans home on earth. They’re gonna need it. A faint glimmer has appeared on the edge of her perimeter, signaling the arrival of something living within the 50-odd meter radius of her skill’s range. Even though the Sovereign have golden skin, hair and eyes, the particles (that they are made of to [Y/N] when she closes her eyes) don’t always match, and she’s forced to judge the identities from other signs: the physical attributes (each Sovereign is frighteningly similar to the next, thanks to cloning), the mutations (that should have crippled them, but somehow doesn’t), and the itch that spread across the Inhuman’s own skin as her body tunes in on theirs.

“Incoming.” [Y/N]’s warning is echoed by Heimdall.

Facing the new threat, she plants the spear in the ground to free her hands. The round discs on her belt detach with the right leverage and pressure on the center flips a series of serrated blades along the edges with a click turning them into shuriken. There. The first one has stepped into a circle of light from the elevated brazier, making an obvious target of itself, and [Y/N]’s about to let one of her throwing weapons fly when Thor hurtles his artwork of an axe towards the doomed enemy, releasing cascades of lightning that fries anything in its path. Tony had offered plenty of snide comment the first time he saw the weapon leaned against the wall, most of them had been about compensation, but he stopped once he saw Thor use that thing. There are no jokes now, although some of the king’s friends dare to complain that they have no one to entertain themselves with. Jinx. Once more, Heimdall’s voice booms from above, calling for Thor to go elsewhere and bolster the defenses there.

…

The pale grey of the morning is slowly diminishing and allowing the pastel colours to take over. All around [Y/N] are the remnants of the latest Sovereign wave to attack them, this time fueled by desperation rather than conviction. The Asgardians are walking among the slain, checking to see if the job has been done to satisfaction by jabbing the golden bodies with whatever weapon they carry. By now, everyone has had enough of the maiming and killing, and [Y/N] is more than happy to rest in Loki’s arm while they have the chance. He’s brushed a bench free of snow and spread the bottom of his cape over the still cold surface for her to sit on, before dragging her against his own body and shielding her inside a cocoon of arms and soft, green fabric.

“You fight well, my love.” His breath is warm against her hair. “You have made me very proud.”

Tilting her head up, she finds Loki’s emerald eyes. “Proud?”

The taunting smile proves that she knows that it downright excites him, and it has given him more than a few ideas to use at other occasions.

The God of Mischief doesn’t have a chance to answer before you sit up straight, looking over at Sif who’s limping back into range. The queen and a handful warriors had followed in pursuit of a number of stragglers who were trying to make it to the tower where Heimdall has been (and still is) keeping watch. The Watcher would most likely have been able to deal with them himself, but it would have removed his focus from the events in the sky and thus any new waves of attackers. As [Y/N] untangles herself, the concern for the queen grows stronger.

“My queen.” The healer rushes to the queen’s side.

“It was just a bash by a blunt weapon…my armour took the brunt of it.”

It’s true, there are no lacerations or outwards trauma, save for the biggest bruise in newer Asgardian history. But the hip is slightly dislocated and, which is worse, the sacrum has been knocked crooked, creating tension in the lower body…including the uterus with the fragile life. Already the tissue is preparing for the first spasms that will release the blood, growing placenta and the peanut-shell-sized embryo.

I have to act fast. “We need to find a place where you can lie down.”

The urgency in [Y/N]’s quiet voice is enough to stop any objections, and Sif enters the nearest house. Only pausing to close the door after them, [Y/N] is pleased to see how nimble her sister in law lies down on the rug covering the cold floor. Kneeling between the legs of Sif, she bends the knees and slide a hand under the royal ass until the fingertips have found the right places to apply a gently pressure through which the healing power flowers in a steady stream, making the cells bend to her will.

Moments later, the Inhuman can help the Asgardian back on her feet with the promise that everything is fine again…for now. “But I have to say that you should take it easy for a few days.” Like that will ever happen.

“Who am I to argue with my midwife.” Sif smiles sweetly before striding out of the house.

It takes a moment for [Y/N] to come to terms with the new title she’s been bestowed, so when she too leaves the house (closing the door carefully) Sif’s already out of view. Instead Loki’s leaning casually against the wall, playing with an icicle he’s broken off the low reaching eave.

“What was that about?” He’s pointedly looking anywhere but at his wife.

Think fast. This is not for me to reveal. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean,” this time he turns towards her, “it could appear that you and the queen are keeping secrets.” The silence stretches for a moment as they study each other’s faces. “Are you?”

“Pfft.” A pokerface is easy to master when in complete control of every single cell…but Loki is unparalleled at picking up on the smallest details. “Firstly…my role’s that of a medic, so I had to ensure she wasn’t wounded. Second…she’s my queen and friend, and commander during this battle. She tells me where to go and what to do. I wanted to ensure that I wasn’t needed elsewhere.”

In a few long strides, the tall, slender god has covered the distance between them. Grabbing [Y/N] by the shoulders, he bends down to pierce her with a burning gaze as if he can will her to tell her anything else. His eyes are glittering turquoise and green, and [Y/N] has to concentrate to keep her own from shifting like his.

The voice of the god is soft and cold when he finally speaks. “There is something you are not telling me, darling. I do not like it.”

“Women sometimes do that, you know.” A smile dance across her lips as she allows an age-old truth to save her rather than lying. “We confide in each other. Help each other. Console each other.” Reaching up, she cups his frost-flushed cheek gently. “There’s nothing wrong with that, and you have to be able to trust, that it does not mean I’ll betray you.”

It’s like watching a balloon deflate quietly and suddenly [Y/N] finds herself in his arms once more. “Forgive me, my flower. My mind is burdened with the many troubling events of late, and my heart is wrought with worry for my people and you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him tenderly. “And no need to worry for me at least.”

…

Loki’s PoV

As it were, there was no need to worry for any Asgardian either. It was not long before it became apparent that the last Sovereign had fled and while the Xandarians and Ravagers landed on the snow-covered fields, the Asgardians that had not participated in the battle re-emerged to take part in the recovery and cleaning up. It was a task that would last days, as many buildings and ships had been destroyed and was now littering the streets and surrounding areas, but the first priority was to create a pyre and burn the fallen enemies. [Y/N] busied herself by tending to the lighter injuries, although the Asgardian healers tried to convince her it was beneath her. She only paused to recover her energy, but eventually fatigue caught up with her, and she allowed Loki to walk her to their chambers.

“The bath is ready, my flower.”

Loki turns towards [Y/N], only to find her dozing of, still fully dressed, on the low bench in the bathroom. He wakes her gently before using his own magic to rid both her and himself of the armour and clothes they have been wearing since the previous morning. Then he lifts her easily and steps into the large tub where he sits down. A content sigh and smile grace her fine features, encouraging him to settle her with the back against his chest.

Using the sponge and soap, he cleans every inch of her soft skin, and Loki finds himself so engrossed in the work that he does not realize how her breathing changes until the cupping of her breast makes the nipple perk. Pinching it softly between a finger and a thumb, he smiles at the tiny gasp [Y/N] lets out and it encourages him to abandon the cleaning utensils, so he can use both hands to slide over the gorgeous nakedness. One hand slides down the expanse of her chest and stomach to tease the fine curls where the thighs meet, the other plays with the bosom he so dearly admires, and already his cock is showing exactly how much he approves of the sight before him. I could watch this all day. The woman is biting her lower lip in pleasure, her head and wet curls leaned back against his shoulder to grant an unobscured view.

Loki has to stop her, when she tries to get in position to reciprocate. “Not this time. Just let me please you.”

For a moment, golden eyes appear under the heavy lids, but as his fingers slide further between her legs and finds the small bundle of nerves, the eyes close again and it’s the perfect lips that part instead. Weaving unimaginable patterns and interchanging the pressure and speed, Loki explores every fold and crevice, playing at the entrance to her core or pinching and stroking her clit until her moans transform into pleas for more. Then he slip a few fingers into the silken cave, slick with pleasure and need, teasingly increasing the speed and depth until the first shiver wrecks her frame.

Loki gives her time to calm down again, only adoring her body with long strokes as he kisses and nibbles her mouth, neck, shoulders…anywhere he can reach. Once relaxed, he finishes their bath, dries them both and carries her to bed where she falls asleep in his arms.

…

#In defense of asgard #fanfic #loki x reader #MCU #marvel #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Thor Odinson #lady sif #Warriors three #sovereign #xandar #ravagers #valhalla #asgard #heimdal #writing #escapism

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setaripendragon · 7 years ago

Text

The Nature of Revenge

So this is a little oneshot I wrote to try and make writing not feel like a chore. It’s a scene I’ve had in my head for a while, for an AU of Avatar where Ursa, instead of bargaining with Ozai to save Zuko, just decided to grab her kids and run. There’s Azula/Jet in this, and it’s set maybe a few months before the start of the series.

Jet came to slowly, floating in that half-way place that’s hazy and dream-like but still somewhat distantly aware of reality. He felt… strange. Calm inside in a way he could barely remember ever being before, but also… hollow. Strangely bereft. It took him a few minutes to remember why. When it hit him, he gasped, and tears sprang to his eyes.

He’d done it. Finally, after eight long years, he’d finally killed the men who’d burnt down his village. Him and his Freedom Fighters had lured them into a trap, baited with some of the Fire Nation’s most wanted, and slaughtered them all. The man who’d ruined Jet’s life had been on his knees before him, bound and helpless, and Jet had finally killed him. The relief was potent, but hard on its heels came bewildered loss. There was… nothing left of him, now.

“Good morning, sleepy-head.” A viciously sweet voice trilled.

Jet turned his head and opened his eyes to see the person who’d made the whole thing possible. Azula – her real name was Azula – had identified the bounty hunters who’d raided Jet’s village, found out where they were, used herself and her brother as bait to lure them in, captured and bound the leader of the little group, and brought him before Jet as the fight was winding down instead of killing him herself, which would certainly have been easier.

She looked at him now, expression falling from smug pride to put-out confusion. She was, in fact, pouting, not that Jet would say that out loud. It was endearing, and almost enough to get Jet to smile. Almost. “I thought you’d be happy.” Azula stated, but there was a question in there, too.

“So did I.” Jet agreed with a bitter smile. He turned his head back up, staring at the ceiling, rummaging around inside himself, trying to find… something. “I… I’m satisfied, but…” He trailed off, bewildered. “I just… I don’t really feel anything.”

“Why not? Your enemy is dead by your hand. You should be gloating.” Azula encouraged.

Jet opened his mouth to make a scathing retort, but it died on his tongue. He should be gloating. He thought he’d be gloating, and… in truth, there was a part of him that wanted to, that remembered that moment where his hook-sword had bit deep into that man’s throat and blood had spilled, covering the scent of smoke and ash with a rich metallic tang. It did feel good, but…

But he’d expected it to feel better. He’d thought – or he hadn’t, really, because it was so clear how stupid he’d been now that he was thinking about it – that it would fix things, if he could just kill the bastard. But he had, and it hadn’t.

“It isn’t what I was expecting it to be.” He explained with a hollow little smile.

Azula leaned forwards, frowning at him. “I don’t understand. What did you expect, exactly? If you’d told me- I thought this was what you wanted.” She pressed, looking just as frustrated by his lack of joy as he felt. And annoyed that her ‘gift’ hadn’t had the effect she’d intended.

That made Jet laugh, ragged and bitter. He lifted a hand to cover his eyes, as tears pulsed and stung and spilled over in time with the laughter. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t really stopped to think about what he wanted. He’d just fixated on revenge as if that would fix everything and make him happy again. “I want to go home.” He breathed out, aware of just how pathetic he sounded, but unable to quite hold it in.

There was a long silence as Jet tried and failed to get a hold of himself and stem the flow of tears. It was long enough that he half suspected Azula had gotten fed up with him and left. He wouldn’t be surprised, it was the sort of thing she’d do. It was one of the things about her that made her such a fun challenge to interact with. That and the fact that she was just as good – better, she would say, but Jet refused to believe that – at manipulating people as he was. She wasn’t transparent, like everyone else.

She hadn’t, though, and Jet jumped when she eventually spoke. “You’re an idiot.” She informed him archly. Jet dropped his hand and looked over in exasperation to tell her that he knew that, thank you, and jumped again when he found her kneeling right at his bedside, instead of hovering by the door as she had been before. Then she leaned down, and Jet had maybe half a second to realise what she was doing and widen his eyes before she was clumsily pressing her lips to his.

Jet’s hand leapt up to cup her cheek, to guide her head to tilt a little, to ease up just a touch, turning an awkward press into an easy slide. Then she pulled back, and narrowed her eyes at him, one eyebrow arched. Smug and challenging and goading. ‘You can do better than this’ written across her every feature so boldly it might as well have been said out loud. “You are home.”

Jet just… blinked at her, completely thrown. “What?”

Azula rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s not that hard a concept to grasp.” She chided him, although she wouldn’t quite meet his eye as she said it. Which meant it was more than just a lie – because Azula could lie her ass off looking you dead in the eye without reacting in the slightest, and Jet was man enough to admit he was dead jealous of that talent – it was an emotionally charged lie. Emotions were about the only thing that could make Azula flinch, after all. So… it was a hard concept to grasp, and Azula knew that, because she’d found it hard to grasp.

Jet really wanted to know that story, but before he could ask, Azula abruptly rose to her feet and held out a hand to him pointedly. Distracted from his turmoil by the puzzle Azula had just presented him with, Jet took her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet, his blanket tumbling down to lie in a heap. He would go along with what she wanted for now, until he had a chance to goad her into tell him what lay behind this concept of already being home for her.

Turning on her heel, Azula led the way out of his little treetop flet and onto the narrow walkway that surrounded it. To his surprise, she sat down on the edge, legs swinging into open air. She made no acknowledgement of him, gave no sign that she wanted him to join her, but he did anyway, and she shot him a surreptitious pleased look out of the corner of her eye.

Jet smirked right back. “You gonna tell me how you figured it out so much faster than me?” He taunted, idly plucking up a stray bit of straw and sticking one end in his mouth to chew on.

Azula’s pleased look was wiped away by a flash of chagrin before she looked away from him sharply. “I suppose I did have something of an advantage over you.” She mused, as if she were indifferent. “After all, the man who destroyed my home is my father. There was no way I could maintain the pretence that if I just killed him, everything would go back to the way it was.”

That was an uncomfortably accurate description of Jet’s lack of thought process over his own revenge, and he fought hard not to wince, even though Azula didn’t appear to be looking at him. “It sounds obvious when you put it like that.” Jet began carefully, letting a little rueful embarrassment slip into his tone to bolster Azula’s sense of superiority, and then; “But you’re kind of contradicting yourself. First I am home, and now I can’t go home?” He challenged.

“They’re both true.” Azula replied, smirking haughtily at him. When Jet just waited, patiently, she looked away again, that air of royal condescension slipping away to be replaced with something softer, something frighteningly genuine. “You lost… everything. Your mother, your father, your friends, your house, your school, your culture. You were just a kid, and your entire world fell apart around you, and the only thing you wanted, the only thing you had the capability to want, was everything you’d lost.”

Jet felt the words stab deep, too accurate, too precise. He caught himself on that thought, and switched the pronouns in his mind. Not ‘you’ but ‘I’, and realised it was an uncannily similar reflection. “Yeah.” He breathed out, hoarse.

From the look Azula shot him, she knew that had been more than an agreement of the obvious. That he was trying to tell her, without actually saying it, which he knew would annoy her, that he could hear what she wasn’t saying. She glared at him for a moment, then sighed. “You get so caught up in trying to take it back, that you don’t see you already have.” With that, Azula gestured, pointedly, a grand sweeping motion to encompass the whole of the view before them, and for the first time that day, Jet actually looked, and for maybe the first time in eight years, he actually saw.

There was a village up here in the branches. Houses and huts, a village square, a general storehouse, a healer’s, a shrine or three, a playground, some little herb gardens. And so many people, kids of all ages. Some who were veterans of the Freedom Fighters, like Smellerbee and Longshot, older than Jet even, almost adults, falling in love and maybe, one day, having kids of their own, but also little kids, ones they’d rescued from the Fire Nation, too young to fight, but they had enough resources to take care of them anyway, now, so they did. It wasn’t anything like Jet’s home in the details, being built on branches instead of the ground, being so much younger than the people he remembered, but…

That feeling of community and safety was pretty damn close.

“You can never have your parents back.” Azula said after a small age, and Jet jerked his head around to stare at her. He silently substituted ‘parents’ for ‘father’. “But you still have a family, Jet. You still have a home.” She smiled, a sincere, fragile little smile, and looked at him coyly out of the corner of her eye. “That’s the point of revenge.” She murmured, softly, the tone a lover might use to whisper sweet nothings, and Jet found himself smiling despite – or perhaps because of – what she was actually saying. “How else can you let go, but to kill that reminder of what you lost? It’s not about bringing it back, or fixing what was broken, or even about payback. It’s about freedom.”

Azula had to have used that word deliberately, but Jet didn’t mind falling for the rhetorical trick. He beamed. It sounded good, it sounded right. Wordlessly, he plucked the straw out of his mouth, and leaned over, making sure to telegraph his intent because he’d made the mistake of startling Azula once, and never again. She flushed pink as she caught on, but met the challenge with a sly smile and astounding confidence, despite her inexperience. This kiss was a lot less chaste than the last.

When Jet leaned back, he found that Azula had that look in her eye, the covetous piercing gaze she focused on anyone who possessed a weapon or a skill she thought might be useful. Jet felt a shiver of foreboding dance down his spine. Flirting and innuendo was the one weapon he’d had in their battle of wits that she’d never been able to match before. He… probably shouldn’t go teaching her how to seduce people when she was undoubtedly going to use it on him. Or someone not him.

Jet prodded that sudden surge of possessiveness, because he’d never thought of himself as a particularly jealous person before. At least, not in romance anyway. He preferred open relationships and casual hook-ups over monogamy, and yet the thought of Azula flirting with someone else, even though Jet knew she would only do it to get something out of them…

Yeah, that was the problem. It wasn’t so much possessiveness, but – ew – insecurity. Jet didn’t mind the thought of Azula looking elsewhere, he just didn’t like being compared to disposable parts in one of Azula’s plots. He didn’t want her all to himself, he just wanted to know he mattered.

Well, he could find out. “So, you still haven’t actually told me how you came by this valuable life lesson.” Jet pointed out, leaning back with one hand to prop himself up, tucking one ankle under the opposite knee and, and watching Azula with a lazy intensity.

Azula’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and she hummed thoughtfully. Then she nodded once, and looked away again. “It was just after Mother rescued us from the palace.” She began, picking her words with care, and sounding so amazingly mild and detached. “I still wanted to go home, of course, so I ran away from her and straight to the nearest Fire Nation outpost. I was put on a ship heading straight for the Capital, and they treated me like a Princess.” She smirked bitterly. “Guards on my door in case of attack, an escort everywhere as befitted my station, so on and so forth.”

Jet raised an eyebrow. “You did not fall for that.” He stated.

“I tried very hard to.” Azula admitted wryly. “But no, I didn’t. By the time we hit the first Fire Nation island, and I heard that my father had come all the way out to meet me, had set out the moment he heard I’d been discovered… I couldn’t lie to myself any more. My father was not going to let me reach the Capital. It was too much of a risk, given that there was clearly enough attachment between Mother and myself that she had taken me too, even though Zuko was the only one at risk. I-” Azula stopped abruptly, and grimaced like she’d just tasted something nasty.

“What did you do?” Jet wondered aloud, a gentle prompt.

“Escaped, of course. I didn’t know where I would go, or what I would do, but I wasn’t just going to let him kill me. He’d taught me better than that.” Azula mocked lightly. Jet snorted, and Azula flashed a conspiratorial smirk. “Mother and Zuko found me only a few hours away from the ship. They had followed it all the way back to the Fire Nation… just for me. They’d risked… a great deal, because they… cared. I hadn’t… I hadn’t realised how much that mattered, until then.”

Jet let the silence swell as he digested that. He could understand, now, what Azula meant when she said she’d had an advantage over him. She might have lost her family, but there had still been parts of it, parts she hadn’t even realised were there, apparently, to pull together and lean on. Suddenly, Azula laughed, and Jet refocused on her with a little questioning noise. “I remember I was so stunned, and I asked Zuko what in Agni’s name he was doing there. I’d never seen him look at me with that much anger before, not even the time I poisoned him. And he just said ‘you’re my sister’ like that explained anything.” Azula giggled a little helplessly. “I thought he was crazy. I told him so, and he said it right back.”

Jet could picture that so clearly. Both sibling angry and bewildered and even more angry about that, each accusing the other of being the insane one. “Sounds like a stalemate.” He mused, wondering how Azula and Zuko had resolved that little miscommunication.

“Oh, it took Mother interjecting with a reminder that we were fugitives before we moved, and it wasn’t until the next day that I realised… it was what I’d always been so jealous of between Zuko and Mother. They didn’t have to understand me all the time. I didn’t have to… to be what they wanted in order to earn their approval, because they would be there anyway. Even… even if I was a monster, Mother would still be there to protect me from the bigger monsters.”

Jet considered that, and nodded. “Can’t be many of those in the world.” When Azula shook herself out of the reminiscence and looked at him expectantly, he smirked and elaborated; “Monsters bigger than you, I mean.”

At that, Azula smiled, as flattered as if he’d just called her beautiful. “Just the one.” She announced with remarkable confidence, which turned a moment later to vicious determination. The sort of single-minded focus that had made her and her brother some of the most devastating fighters Jet had ever seen, even without bending so much as a spark. “And he won’t be in this world much longer.”

Jet nodded. “You want any help with that?”

“I suppose another pair of hands couldn’t hurt.”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Jet #Jetzula #alternate universe #revenge #philosophising #damaged people #manipulation #flirting #open relationship

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doctorpariahdax · 7 years ago

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Dishonored Fancast - Dishonored ->Brigmore Witches

Angela Bassett as Jessamine Kaldwin She’s just very professional and strong and she has a powerful presence on stage so I think even for a small part she’d be a really strong pick for Jessamine, someone who commands power and respect just with her voice.

Anson Mount as Corvo Attano Mostly because he has the beard and long hair game down. The first time I saw him was on Hell on Wheels, and I haven’t watched much of that show, but for being someone who I would usually dislike simply because of the background of the character he did a really good job at showing a caring and friendly side of a rough skinned man. I think he would be amazing at being everyone’s favorite deadly vengeance/family driven assassin while also showing compassion for Emily.

Carol Kane as Granny Rags Aside from the fact that I think she’s a terrific actress and very funny/scary Carol Kane always seems to make her characters more realisitc than just being acted for the sake of existing. Even in funny roles like her role on Kimmy Schmidt she’s far more entertaining and believable than any of the other actors in my opinion. I think she would do a terrific job at scary us and empathize with her as Granny Rags.

Jeff Bridges as the High Overseer Jeff Bridges is an amazing actor. I can’t even describe how flexible he is as an actor. And maybe it’s just his stature, voice, and talent but he makes a terrifying villain.

Mads Mikkelsen as Daud Unabashedly biased on this one but it’s for a good cause! He is probably my favorite actor because of his micro-expressions. He’s notoriously been cast as a villain in ‘Hollywood’ movies like Le Chieffre in James Bond and Hannibal Lecter. Beyond being a great villain, in his Danish and French films he’s a superbly empathetic actor. He doesn’t overact, he doesn’t yell, he doesn’t have to physically force his way through a scene because he does wonderful micro expressions that show us accurately feelings of rage, pain, loneliness, despair...etc. The guy is amazing and I think that Daud should have a cold and calculating actor who’s an expert at subtle acting. P.S. Go watch his Danish films.

Sir Patrick Stewart as The Lord Regent/Spymaster Sir Patrick Stewart is amazing (starting to sound like a broken record) but like Jeff Bridges he adapts excellently and flawlessly to practically any role he is given. I picked the picture above from the film adaptation of Macbeth because he did an amazing job at being devious and unhinged. (And I did not like the movie....like I was mad that I had to watch it, I just really didn’t dig the dystopian cold war adaptation to the play, but Stewart was FRIGHTENINGLY convincing as Macbeth) And you can’t have a spymaster without that nose, you know? :P

Gal Godot as Delilah Copperspoon I haven’t really seen anything that Gal Godot is in but I love her as Diana Prince and she is really a strong presence on screen. I think that for a character like Delilah that was confident and extremely independent Gal wouldn’t be a bad choice and I think she’s far more capable of actually appearing in a macabre characterization of someone and usual typecasts like Eva Green. She has a very beautiful voice too and I think an essential part of Delilah should be that she’s alluring, even when she’s speaking to you through statues.

Cillian Murphy as Treavor Pendleton Cillian Murphy, to me, is just really good at playing slimy, evil, devious people. I don’t really like him as an actor, but I think that’s mostly because I can’t stand the characters he plays. He’s really a good actor but I think he would fit a perfect niche of being enigmatic, devious, and someone who you can call a friend but never really trust - aka the epitome of Treavor Pendleton.

Christoph Waltz as Teague Martin Christoph Waltz was a frightening and alluring character in Quentin Tarantino’s ‘Inglorious Bastards’, and as Blofield in James Bond. In Hollywood he’s played snake like people such as Walter Keane in ‘Big Eyes’ and as August in the film rendition of ‘Water for Elephants’. Despite that, he’s really a charming gentleman in person and he has played roles from a cute, scheming, pet shop manager in ‘ Weihnachtsmann gesucht’ to the infamous Hans Landa in ‘Inglorious Bastards’. Making him, in my mind’s eye, a great Teague Martin - capable of being very charming and quite frankly very sarcastic and funny to straight up terrifying and murderous.

Peter Mensah as Thomas I really wish I could see more of Peter Mensah in movies. In what little I have seen of him on television he’s always found a way to be my favorite character, even if he’s only a side character or a very minute villain. (Remember when he was kicked into a well in ‘300′? ...Literally my favorite character) His portrayal of the Doctore on ‘Spartacus’ was really emotional, even when you didn’t know much of his character. He’s a very strong and powerful actor who, on the flip of a dime, can be intimidating and calloused and then suddenly quiet and warm, compassionate.

Gary Oldman as Samuel Beechworth Like with Jeff Bridges and Patrick Stewart Gary Oldman adapts to all of his roles without flaws. I really like Oldman’s performances in practically every movie/play he’s done and I really like him playing ‘calmer’ characters. I think if he was Samuel a lot of fans of the game would immediately feel more connected to the character and love him more than we already all do for being LITERALLY our only friend in the whole game.

Lupita Nyong ‘o as Billie Lurk I can’t describe how much I love Lupita. She’s an empowering figure for women and she exudes confidence and strength. It was a tough pick between her and Laura Mvula (wonderful singer, go check out her songs). I can’t help but see her as Billie when I think about Billie’s character development - being abused and belittled and mistreated by the world around her, then finding a family and making a niche for herself through dedication and skill, always looking forwards, always being ambitious and adventurous, with a healthy dose of hubris and care for others’ well being, but not afraid to get her hands dirty for those who harm the ones she loves.

Amandla Stenberg as Emily Kaldwin She straight up tore my heart out as Rue. I know it’s been a couple years but I loved her in Hunger Games and I think she’d be a great Emily. I can totally see her being quiet, shy, and looking out for Corvo at the Pub and also totally fighting back and really giving the Whalers a tough time as she throws punches and makes a run for it at every chance she gets. Also kicking the shit out of the Pendleton Twins

Steve Buschemi as the Older Pendleton Brothers, Crispus and Morgan I don’t think I really need to say anything on this. Steve Buschemi is amazing and scary. I think he’d be great at the Pendleton twins. Like really great...and really scary.

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valflame · 7 years ago

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really ridiculously detailed character stats.

FULL NAME: Arvis Fjalar Velthomer. NICKNAME(S): Emperor of Flame, Duke, Commander. AGE: The game/manga show him from the age of around 6/7 to somewhere in his mid/late 40s up to his death so it ranges. He’s in his early/mid 20s for most of the game so I normally play him as either at that point or prior to the game’s start, when he’s 19/20. MYERS-BRIGGS TYPE: infj. BIRTH DATE: January 14th. ETHNICITY: Jugdrali (Norwegian/Icelandic). PLACE OF BIRTH: The Duchy of Velthomer, Kingdom of Grannvale, Jugdral. GENDER IDENTITY: Male. PREFERRED PRONOUN(S): He/Him. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual. RELIGION: Maerist. OCCUPATION: Duke of Velthomer, commander of the Weissritter, head of the Roten Ritter, right hand to the king His Majesty King Azmur Heim of Grannvale. Becomes Emperor of Grannvale later in his 20′s onward until death. FACE CLAIM: Canon.

Relationships

PARENTS: Victor Fjalar Velthomer and Cigyun of the Spirit Forest. Father is the infamous former Duke of Velthomer, renowned for his cruelty and his promiscuity. Mother is a secret descendant of Saint Maera, made infamous for her extramarital affair with Prince Kurth. Both are dead. SIBLINGS: Azelle Fjalar Velthomer and Deirdre of the Spirit Forest. Both are roughly seven years younger than him, and both are half siblings. Only grew up with Azelle; no-one knew about Deirdre. SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): As part of the plot he marries... Deirdre. Also had a one night stand at some point in his teens with his right hand man general Aida that culminated in a bastard child, but that was more a one time mistake than her being an actual ‘significant other’. CHILDREN: Julia, Julius, Saias. Julia and Julius are twins by his wife Deirdre, Saias is the aforementioned bastard and elder half-brother to the twins. LEVEL OF SEXUAL EXPERIENCE: Enough. STORY OF FIRST KISS: Who even knows. A SOCIAL PERSON? As much as a politician has to be. HOW DO THEY THINK OTHERS PERCEIVE THEM? Intelligent, calculating, quiet. Capable. A man willing to go the lengths nobody else is willing to go to to make sure progress is made. HOW DO OTHERS ACTUALLY PERCEIVE THEM? As a child he’s seen as cold and iron-fisted, but frighteningly talented and capable. Violent, too emotional. As an adult he’s still cold and intimidatingly talented, but he’s seen as more distant and lonely. Troubled. His public adores him before everything falls through the ground by gen2 of the game but that gets him as far as being known for being kind and admirable despite still being cold and aloof. Come gen2 he’s seen as a wicked and traitorous oppressor.

Physical Traits

EYE COLOR(S): Bright red. HAIR COLOR(S): Bright red. HEIGHT: 6′2″ (188 cm) WEIGHT: 162 lbs ( 73.5 kg) BODY BUILD: Lean, defined muscle. Understandably fit despite being a mage owing to his military position. GLASSES? CONTACTS? No. STYLE OF DRESS/TYPICAL OUTFITS: Ornamental military dress, mage robes. Has this weird aesthetic going where he’ll dress in uniform but he’ll still have his special level of Extra™ incorporated so you wind up with a croptop military jacket with epaulettes, robes gilded in gold accents with cleavage windows, military boots with prominent heels, etc. JEWELRY? TATTOOS? PIERCINGS? Recover Ring on his ring finger on his right hand, occasional earrings. Wears clothing with gold, gems and jewelry typically incorporated in. Not a tattoo, but his Mark of Fjalar is on his chest on top of his heart. If minor blood carriers also develop marks then his Mark of Loptyr is on his back, right on the other side of his heart opposite to his Fjalar brand. ATHLETIC? He commands the royal guard, he better be athletic. HOW DO THEY WALK: Chin up, chest out, shoulders back. Confidently. HOW DO THEY SMELL LIKE: Smoke and perfume. WHAT’S THEIR POSTURE LIKE? Straight, confident.

Phobias and Diseases

PHOBIA(S): Fear of burning alive. Fear of abandonment. MENTAL DISEASE(S): I literally never feel comfortable diagnosing fictional characters with anything because I’m not a psychologist or anyone trained in psychology but if I have to for the sake of the meme like, severe depression, general anxiety, he seems to me to hit every tic for bpd. PHYSICAL DISEASE(S): Does having Loptyrian blood count as a disease because it’s Pretty Dang Bad. Otherwise nothing. WHEN WAS THIS DIAGNOSED? N/A.

Intellect

LEVEL OF EDUCATION: Really high, via private tutoring. LEVEL OF SELF-ESTEEM: Simultaneously both really high and pretty low. For the most part it’s pretty hecking high; he sees himself as above most others in most things. GIFTS/TALENTS: He’s a genius with literal holy blood and an unparalleled aptitude for fire magic. Anybody with major holy blood is a demigod. SHORTCOMINGS: Overwhelmingly obsessed with the end goal, and willing to sacrifice basically anything and everything to get there. STYLE OF SPEECH: Formal, flippant. He genuinely cares for equality but has a habit of talking people down when he’s talking to himself, which is often. “LEFT BRAIN” OR “RIGHT BRAIN” THINKER: Left. ARTISTIC? He’s alright. He learnt how to paint in court. MATHEMATICAL? Good at mathematics. Better at reading. MAKES DECISIONS BASED MOSTLY ON EMOTIONS, OR ON LOGIC? Emotions, but emotions he ruminates over and conducts long-winded plans about for months. MOST SENSITIVE ABOUT/VULNERABLE TO: Criticism. Having his secrets found out. Getting called out. Getting his image besmirched. OPTIMIST OR PESSIMIST? Optimist. EXTROVERT OR INTROVERT? Introvert with a muted craving for human contact.

Details/Quirks

NIGHT OWL OR EARLY BIRD? Night owl. LIGHT OR HEAVY SLEEPER? Heavy sleeper. FAVORITE FOOD: Sweet tarts, sweet custards. LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Vegetables. Any vegetables. COFFEE OR TEA? Tea. CRUNCHY OR SMOOTH PEANUT BUTTER? Crunchy. LEFTY OR RIGHTY? Righty. FAVORITE COLOR? Silver. CUSSER? He tries not to because it goes against his prissy nobleman aesthetic, but if you push him far enough he’ll let one or two slip. SMOKER? DRINKER? DRUG USER? Drinks on occasion. PETS? No. Probably had a cat at one point that ran away and soiled his trust in any other pets.

tagged by: @hikaup!! thank you very much >BV tagging: ANYBODY WHO WANTS TO DO IT ☆ JUST SAY PIGEON TAGGED YOU ☆☆☆

#⊰ ♖ ⊱ TIME SHALL UNFOLD WHAT PLIGHT CUNNING HIDES / DASH GAMES #;incest mention for ts #(( me crying: thanks fe for setting me up where I need to use tws constantly just reciting canon content ))#(( do I need to tag this as anything else >:Tc ))

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