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dancing-in-a-yellow-dress · 3 years ago

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Trapped Little Angel (part 1)

Welcome to the first part of the first fanfic on this account.

Child!reader x the Avengers

Word count: 2900

Trigger warning: Imprisonment, nightmares, non graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, possible trigger for eating disorders

You were a 14-year-old orphan living alone in New York, since your family had died in the explosion that gave you your powers. Your powers were similar to Wanda’s (telekinesis and all that jazz). You got them when you were 7, but for whatever reason they hadn’t been active before that day.

It was a basic September day with all of its rain and fog and clouds. You were walking on the street when suddenly you blacked out and your powers exploded out of you destroying property and hurting people everywhere around you. The Avengers were called to action and they evacuated the block and when you’d cooled off a little they took you into custody and to the Avengers tower.

You had passed out and they didn`t really know what to do with you, so they laid you down on the couch and began a debate about the subject.

Tony believed firmly that you were dangerous to the team and the best thing for everyone would be to lock you up isolated and unstimulated to avoid new outbursts until a better option would be available. Steve backed Tony up to an extent, although he did believe the isolation to be unnecessary. Bruce didn’t really voice his opinion on confinement that much, instead focusing on the medical aspect of the situation.

Clint doesn’t really say much during the argument, before Tony raises the possibility of indefinite imprisonment in isolation. That is what finally gets to him, since you are just a kid and remind him of his own daughter. Wanda argues firmly against any form of forced imprisonment. In her opinion you needed medical attention, after which instead of locking you up the team should be focused on helping you control and develop your powers in a beneficial way.

Natasha is uncharacteristically quiet for the whole debate. Something about you had got to her and she found it hard to think of the situation objectively without a massive bias. Peter was on ‘your side’ for sure. To him you were a troubled kid who just happened to need some help. In a way he saw himself in you.

You start to regain consciousness about halfway through the argument. The Avengers are taken back at first, but when you are very confused and scared, Nat and Clint (who are the most ‘neutral’ participants) tell you what happened. When you have gotten the big picture you ask shakily: “How many people did I hurt? What’s the damage?” The others are hesitant to tell you, but Tony is highly pissed at you, so he takes his tablet and shows you some pics of the place where the accident happened. Wanda shoots him a death glare, but he continues and reads the statistics to you: “At this exact moment there are 9 people dead, 27 in critical condition and 56 with milder injuries. All because of your little stunt.” At this point you have pulled your knees to your chest and are struggling to breathe. Steve and Clint look at Tony like he has lost his mind and Nat tries to calm you down. You are repeating the same things over and over again: “I didn’t mean to- It’s all my fault… I don’t know how- What- I didn’t mean to…” Nat was approaching you, her hand reached out ready to stroke your back and pull you into a hug. She says: “We know. Everything will be alright, it’ll be alright. It wasn’t your fault, we’ll sort this out. It’s okay, you’re okay. We don’t blame you, but right now you need to calm down.” You flinch away from her, panic shining in your eyes: “No! Don’t touch me! I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t control it… I don’t understand- I didn’t mean to…” Suddenly you look desperately at Tony “You have to lock me up. I’m dangerous. I can’t be trusted. I have to be put away. Please”, you beg, surprising all of the other people in the room. Peter is about to say something, but Tony cuts him off.

You stand up and Clint shows you the way to a quite big cell. You step in and he shuts the door behind you. You sit on the floor in the corner and pull your knees to your chest. You just blankly stare at the wall. You noticed that there was a camera in corner of the room near the roof as you stepped inside, but you didn’t care. What did it matter. As you stayed on the floor the team was reheating the discussion whilst keeping an eye on the monitor that showed footage from your cell.

Wanda and Peter were shouting at Tony for locking you up in an isolation cell. Natasha and Clint were a bit calmer, but they were backing Wanda and Peter up. At some point Tony says: “You heard the kid. She wanted to be locked up. Even she thought it would be the best option”. And that sets Natasha off: “Yeah, after you had scared the poor thing on the verge of a panic attack. That wasn’t fair play. You drove her to that decision and you know it.” Then Peter fires: “Besides the whole ‘she decided herself’ excuse is bullshit. She’s a kid. SHE’S 14. I’m 17 and you don’t trust me to do anything yet, so how again is she any different?” That shuts Tony up.

In the end the team comes to the conclusion, that they will be monitoring you strictly and willing people will be allowed to go talk to you. All except Peter (just for the first few days) who is infuriated to no end by the decision.

The first person to come talk to you is Wanda. She comes and talks for a while, but you can’t make any sense of what she’s saying. After a while she leaves shutting the door behind her. Steve also comes to question you, and even though this time you understand what he is saying you can’t find the energy to answer him in you. Clint brings you something to eat and drink, but you don’t move a muscle to acknowledge the act. Time sort of looses its meaning to you as you sit on the floor and stare into nothing, alone with your thoughts, the same thoughts over and over and over again.

Nevertheless, you know some time has passed when Natasha comes through the door with another tray filled with food. She places it carefully on her untouched bed and sighs deeply before speaking: “You should really start eating on your own. It’s been two whole days and you haven’t taken a bite. I get that its hard, but you’ve got to try. Otherwise we’ll have no choice but to put a feeding tube down your throat and trust me kid, that does not feel good.” She gives you another look, then turns around and walks out. Slowly you straighten your legs on the floor.

You hadn’t really noticed how much your muscles were hurting for being in the same position for so long before someone pointed it out. You stretched your legs first and then stood up slowly. You went through your body, stretching every muscle one at a time and then sat down beside the bed to eat. You weren’t really hungry, but the threat of getting a feeding tube stuffed down your throat was enough to get you eating.

After you were done with the meal you went back to your corner and sat back down, leaving your legs laying on the floor instead of curling up to a tight bundle. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and Wanda walked in. She picked the tray up and looked down at you, clearly assessing the situation before finally saying: ”Hey, I was wondering if you needed to use the bathroom.” You didn’t answer her but stood up and stepped timidly few steps forward so that she knew you’d be coming along. She guided you through the hallways and into a bathroom. “There is a towel on the counter and shampoo on a shelf in the shower. Take as long as you need. I’ll pick up some clean clothes for you and bring them here. Okay?” You didn’t say a word but nodded and opened the door to the bathroom. After half an hour you were back in your cell but feeling significantly cleaner and comfier.

Instead of sitting back in the corner on the floor you sat on your bed and crossed your legs. You didn’t know why, but you felt like it, so you started singing, first just humming quietly, then adding the words to the song. It was an old lullaby your mom had sang to you more than once. Some things just had a way of sticking with you.

`Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt kuuluu keijujen äänet

Ne tanssivat taas koko yön laulaen

koko yön laulaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

taas syttyy tähtöset pienet

Ne oottavat taas läpi yön loistaen

läpi yön loistaen.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

nyt sammuu keijujen äänet

Ne liitävät taas ylös luo tähtien

ylös luo tähtien`

Then you sang it over again, this time in English

If your quiet, very quiet,

you can hear sound of the fairies

They’re dancing again through the night until day

through the night until day

Very quiet, almost silent

the stars are lighting the sky

they’re waiting again till the night fades away

till the night fades away

If you’re quiet, very quiet

you can hear sound the fairies

they race through the sky so they’ll be near the stars

so they’ll be near the stars

You sang the song a couple times over and finally you got to the last part you had made up on your own. You always ended it there, since you could never continue singing after that.

Hyvin hiljaa, hyvin hiljaa

ei kuulu keijujen äänet

Ne lähtivät taas minut yksin jättäen

minut yksin jättäen

Even if you’re very quiet

you won’t hear sound of the fairies

they flew up the sky leaving me alone behind

leaving me alone behind.

You broke down sobbing. Clint was sitting at the monitor, and he thought it’d be best not to disturb you, so you were left alone as you start humming another melody your mom taught you.

Joka ilta kun lamppu sammuu ja saapuu oikea yö Niin Nukku-Matti nousee ja ovehen hiljaa lyö On sillä uniset tossut ja niillä se sipsuttaa Se hiipii ovesta sisään ja hyppää kaapin taa

”I didn’t know she was finnish” Nastasha said to clint as she sat next to him with two cups of tea. “Finnish?” Clint asked as they listened to the beautiful melody coming from the lonely cell. Nat was quiet for a while before saying “Yeah. The language is absolutely bizarre.” They sat in silence for another while, until Clint said: “She sounds miserable” “Yeah, but who wouldn’t. I’m guessing she has no family, since no one has come asking for her.”

Ja pieni sateenvarjo on aivan kallellaan Ja sinistä unien kirjaa se kantaa kainalossaan Ja unien sinimaahan se lapset autolla vie Surrur, surrur ja sinne on sininen, uninen tie

Ja siellä on kultainen metsä, ja metsässä kultainen puu Ja unien sinilintu ja linnulla kultainen suu Ja se unien sinilintu se lapsia tuudittaa Se laulaa unisen laulun joka mielen uneen saa

Your mum never taught you that song in English. You had tried translating it, but it always turned out so peculiar you had eventually given up.

When you felt like you had cried enough you stopped with the finnish and started going through songs you had heard somewhere else, altering the lyrics as you went.

You hadn’t sung anything in weeks and now you just couldn’t stop. It felt good. You went over your favorites altering lyrics and making up new verses, not wanting the song to end. As you sang you thought about mum and home. In the outside world they were forbidden things, because they made it hard to focus on surviving. But here she had all the time in the world to think. After hours and hours she finally laid down on the mattress and drifted to sleep

Tony had just started his shift watching you through the monitor and you were having a nightmare. You were curled up in a ball and whimpered and muttered quietly, as tears ran down your face. You dug your nails into your back and started scratching leaving bloody red marks behind. Then you started screaming. The sound echoed through the halls, but Tony didn’t know what to do, so he ended up doing nothing, just staring at the screen paralyzed. It went on for a while, until you finally flinched so violently you woke up.

You were in a state of panic, but as you realized where you were it started to wear off. Little by little you started to feel the pain from the bloody scratch marks on your back and arms. You examined your injuries to the best of your abilities and then looked at the floor while talking sheepishly at the camera in the corner of the room: “If you don’t mind I’d like to have something to wrap these cuts with. I might also need some help with the ones in my back. Its not a big deal, but I don’t want them to get infected.”

The screaming had woken up Natasha and Steve who were now standing behind Tony, looking at the screen over his shoulders. Tony cleared his throat before turning around in his chair and facing the other two. They both had their arms crossed on their chest. Steve looked surprised as hell, but Natasha was quick to recover. She threw Tony an icy stare before saying: “Should we think the imprisonment over again, or is she still too dangerous for you to handle?” Tony raised his hands before saying: “Let’s think that over in the morning, when the whole team is up. Now, would you mind going to help her with the injuries?” Natasha threw Tony another dirty look, before grabbing the first aid kit and heading to your cell.

Nat came, and you laid on the bed on your stomach. She lifted your shirt, poured antiseptic solution on a cloth and warned you: “I’m sorry, but this is gonna hurt like a bitch.” She pressed the cloth gently on your back and you shrug. “It’s not that bad. You get used to pain as a homeless kid. Once I had to remove a bullet from my own shoulder.” There Nat saw an opportunity get little bit more information of you and continued the conversation: “Must be tough. I suppose you don’t have any family left?” “Yeah, mum and dad and Tom died… in an accident” you tensed up visibly. Nat continued unbothered but didn’t bring up the deaths again. “I heard you sing the other day. Didn’t know you were finnish.” “Oh, I’m not. My mom was.” “So, can you speak finnish or what?” “Nah, not anymore anyways. I used to, but I haven’t used it in a long time. Some things just stuck with me, like the songs, or silly pet names mum used to call us.” For some reason you felt really safe with Natasha. Her touch reminded you of home as she worked to clean your wounds and then wrap them with clean gauze. You knew it was silly, but it just felt so good to finally talk to someone, so you kept answering her as she continued asking questions. “Pet names, huh. What did she call you?” “She used to call me Lumikki. It’s the finnish for snow white. It’s cheesy as hell, I know but we lived in a little cottage in the woods, and I was obsessed with Disney.” Natasha smiled at you. “Do you remember anything else about your mum.” “She had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. She sounded like an angel. Sometimes I hear her in the wind.” You pause for a minute “And she was a dancer. She used to be a ballerina, but then she had us and her career ended. She never quit dancing though. Once in a while she’d put on her slippers and go through some old routine, like she had never stopped. She even taught me some basics.” Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and continued: “Did you have any siblings?” “Yeah”, you were quiet for a moment, not rushing to continue “One brother. His name was Tuomas, but we all called him Tom. Three years older than me. He was my best friend.” A tear fell down your cheek. Natasha was almost done with wrapping your back so she asked one more question. “How about your dad” You shrugged. “He was a hunter. Spent most of his time with Tom out in the forest when I stayed in with mum.” Nat packed the medical supplies back to the first aid kit and pulled your shirt down so that it covered your back. Then she helped you sit up and said: “I can’t promise anything yet, but we’re having another meeting with the team about your… condition and I believe you might get out of here.” She saw the unsure look you gave her. “Don’t worry” she said as she took your hand “Everything will be alright. I promise”

Sorry, I have absolutely no idea what is going on with the spacing, tried to fix it but it wont budge... Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

#the avengers #mcu #fanfic #child!reader #tony stark #steve rogers #bruce banner #clint barton #natasha romanoff #peter parker #reader x avengers #child!reader x avengers

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aenaxes-moved · 4 years ago

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inertia

[crosshair x gn!reader] removing crosshair's inhibitor chip was never going to be an easy task, but you never expect it to demand an item of equal exchange. otherwise known as picking up the pieces with crosshair, together.

warnings: past paralytic injury, general angst, hurt-comfort

w/c: 2.2k

a/n: as much as i hate physics, you can't deny there's a poetry to the laws of the universe. inertia keeps heavy objects in place, and guilt's one of the heaviest burdens of all.

There are certain universal laws you learn while living on a ship, like the slightly upsetting fact that magnetism is relative and so is time. But there are constants: the behavior of gravity around a massive star, the physics of self-contained gas giants, and, on a less macrocosmic scale, that Crosshair’s armor has neat paint, all clean lines and sharp edges bordering plastoid and standard issue paint.

It only makes sense, a steady hand demanded by a life behind the trigger, you think quietly, watching Crosshair carefully scrape the excess red paint from his brush on the side of a flat scrap of metal. With only the low hum of the Marauder to fill the silence, you follow his brush as you stand in the armory threshold and simply observe the slow deliberation of an even, unwavering line drawn from a memory even the inhibitor chip could not blur.

Not that it’s a particularly difficult thing to paint, the sharp, stylized edge of a nine. But there is a silent weight to its image, a firm and resonant return in its bold crimson colour, reclaiming its rightful place on his shoulder in amends, if the restless bob of his toothpick says anything.

If you look long enough, it’s like he never left. Like you never lost your legs.

“You’re back early,” Crosshair says, dipping his brush back into the paint squeezed over his makeshift palette.

“The rest wanted to explore, but the humidity was getting to me. And I missed you,” you add, and your heart swells when you hear him laugh softly in return.

“I believe you,” he chuckles. It’s a rare thing to come by, laughter genuine and sweet, even with Crosshair’s return—perhaps, because of his return—but you take it gratefully either way.

Two cups of caf in hand, you push yourself off the doorway and move to join Crosshair at his place on the armory floor. But as you set a foot forward, a bolt of pain laces up your ankle. It’s the kind of pain that precipitates a fall, starting low in the arch of your foot, gaining a momentum that renders you immobile by the time it’s clawed up your thigh and fizzled around the cybernetic plate welded to the base of your spine.

It fells you without warning or remorse, cracking you open with the bone-deep sensation of memory. A single ultra-ionized shot through a modified rifle and silencer, calculated and surgically precise, a one of a kind and the only one you have known.

(It wasn’t his fault.)

You jerk forwards, caf sloshing dangerously close to the rim, and you distantly register the clatter of plastoid across the floor before you feel a shoulder push up from under your arm. Long fingers dig into your side, reminiscent of better days and tender touches shared in the quiet comfort of a bunk, and you pitch unsteadily, eyes squeezed tight enough to see white.

As much as you would like to confirm the certainty of a stable support before you can relax, the lingering dredges of atmospheric humidity and exhaustion of breaking into a high security imperial compound work cruelly against your strength. You can do little but give in.

Your knees buckle beneath you, and you sag against the only person on the ship able to brace your fall. Miraculously, the caf, handles squeezed tight under your white-knuckled grip, remains unspilled.

“I ruined your paint,” you laugh through your teeth, fuzzy black edges slowly receding from your field of vision as you blink your eyes open.

“And I shot you,” Crosshair hisses.

Crosshair lowers you to the floor, and you feel a full-bodied flinch shock through his form as your unmoving legs splay awkwardly over the cold metal. He is quick to take the cups out of your hand, setting them down with a hard clack before he returns his attention to you. You had always thought Echo would be the one on the receiving end of carefully placed touches to coax the pain of surgical scars and rough wiring away.

You never once dreamed it might be you, too.

One arm secured around your shoulders, he reaches down like it’s muscle memory to rub slowly over the scar tissue framing your implant. The scars are fresh, just barely a week old and forever seared over your skin, but guilt, you have found, tends to hasten the learning process, the scrambling compensation.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you sigh, leaning against Crosshair’s chest and dropping your head back against his shoulder.

“I aimed. I pulled the trigger, y/n.” He’s angry, a low, simmering rage held close and bubbling under the hard edge in his voice as his grip tightens around you. You feel it in the faint tremor in his arm, how he holds you tight to his side and silently wills you to stay.

He is angry, but it is not for you.

“You weren't you,” you mumble.

It’s second nature—it always has been, now, simply with pause—to turn your head when he’s nestled up against your back, to lean close, nuzzle into his neck, and ground yourself, ground him, in the silence of touch. Relief floods your chest, warm sunlight dawning over the thorn in your side, when you feel him chase your touch, settling both his arms around your waist and ducking down low to press his chin atop the crown of your head.

Nothing would ever be the same, but this was a start.

“If it wasn’t me,” Crosshair starts, his voice catching on a sputtering inhale, thick with the tangle of words unsaid. He clears his throat, and if you notice the curling edges of a tremor on his tongue, you say nothing. “If it wasn’t me, who else can you blame?”

“I don’t blame anyone,” you say into his skin, lips ghosting over his rapid pulse.

It’s a diplomatic answer. Of course you blame someone—Palpatine, Tarkin, the fact that Crosshair and his brothers, every last one of the clones, had been built around a single, biding initiative that he hadn’t the luck or the chance to resist. You had been sleeping with the enemy even before he knew that he could be the enemy.

But thinking about it makes your head spin. Blame is too hard, too tiring to place when you, yourself, had been sewn into its vast web. So while Crosshair had slept with a bacta patch plastered to his temple, you had rewired your spinal cord and decided to be away with the anger, the resentment, the mornings waking up in tears when you lifted your blanket and barely recognized that you had legs at all.

“Don’t fucking lie,” Crosshair spits, and you feel him shake around you. Anger, such an easy defense. Such a flimsy one.

“I’m not—”

“I hear you cry in the mornings when your cybernetics don’t click; I hear you scream when you try to move and your mind tells you one thing but your legs don’t fucking work because I made a killshot that paralyzed you—”

“And it paralyzed me because you had every chance to put a bolt through my head but you aimed for my back. You were fighting it, Cross,” you counter, voice quivering.

“But it was me. I took that shot, and you pretend like you don’t—like you don’t hate me because I still had my chip. But I remember it, and it was still me, and you have every right to—”

“Cross!” you shout, and he starts hard enough that you feel him jump. You feel blindly for his hand, gripped tight at his own wrist, and squeeze, hard. “I have my legs back. And sometimes they don’t work just right, but all I care about right now is that you’re back. It’s all I’ll ever care about.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he mumbles into your hair, the sudden burst of vitriol tamed and locked away for the moment.

You’re distinctly aware that he itches to push you away. You feel it in the uncertain pause rigid in his movements before he turns his palm to twine his fingers with yours. After all, it’s easier to cope when the object of your crushing guilt is at an arm’s length.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to comfort me, tell me that you missed me too and that I was right, and you say that everything’ll work out, Cross,” you laugh weakly. You gently knock your head against his collar, prodding, urging, anything to break the crushing silence you know haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Instead, you feel a shuddering sigh against your ear, and Crosshair only dips his head low, hiding his face in your shoulder as his grip tightens around your waist. There is no sardonic quip or playful bite to offer you peace—only slow, mechanical breaths pressed into your skin in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart altogether. You reach up, gingerly carding your fingers through his hair when you feel that telltale warmth seeping through the fabric of your shirt, salt sharp on your tongue.

“I shot you. I aimed to kill,” Crosshair mumbles, almost hysterical in level calm, the steady veil locking his tense jaw and drawn shoulders in place. “Why are you comforting me?”

“Would you rather I never speak to you again?” No malice in your tone, you shift your weight, bearing down against Crosshair and begging him to move closer. He does.

“It would be more believable if you did,” he mutters, and you catch the tail end of a soft sniff.

“Not really my thing, grudges,” you say. “Especially against the people I love.” Trailing your fingers lower, you slip below his hairline and begin stroking your palm over the back of his neck, bent forward at an unforgiving angle. You wonder how many times he’s curled into himself like this that he can simply sit, penance and grieving, and the ache that seizes your ribs hurts more than your cybernetic misfire.

“After all that,” he finally mumbles, something close to hushed awe in his voice. “You still love.”

Slowly, melting through the numb static crackle, you feel the sensation seeping back into your feet. You could always rebuild your mobility with some careful cerebrospinal implants, seasonal aches and occasional pains be damned, but you could never replace him.

“Of course I do,” you whisper back. Careful to keep the quiet, tremulous peace, you bring your hand down, sliding around the side of his neck to cup his jaw from behind, ignoring the wetness streaked over his skin. “Still loving,” you affirm, voice steady as you thumb over his cheek. “Still loving you.”

It takes a beat of silence, your words lingering in the still air of the armory, but instead of the tense, fraught grief of when your implant had fizzled out, there is warmth, present and forgiving. You know that nothing will ever be the same, but when Crosshair turns his head to press his lips into your palm, you know that you can still try. Like the waking groan of a crashed ship, you will pick up the pieces and power up one more time, again, again, again, as many times as it takes.

Crosshair nuzzles close, quietly basking in your presence as you sit curled together on the armory floor. And at last, his breaths still, slow and deep as the ship hums around you. He’s never been one for words, not even at his fever pitch of disorientation and distress. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he means when he clasps your hand again and holds tight, but his voice is a welcome sound all the same.

“Thank you.”

And for a while, that’s how you stay, breathing slowly and clinging to each other like moving apart would mean never coming back. And that’s how it genuinely does feel—the safety in stillness, carving out your own constant in the cosmic entropy of conquest and loss. For a moment, you can simply savor the quiet simplicity of being.

But the universe wills motion, stars colliding and collapsing and breathing new life all over again. So too, do you feel the strength return in lapsing waves to your legs and the coiled fear leach out of Crosshair’s posture.

“Promise me this,” you whisper, just loud enough to rise above the ambient noise of the ship as you curl your toes and feel again, lurching into motion like gears fallen into disrepair. Crosshair rouses behind you, and he sniffs deeply, once, before he presses his cheek to the side of your head—he is listening. “Promise me that we’ll move on.”

“I can’t promise that,” he says after a brief pause, words measured and low. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

As much as there are variables scattered through star systems and wreaking havoc wherever they go, so too are there constants pushing back against the chaos, aligning the universe. Like clockwork, when you wake, the stars turn, the gas giants dance, and when you squeeze Crosshair’s hand, he squeezes back.

#anyways if you want something to listen to while you read: we are by lee jin ah #that or: tunnel by colde #i just want him back hsdf #crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #yaej.writes

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that-damn-girl · 4 years ago

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(1) Daze of Pollen

(Work in Progress - 1 of 8; Slow updates)

Daze of Pollen Materlist

Pairing: (cis)fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson

Words: 1800+

Warnings: None except language?

Summary: Bucky, Steve, Sam and you are in the safe house post mission when a retrieved Hydra device activates, releasing a kind of pollen you don’t know of, but the effects of which are soon discovered.

A/N: To all my horny bitches out there, I’m sorry the first chapter isn’t smutty. I didn’t plan on keeping the entire first chapter as the intro but it just...happened. Also, This is my submission for @buckyssoul ‘s Rae Hit 1k Marvel Writing Challenge. I’m sorry for the delay. Hope you like it!

It is a strange concept, really. We don't always get what we want. But if we do, it's when we least expect it, in the most strangest of ways as well.

Call it your good luck, fate, destiny, a simple mere coincidence, or whatever. You were grateful for that night in the safe house regardless. For the first and the last time, you could say that you were thankful for a little Hydra contraption.

It all started during a peaceful dinner. You and your group of friends were relaxing after a successful mission, treating yourselves with any and all comfort food available in the safe house. The mission was anticipated to be much harder than usual; the only reason why Bucky and Sam had asked you and Steve to accompany them. Quite unexpectedly, the mission went smoothly and it seemed there was no need for the extra help they had requested. But considering the mission consisted of scoping out an abandoned Hydra base, being overly cautious was preferred than being overconfident. One never knew the levels of villainy Hydra truly possessed.

Oh, you were about to discover the truth in that statement just fine.

Bucky sat across from you on the dining table, Sam to your right. The duo played catch with a balled sheet of paper, their half eaten meals abandoned on the table. You and Steve conversed with them while enjoying your respective sandwiches.

It was true that Steve had given up his Captain America mantle to Sam, a man just as deserving of the title, but hadn't completely retired. He didn't get out on the field anymore, but used his excellent strategic skills in planning the missions sometimes, especially if it included Hydra.

All of you would have been enroute to the Compound had Rhodey and Scott not hogged the quinjet. None of you minded though. With the four of you together, it was very much like a quiet night in with close friends. Unbeknown to you, it wasn't going to be particularly quiet much longer.

"Does it smell funny to anybody else here?" Bucky asked, pausing midway while rocking his chair. Squinting his eyes, he glanced around himself to locate the source of the smell, a deep frown etched onto his features.

Steve took a tentative whiff, you and Sam doing the same. "No pal, I don't smell anything."

"It's…" Bucky closed his eyes, taking in deep inhales. "It's faint but it's there. I'm sure of it."

You and Sam glanced at each other, a raised eyebrow followed by a shrug. Suddenly Bucky sat up with a start, his gaze fixating on a corner of the room. Following his line of sight, you found the hard black stacked containers with the Shield logo which held the Hydra files and devices you had retrieved from the base earlier in the mission.

"It's coming from there, I think." Bucky stood up and reached the stacked containers in only a few long strides. Before any of you could stop him, he lifted the cover to inspect its contents.

Immediately a puff of bright yellow powder-like substance was released from the inside, as if a smoke bomb had been triggered. Bucky coughed as the coloured dust hit his senses. It didn't take long for the particles to dissipate in the air. Soon the clean air around you was shrouded with the yellow dust, leaving all of you a coughing mess.

"What is it?" You wondered, one hand waving in front of your face to get rid of the dust while the other protectively covered your nose. It was no use though. It was everywhere, the particles so fine they slithered through the gaps between your fingers. You could do nothing but inhale it as you coughed helplessly. The particles stuck to the insides of your mouth. You couldn't feel them on your tongue or the roof of your mouth, but the dryness that followed was a sure shot indication. The tangy scent of it overwhelmed your senses, making you wonder how could you have missed it.

"Look inside the container, Bucky. See what released it." Sam instructed with broken words in between the coughs.

"Fucking Hydra," Steve muttered under his breath.

Following Sam's orders, Bucky peeked inside and pulled out a wooden cube. It was small enough to be grasped in his palm. One of its faces had the ugly red symbol of Hydra painted on it. The cube was heavily cracked along the sides. Had Bucky not held onto it firmly, it would have fallen apart right then.

Sam, you and Steve drifted closer to Bucky as the yellow dust gradually dissipated into nothing - or rather as the most of it was already inhaled by you all. The cube appeared to hold some carvings in a language you supposed was Russian.

"I...don't...understand…" Bucky's fingers drifted across the letters as he tried to make sense of it. "Fuck!" With widened eyes, Bucky retraced the words, confirming what he had read. Throwing the cube across the room, he started pacing the room, his head hidden behind his palms.

"Come on, man, you're scaring me." Steve said, approaching his friend.

"You should be!" Bucky yelled, all his frustrations coming out on the wrong person. He loudly groaned, rubbing his forehead, "I'm sorry. It's just that…"

"What is it, Bucky?" You asked.

Bucky looked at you, his gaze sweeping over your form. He bit his lip, an almost remorseful look coming over in his eyes. In a much softer voice, he said, "I don't know how to explain it. I don't know where to start."

"Do you know what the yellow dust we all inhaled was?" Sam asked.

Bucky replied after a long pause. "It was a sort of pollen which Hydra had engineered."

"Hydra modified...pollen?" You asked. The idea sounded as bizarre to you as snow in the Sahara. "What?"

"No- Well, um, yes," Bucky took a deep breath before he started explaining. "Hydra could never replicate the super soldier serum they used on me. But they needed more super soldiers. It hardly ever happened that anybody else would succeed in recreating those serums so that Hydra could steal. They decided that if they couldn't transform using the serums, they would...breed super soldiers. That's when Project Growth started. These pollen were engineered to assist in it."

"How did the pollen assist Project Growth?" You asked, confusion dripping from your voice.

Bucky glanced at you but quickly diverted his gaze, unable to keep the eye contact. "Project Growth was about using super soldiers like me and those four others to... impregnate willing women. Conception with super soldiers is harder than usual for some reason. So they came up with this pollen to aid the process. It's an aphrodisiac. They called it sex pollen, because well, it increases one's sexl drive... by a lot. So much so that it might be fatal if the person exposed to it doesn't, you know, climax."

"What? Are we gonna want to fuck like rabbits then? Become Hydra's breeding bitches?" Sam asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

"The experiments were never successful. They did it a couple of times and it never resulted in a pregnancy. This box," Bucky gestured to the broken cube lying on the floor, "I don't know how or when but it got activated somehow." He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea if the pollen inside it was a sample of those failed experiments or if that of a new one. Either way, we don't have long before the effects would start showing."

There was a lull in the room, the implications of what Bucky said sitting heavy on everyone's minds.

"We can keep ourselves locked in our separate rooms until it wears off to...get ourselves off." Steve's cheeks were tinged a deep shade of red as he proposed the idea.

"It's not that easy. Trust me, I've been through it." Bucky looked at Steve. "It's something about needing another person's touch; a sense of intimacy. No matter what you do on your own, it won't ever be enough. It would send you in a daze of lust, where the only thing you could focus on would be to anyhow satiate yourselves. You would desperately want another person to touch you, no matter who or what gender. You'd need them to touch you." He glanced at each one of you. "I'm sorry, but it's going to be nasty."

"So what you're saying is, it's basically fuck or die?" Sam said.

"When you put it that way…" Bucky tried to think of a better phrase but finding none, he replied, "-Well, yes."

"I don't know what to say," You crossed your hands in front of your chest. To say that you were shocked was a massive understatement. You couldn't even begin to believe that any of it was true.

Unconsciously, your gaze drifted over each of the men in the room. They all stood with a hard look on their handsome faces, lost deep in thought. You weren't sure if it was you or the pollen due to which you felt yourself get wet, your panties gradually dampening and sticking to your form.

Truth be told, you had always wondered what being with these men would feel like, what fucking them would be like. Would Sam choke you in a sensual manner with those bulging arms of his? Would Bucky keep you pinned to the bed with his thick thighs? What would gripping America's Ass feel like when Steve would be pumping his length into you?

You bit your lip, your mind conjuring up a train of lewd images. You wondered if it all would come true that night. Though you had considered them insanely attractive since the day you had met them, you never dared to act upon any of your desires with either of them. They were your close friends, and you'd be damned if you'd destroy it for a night of pleasure.

Now though, you had no other option but to fuck them if you valued your life. On any other day you would have laughed boisterously had anyone suggested such a thing, but it was your reality right then.

You realized it didn't have to be a necessarily bad thing though

Huffing dramatically, you stood straighter, hands falling by your sides. With a newfound confidence, you asked, "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

"What?" Steve asked, dumbfounded.

"At one point or the other, we would eventually go crawling to someone. I don't think we'd be in control of ourselves if it would make us that desperate. Avoiding the inevitable makes no sense. It's better to start it while we are still able to make conscious decisions and consent to being with each other. At least I'd prefer that."

The men looked at each other, a silent conversation happening amongst them. Bucky asked, "Are you sure, Y/N?"

You smiled. "I am, Bucky. If it's gonna be this way, then I'm glad it's the three of you. Are you guys sure though?"

Bucky glanced at Sam and Steve before smirking, "You bet we are, babydoll."

You walked closer to Bucky, standing on the tip of your toes as your arms curved around his neck, excitement thrumming through your veins. "Let's get this show started then."

Chapter 2

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strawberrysoup · 5 years ago

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Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 1

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.3k chapters: 1/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, wanted omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, unless one acquired (through whatever means necessary) methods to prevent it that one. Heats, a homegrown threat guaranteed to commit acts of violence at least twice a year. By the time your first had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs bidding on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (effects that you were pretty sure were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider you more than an outsider in their close-knit community. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, the only person particularly thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast— you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime, which Mrs. Hunt loved (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the amazing reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any questions either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong. You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder. “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

“Now even if you aren’t its okay,” the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge. “I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer. “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

“Don’t forget your bucket too!” Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, “I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen. There was no time to dwell on manners.

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air. "The house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye— and you had no time for such consideration.

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was bad. Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of panicking omega.

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes. “Would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You did not like that his nose was especially sensitive and you hated that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm. “Thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were four massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the three bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors in the process.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, immediately. You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off waves of pheromones, to the point that your head floated for a moment. Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way. “Sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly not moving.

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air. “Nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin.

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as a command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to nicely draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, submit, submit, make alpha happy and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was rumbling instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking. "Everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you. “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver. "Sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… sour beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently. "Are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks. "Where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega. “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans. "There’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation; an array of emotions swarmed through your body as his hand popped the button but those were the three you could identify and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties. "It’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, you couldn’t. Not even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Not even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge. "A nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam. “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him. "Please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting a mouthful of blood directly into his face.

content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering

edited 7/9/21 - still on hiatus

#avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #tony stark x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #clint barton x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!thor #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!natasha romanoff #wow i give up its too many #posies chapter 1 #will reblog w tags in just a sec

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hotchley · 3 years ago

Text

that’s when i could finally breathe

Me: oh yeah, I am definitely going on a fanfic writing break. Also me: this.

As always, I have no idea what I’ve done. I really was taking a break, but then I was listening to Clean and... this happened. All of my pieces have been weirdly cathartic, and I think this one was just like: HAHA PROJECTION!!

I also did not proofread this, and wrote it in one day, so... do with that what you will :)

Also, do not comment on my inability to come up with decent titles. I know. I know this is a terrible title, but I HAD NO BETTER IDEAS OKAY!!!

Word Count: 2289

Trigger Warnings: child abuse, funerals, death, past suicidal thoughts, grief, self-destructive behaviour (Hotch does not pull his hair out, but he does have thoughts about doing so)

read on ao3!

He has always found a sense of peace in the rain.

Where other people would run to try and find shelter, Aaron has always loved to just stand and let it soak through his clothes to his skin, chilling his bones and body. Haley had found it endearing as a teenager.

As an adult, it had concerned her.

He could tell her it was nothing till he was blue in the face, but there was a sense of panic that came with looking out the window to see the clouds weeping, combined with her husband’s lack of presence in their apartment.

More than once, he would come home, shivering and teeth chattering, but smiling. She would force him to change, to wrap himself in a blanket, but he would usually be too dazed to do so without her assistance. He caught a cold more than once.

Jack has inherited his love for the rain. His love, like everything else about him, is childish and innocent though. A love for jumping in puddles and splashing his parents. A fascination with the different types of weather, and a love for the yellow coat that has a duck on the hood that was a gift from Penelope.

Aaron’s love for the rain can be described in one word. The same word Haley has always used to describe the way he loves everything. His love for the rain is complex. It is born from the best and worst moments of his life.

His love for the rain comes from the little boy that wore his heart on his sleeve. Who wanted nothing more than to turn the terrible things that happened into a story, and who just wanted to use his brain to find a reason for all the bad things that seemed to keep happening.

It rained the day of his father’s funeral. His mother and Sean shared an umbrella. Haley tried to get him to stand under hers, but he refused, choosing to stand in it, letting it numb the fire in his stomach. He didn’t shed any tears at the funeral. He had already mourned the death of his father. He had mourned when he was eleven, and learnt that his father did not love him. Not in the way he was meant to. Not in a way that was right.

The rain made it look like he was crying. It soaked his hair and dripped onto the collar of his coat, and when his uncle drove him and the last people that knew the truth about Mr Hotchner, his mother seemed to realise what he had been doing. She chastised him, but it was weak and with no real threat.

Aaron would confess to Haley, months later, that the rain had made him feel like he was being listened to. Like the God he had stopped believing in believed his father was a bad man, and the rain had been to disrupt the final event where anyone would truly care for him. The rain made him feel like there was a happy ending at the end of the tunnel waiting for him.

It made him feel like he could breathe again.

When Haley kissed him for the first time, it was raining. They had been running home from their date, not expecting the summer night to turn out like that, and he had paused because of the stitch in his side.

She had turned around, laughing hysterically because of course this had happened. Of course their first date, which she had spent hours preparing for, Jessica styling her hair and convincing her the dress she had picked was perfect, ended in rain. With her hair coming loose from the pins she had slid into it. With Aaron’s shirt plastered to his skin. If she had stepped close enough, she could almost see the scars on his back.

She wouldn’t ask though. Not today.

He looked at her, slightly apologetic, and she was once again struck by just how pretty he was. His eyelashes were longer than she had first realised, and the rain seemed to drip off of them in a way she had only ever seen in the movies.

His hair was an untamed mess. Her heart had dropped a little when he rang her doorbell, because she liked the chaos of his usual style, and seeing it without a hair out of place made her feel like he was trying to be a different person. The rain had ruined it all though, and it now fell onto his forehead and stuck to his face in a way she loved.

To everyone else in their little town, he likely looked like the villain. Like the demon creeping in through the window to steal the beautiful princess away to their terrible castle. But Haley is not everyone else. And to her, Aaron looks like the dashing prince, ready to save the heroine from the terrible prejudice of her home.

So when he opened his mouth, probably to ask her if everything was okay, she took a step forward, placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. It was messy and wet and awkward, but it was their first. And it was special.

Her cheeks were flushed when she pulled away. Aaron just stared at her for a few moments, something like panic written all over his face. But then that panic gave way to something else, and Haley felt like she was watching someone realise they were in love.

It was more beautiful than she could’ve ever imagined.

He smiled at her, still bashful after the events of the evening, and held his arm out to her. She took it, allowing him to walk her all the way to her front door, where he placed a single kiss to her cheek.

He laughed, once he was out of her line of sight. He laughed, and he ran through the puddles, splashing the water everywhere, and he let out loud cheers because the night was silent and only the stars were there to keep him company.

Haley Brooks liked him. No. She loved him.

It made him feel like he could live again.

The moment he felt clean, like the blood had been washed from his hands, like he could breathe again, like he could exist and not feel like there had been some massive mistake, it was raining. Haley had been dead for six months, and it had been six brutal months of cases, of processing his grief, of shutting down in front of the team.

Of teaching Jack that being sad was part of life, and that being happy did not mean he was forgetting Mom, or a terrible person. Of wishing there was someone to hold his hand, just for a moment.

Of flashing Jessica little smiles, because he had lost the first woman to love him the way love was supposed to be, but Jessica had lost her baby sister, and nothing was ever going to bring her back to life. Not his own self-destruction. Not his guilt. Not his pain. Not the way he threw himself into cases that caused the ink to blur before his eyes.

Not the way he was trying so hard to teach his son exactly what love was so he would grow up unafraid to jump in head first, and would always believe in its existence.

Jessica asked if Jack could stay with her for a few days. She had a break in between one project finishing and the next starting, and she was going to use it to look at some of the things Haley had left at her house. Aaron was yet to deal with the things in the house and in storage. He just couldn’t do it.

But Jessica wanted to start, and she wanted Jack to see some of the things. He spoke to Jack, and Jack’s therapist, about the trip, and when both people signed off on it, he packed his son a bag and dropped his son off at his aunt’s for the weekend.

The quietness of the apartment had a greater impact on him than he thought it would’ve. He had gotten used to the sound of Jack racing around. Of Jessica washing dishes. Of their quiet existences that left a mark on every inch on every wall of the convenient location that had somehow evolved into a home- something he thought he’d lost forever when Anderson handed him the divorce papers.

He couldn’t handle the silence. It was suffocating. It reminded him of his childhood house, and of walking on eggshells. It reminded him of the thirty-four days he felt in silence, recovering from stab wounds he wished had killed him, and mourning the loss of his family.

So he drives. And he drives. And he drives.

And he somehow finds himself at Gideon’s cabin. He’d only been there twice since he left the team. Once to pick Reid up once he had the strength to phone and say that he’d found a letter, but he didn’t know what he was meant to do, but Gideon was gone and he didn’t know why everyone always left. Once to pick Rossi up, after the case with the three children that ended with no real sort of justice.

Gideon left him a key. It was in the drawer of his desk, with no explanation. No letter. No apology. Hotch had taken it, and attached it to the keyring that held his house keys. He’d never used it though.

Not before now.

Because that day, when he goes to Gideon’s cabin, he lets himself in. He walks through the different rooms, smiling at the small traces of his former mentor that still remain there, and the pieces of the other team members that have somehow found themselves a home in the various areas.

He exits out the back door.

Haley had taken him here once. After she found out she was pregnant, he was meant to step down and take a transfer. They’d had it all planned out. Then he’d gotten a phone call saying there was a case, and that case had been Adrian Bale so before he knew what was going on, he was pushed into the role of Unit Chief and trying to rebuild a team that was never meant to have been his.

She had taken him here to remind him of all the reasons he couldn’t leave. Of all the lives he would feel responsible for if he acted selfishly. And he had looked at her, with such love in his eyes, and agreed with her. It had been a quiet trip. A peaceful trip. A warm visit. They had been together, still the teenagers that linked hands during the final bows of their performance.

Haley was dead, and he was left to patch up his own pieces. The visit had been tense and silent, but the uncomfortable type, and even as he walked through the cabin, he wondered why exactly he had bothered coming here. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve, or what he thought this was going to do. He just knew it was something he needed to do.

When he stepped back out into the woods that surrounded the cabin, the rain started.

He had never believed in signs, not truly, but this one was too big to be anything but that. It was pouring. Enough to cause the branches to sag with the weight of water. Enough to create proper puddles that could be jumped in. Enough to remind him of the first time Haley had kissed him, and how that simple touch had brought him back to life. Enough to remind him of his father’s funeral, and how the feel of the cold had reminded he had no longer had to be afraid.

It was loud enough to drown out the sounds of people.

He had one chance to do this. One chance to see whether or not his love for the rain would still help him the way it always had.

He screamed. He fell to his knees, and he fisted his hands in his hair. He didn’t pull it out, but he tugged at it, and Haley wasn’t there to grip his hands till he could trust himself.

He screamed. And he cried. And he begged for an answer. And he shoved his blazer off, not even caring that his trousers were stained with mud that would likely never come out, and not giving a damn about the cold.

He screamed. Until his throat went dry and his words seemed to fade into nothing, not only because the rain swallowed his noises, but because he couldn’t be loud.

He screamed until he was soaked and the rain had caused him to go numb and start shivering.

And then he turned around and walked back inside. As he passed the bathroom, something caught his eye. A towel he had thought he had just misplaced whilst on a case, and a hoodie he’d assumed he’d given to Sean and forgotten about. Almost like Gideon had guessed what he would be doing here, and wanted to apologise for what he had done.

Haley would not want him to get sick. Neither would Jessica. Neither would the team. Neither would Jack.

So he went into the bathroom, and he dried himself off, and he zipped the hoodie up. And then he took a final look around the cabin. He smiled to himself, knowing that, no matter what happens, the team will always have this as their safe haven.

He drives home, despite the rain.

It makes him feel like he could love again.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #haley hotchner #jason gideon #hurt hotch #hotch angst #tw death #tw child abuse #tw grief #tw self destruction #tw past suicidal thoughts #sumayyah writes cm

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jjk-anime-horray · 3 years ago

Text

Call of Spirits

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

Spirited Away Au

Masterlist

Chapter Six:

"Sen! Pull the lever for more water, we need clean liquid on this patron stat!"

"On it!"

You rushed to the water station, dodging countless peaces of drifting junk rushing off of the spirit ad you cleansed it of it's pollution. If you some how managed to forget what was happening, you were currently purging the filthiest spirit you've known to exist. You couldn't even make out it's true form past all of the junk on it. Having to trudge through the water soaked room was like trying to walk through a scratching hot desert except reverse, but equally as impossible, but such was the existence of a worker at this grueling spirit bath house.

Looking to the water you were currently maneuvering through you noticed that it was as dark as a shadow in the night, and tainted pitch black from the dirt. To an extent that you almost wanted to hurl from it.

The seemingly curse spirit thrashed at the new coming hot water as it splashed on it's form, rushing into the crevasses from the tendrils coming from it's body, and causing the spirit to nash it's large mouthed teeth on it's head in distaste. The spirit let out a high pitched gargle, which for obvious reasons probably wasn't a good sign.

Then, massive waves came crashing over you from the thrashing of the being. Gigantic masses of water sweeping you to the far walls of the room slamming your backs into the hard wood.

Water at this point was absolutely everywhere in the room, filling all of its space and existence, and was defiantly filling up way more than the bath tub. For heaven's sake it was flowing out of the room, and into the bath house's hall ways.

Then you noticed something, the water levels that currently raged through out the room barely cover half of the spirit's body, in fact to the spirit it would almost be like wading in water not bathing in it. In that instant, you started to pick your self up from the wall, and trudge over to the water lever once for. Now through even more tainted, murky water.

"Sen what are you doing!!!!" Kugisaki called from across the room, her head and clothes clearly soaked with a look of shock on her face.

Not responding to her, determined on your mission, you finally make it to the water lever you yank on it as hard as you could. Again, again, and again until from above the pipe started to burst with soapy water.

But the spirited starting to be cleaned throughly didn't come without consequences. A tsunami came barreling down from the sealing. Tumbling all through the room, and most importantly on the spirit, but also you and would have been nobara, if she hadn't left moments before anticipating your future actions when called out to you.

You get swept from the lever into the cesspool of water when losing your grip from the life line of the rope. You swish through the water, but you body feels like it's starting to spin. The liquids quickly started to whirl and swirl around something in the middle of the room.

"The Drain!" You gasp.

Quickly you ran onto the closest stable item you could and held on for dear life as the water rushed out of the room quickly through the floor. Creating a massive whirlpool that was swallowing everything at the moment and getting bigger at the moment.

All that could be heard was the ratchet and vulgar gargling of the drain, and not knowing what to do you close your eyes as you kept yourself latched to the metallic wood boat piece that came from the spirit.

It kept gargling, groaning, whining, and screaming until all of the load noises finally stopped which then triggered you to open your eyes to view the scene before you.

Everything was glistening wet, but the water finally subsided. There was on giant spirit, only a little wet river spirit girl standing in the middle of the room soaked through with bright dark eyes and pristine straight black hair.

She was splayed on the ground far away and partially looking away from you when you spotted her in the middle of the room. Then with out you fully registering what happened she seats herself up and meets your eyes with hers when she does so.

However next she does something that catches you off guard momentarily. She smiles at you. Then she quickly dashes up to you, and fishes something from her pocket. A perfectly little wrapped package that somehow wasn't when like you two were. Swiftly she places it in your hands, then quickly dashes out the door of the room affectedly leaving you shocked.

*T*I*M*E*S*K*I*P*

After the higher up hotel worked said that you could end your shift, you walked down the hall and slammed your hand into your pocket to find the little package the spirit girl have you.

Unwrapping the nice foil quickly, you notice that the first thing you see is a little envelope. Naturally you open the little envelope up when you find an open place to sit on a baron so that no one could disturb you to find that the contents read this:

Hello!

Arigato,

Thank you for cleaning me, please take this herbal bake. It will help you when you need it.

-Rika

Noticing the left over packaging and unopened package you quickly sort through the filament to find the small pastry cake that she was talking about, only to re-wrap it all so you wouldn't stale it.

All the while a spirit with blue highlights was watching you while you didn't notice, and was becoming even more infatuated with you. Blue orbs settled on your moving form as you neatly refolded the sparkly paper over your gift.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #nobara kugisaki #gojo satoru #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #gojo satoru x reader #anime #weeb #studio ghibli #studio ghibli au

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the19thduckpotato · 4 years ago

Text

Blood of the Father (early Dad Might ficlet)

Disclaimer: we played fast and loose with the medical side of this story so please just focus on the Dad Might. XD

Trigger warning for blood and injury.

As always, all the fondest gratitude to @my-favorite-aesthetics

Now then, on with the story! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Plit...plit...plit... As Toshinori stumbled into his office, his blood dripped down in a ghastly trail behind him. He was quick to shut the door then hobbled to his desk. The bottom left drawer held bandages,, the bottom right cleaning supplies. He pressed his hand against his side with a grimace, fumbling out paper towels and cleaning solution. Leaving the drawer open, he awkwardly wiped the tile floor, soaking up the crimson spots.

"...and your office will of course have luxurious carpet in whatever color you choose," Principal Nezu had chirped. "Tile," Toshinori had quietly but firmly replied. "Hmm? But why?" "I imagine I may be called upon even while I teach here. And it's imperative that no one know my secret, sir." "Well of course, but how would carpet--" The tall blond had burst into a sudden fit of coughing at that moment. Embarrassed, he had fought to regain control then held his blood speckled hand out. "Tile can be washed" he explained, eyes elsewhere. "Carpet stains." The principal had regarded Toshinori with his bright beady eyes then nodded. "Oh I quite understand!" he replied amicably.

A few moments later, he was at his desk and glanced back to make sure he got all the spots Toshi swore darkly. The trail was still there, thicker and darker. Idiot, he scolded himself. In such a hurry, I didn't think. He quickly dug into the left drawer now, his internal anxiety clock ticking loudly. Sure that any moment, someone would burst through the door. Hurry hurry hurry!

Izuku's footsteps were loud in the silent hallway as he headed to All Might's office as he did every day after school. Sometimes Toshi was there, sometimes he wasn't, but he was okay with Izuku waiting for him and doing some homework. Then they would usually work side-by-side, Toshi on paperwork, Izuku on more homework, the only sounds turning pages and the clicking keyboard. Unless I take a nap... can I afford the time? Will he let me? Well, he's never objected... I've never asked, strictly speaking, but. He shifted the backpack on his shoulders. I can at least take my shoes and jacket off, that'll be nice. He smiled softly, glad to have a place to be so comfortable and casual in. As he approached Toshi's office, he heard the small clicking and thumping of someone interacting with the desk in there. Oh, good, he's in. He tapped on the door, opening it a crack. "Hi..."

Toshinori froze guiltily as he heard the tap, watched the door begin to swing open. Nononono shi--!! Then heard the voice and relaxed fractionally. At least the kid already knows my secret. But he doesn't need to see me like this. He grabbed at the bandage roll, hoping to cover his wounds before Midoriya saw them... then groaned as he lost his hold on it. The roll seemed to almost gleefully bounce off the desk and tumble toward the boy at the door, unraveling like mad.

Izuku froze, eyes wide, heart spiking in his chest. Then... "...Dang. What happened to you?" He opened the door all the way, picking up what was left of the bandage roll and walking over to the desk, trying to keep his voice casual. I'm probably succeeding... don't overact it... or just don't be worried, I'm sure this happens a lot. Keep yourself a pleasant presence, yes....

Don't freak the kid out. He may know your secret but let's not ruin his idea of heroes for now. "Runaway Quirk," he explained, accepting the limp bundle that had been a tightly wound bandage roll. "This poor woman had something like massive porcupine quills. She was having a bad day and I tried my best to help her." His upper left arm was sliced in several spots, his right forearm a bit as well. His dress shirt was understandably in tatters, barely hiding the puncture wound on his right side. "Easily fixed. Was just trying when you showed up."

Izuku winced sympathetically, hissing through his teeth. "Ooh. Yeah, that stinks. Can I help at all?"

Don't show weakness. Toshinori sat up stiffly, grinning. "Nah, I should be fine!" He attempted to wrap his upper arm in the bandages, grimacing in pain and growling in soft frustration as the bandage thwarted his attempts to control it.

"..." Aahh... "...Are...you sure?" Izuku's voice sounded somewhere between concerned and puzzled. Surely he can't be serious... does he dislike my help for some reason? Does he not think I can do it? "I know how to wrap a bandage, it's okay..." He tilted his head, eyebrows wrinkling.

Toshinori fought with the bandage a moment longer as what he had managed to wrap was already staining red. "I don't want to trouble you," he replied. "This is noth--" He hissed sharply through his teeth as his wounds began to painfully throb in immediate disagreement.

"...Forgive me, but I think I'll be more distressed if I walk away," Izuku pointed out matter-of-factly.

Toshi's head began to ache in tandem with his wounds. "Perhaps," he said with some difficulty, clutching his side, "you're right. Some medical practice. A grand idea. All right, come here." He gestured toward the bottom left drawer before wincing again.

Izuku knelt on one knee, opening the drawer. His movements became softer and more fluid in response to Toshi's strained voice. He looked up attentively, waiting for the next instruction.

"Antiseptic," he wheezed. "Some thicker bandaging material." He began to realize the steps he had skipped in his wasted haste. "I'll need you to...ah..." He looked guiltily at Izuku, the dark circles under his eyes very evident. "This could get unpleasant. Are you sure?"

Izuku’s eyes were soft, but expressionless, as was his voice. He nodded once. “I’m sure.”

Toshi gazed at the boy for a moment and felt something stir within his chest. Gratitude? Pride in this boy? Sudden determination to be as brave as young Midoriya was being at the moment? Kid.... He opened his mouth to say something then shook his head, ears pinking. "All right. I'll need you to pour some of that antiseptic on that cloth and press it against these slashes on my upper arm. I might get...ah...loud..."

Izuku’s jaw tightened for a moment, but he hoped it wasn’t noticeable. “Alright,” he nodded again, putting the antiseptic on the cloth as requested, then standing, ready to put it on. He paused, asking, “...Do you need anything to bite on? I usually use my sleeve, but...” he motioned to Toshi’s ragged business-shirt sleeve. “Well, that’s not gonna work.”

Toshi seemed to only half hear him, resigning himself to being about to destroy his fan's image of him. "Hmm? No no, nothing like that. I promise you, if it were that bad I would be visiting Recovery Girl." He rolled back the tatters of his sleeve and took a deep breath. "Whenever you're ready."

"Well-- if you're sure... do you want a countdown or not?" No, wait, I shouldn't have said that, that's one sentence too many, don't keep him waiting-- but I can't DO it now, that'd be rude...

Toshi regarded his student with a gentle smile. "That's thoughtful of you. But no," he added, tensing up once more. "Let's go ahead and power through this, what do you say?"

"Alright." He put the cloth on, being as gentle as he could.

Toshi's reaction was immediate. His back arched rigidly and he bared his teeth in a dangerous scowl. His eyes squeezed shut as cords stood out on his neck. Don't scream, it'll freak the kid out, don't scream don't don't don't

"I'm sorry," Izuku whispered quietly. I know it hurts a lot.

Tears stood in his eyes as he tried to smile. "No, I'm sorry for making you do this," he rasped out. "You don't have to continue if you don't want to."

You don't have to smile. "I don't want to stop." He kept it on the wound a moment longer, counting to ten in his head, then took it off. "That's good, right?"

Toshi's muscles untensed as he smiled for real. Kid....! "Yeah," he replied in a somewhat strained voice. "Yeah, that's true."

"Oh you mean the--" Toshi peeked at the bandage and grimaced at the amount it had soaked up. "--uh, yeah, yeah, you're doing great. Just a few more spots to get." Haven't even checked my back yet.

"Okay. Where next?"

"Up to you, really. Plenty to choose from, heheheh--ow."

Izuku winced in commiseration again. "You got any pain relievers anywhere?"

Toshi's eyes grew wide. "Oh YEAH!" He almost slapped his own forehead... if it wasn't for the headache he'd surely give himself doing so. "Dig in that drawer some more for me, please."

"Sure!" He crouched down again, rummaging about, looking for bottles. He held one up. "This one?"

Pain-bright eyes squinted at the bottle and Toshi nodded. "That's the one. Thank you, young Mi--" Weak. Torino's voice. Toshi tried not to squirm.

Izuku read the instructions on the bottle and shook out a pill, holding it out to Toshi. "You need water?"

Can't even sort out your own medicine let alone bandage yourself. ...stop... Toshi rubbed his aching head, trying to listen to his student. Some great hero, tcha! You shouldn't even need medicine. If you had taken care of One for All like you were supposed to-- Stop. Young Midoriya asked him something but Toshi couldn't hear him over the relentless Torino gremlin running amok in his head now. --then you wouldn't even need help. Back in my day--your MASTER'S day--we were actually made of sterner stuff. But here you are, whimpering like some lost abandoned puppy with a thorn in its paw. Shaming every hero that came before you, shaming your Master-- "I said STOP!"

Izuku froze, shrunk against the desk, eyes wide. N-no you didn't!! What did I do wrong?? I'm sorry!!

Toshi looked up, his heart freezing as he realized he said the last aloud. Your fault. His breathing was ragged, his eyes remorseful. "Forgive me," he mumbled. "That was not directed at you, I swear."

Izuku's face morphed to concern, though his body stayed frozen. "Then-- who..."

And now he thinks you're crazy. Perfect. Just keep digging that hole, junior. Toshi stared at his hands miserably, wanting to talk but not wishing to burden so young a face with such adult problems. "...water, please," he whispered, hating himself for shutting Izuku out.

"...Okay...." Izuku placed the pill in Toshi's hand carefully, making sure his hand was gentle when it brushed against the large, shaking one. Standing up from where he crouched, he set his backpack on a mostly-clear part of the desk, pulling out a partially-empty sports bottle and holding it out. "Is this good? I can go and get a cup from the break room if no."

"This is perfect," Toshi replied, really meaning it.

"Okay." Izuku smiled softly, more in his eyes and voice than his mouth.

Coddled by a child. Toshi placed the pill in his mouth and sipped water. ...and what is wrong with feeling cared for? The Torino voice fell silent at that.

"You're still bleeding," Izuku half-whispered. "That's a lot of blood gone so far, are you sure you shouldn't be worried?"

Toshinori's face crinkled pleasantly. "Kind of goes with the job," he confessed. "I uh... can you ah..." His ears blushed red now.

"Yeah?" He tilted his head. ...Keep going? Do something else? Oh dear, I should hurry... he's still bleeding, that's bad....

"I haven't really looked at my back. Could you ah..." I need a new shirt. He pulled out more bandages and poured antiseptic on them. "...check it for me while I get my arm here, please?"

"Yeah, I can." Izuku moved around to the back of the chair. "How did she get your back, anyway?"

"She was like that one blue character in your video games--the speedy hedgehog? Mach? ...anyway, she was moving kind of like that and I was shielding some bystanders."

Izuku blinked. "Ma--Sonic, but yeah." Didn't they have Sonic when you were a kid?? "--Oompf, yeah. That must have been really hard." Did you not get to play video games? ...Aaww, that's sad.... Right away, he noticed a large patch of blood staining a mostly-intact patch of shirt on Toshi's shoulder. "Okay yeah, there's definitely something there... I can't really get a look at it, though." He took a look at the rest of the ruined garment. "Your shirt is... pretty much done for, though..." He grimaced. "Do you think I should cut it instead of you taking it off?"

Toshi gave an embarrassed smile. "Maybe. I'm sure me trying to take it off would prove both futile and possibly pull some muscles I shouldn't be moving at the moment. Ah, scissors are in the other drawer."

Izuku nodded (which Toshi couldn’t see) and moved to poke in the other drawer.

Toshi bit his lip. The kid might have to dig some bits out, too. That's asking a lot, even from someone as devoted as him.

Izuku pulled out the scissors, keeping them angled down and away from Toshi as he moved to the back of the chair again, then carefully and quickly snipping through the remnants of the bloodied shirt.

Toshi cringed and waited for the pull of shredded fabric from skin... completely unaware of the three inch piece of Quirk quill still embedded just below his shoulder blade, like some large splinter.

Izuku carefully snipped around it, leaving a small piece of fabric stuck with the quill in Toshi's back, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"How is it back there?" A tiny snort of a giggle--oh no a pun ee hee!--quickly dissolved as he remembered he needed to remain professional. Also, laughing hurt. ...but it was a nice pun. Maybe--does young Midoriya like puns?

"...nnh." Izuku let his head thunk onto the headrest of the chair. A muffled snort escaped.

Toshi heard the groan and began to apologize for the words...when he heard the snort. Turning his head carefully, he looked to Izuku with faintly impish eyes. "You caught that, huh?"

“I did.”

A smile was threatening to sneak out. "....my apologies, I kinda like wordplay. Must be a hero thing," he explained quickly. "The quippy one liners and all. Yeah!"

“I’ve noticed,” Izuku continued to snip, grinning. “And they’re all very funny...” he got stuck at the collar.

A warmth was flickering in Toshi's chest now, hopeful. "Y-yeah? ...oh hey, having trouble there? ....wait, what is THAT?" And he pointed the piece of fabric still lodged below his shoulderblade.

"...Ahm."

One eyebrow rose, the other scrunched down. "Ahm?"

"That's a piece I couldn't get out. That, if her quills work like porcupine quills, I probably can't get out." His voice softened regretfully. "...All Might..."

Toshi's breath caught sharply in his throat, not at this new information but at the tone the boy used saying his name. It sounded...concerned? worried? scared?

Izuku's voice was so low and small it was almost a whisper. "I don't... think I can do this properly. You've lost a lot of blood, n... I've never taken care of anything this serious before. Do you think...."

You IDIOT. The Torino voice was back. "Oh my boy, please forgive me. I foolishly thought that I--" Admitting you screwed up? Toshi's gaze dropped. "Let me call Recovery Girl. Could you....could you stay with me?"

"Of course..." His hand curled carefully around an unhurt part of Toshi's arm. "I'm sorry. Believe me, I would have avoided her too if I could," he said with a small, lopsided smile.

"Don't get the wrong idea," Toshi replied firmly. "If you are hurt like this--though I pray it won't happen often--please, please seek medical help as soon as possible." He looked guiltily at his stained shirt tatters. "I came here because I thought I could-- I mean, because her office is much farther than mine. And people would have worried." And discovered my secret. "I don't want that."

"Yeah, I would. I don't think I could move much in the position you're in." He grimaced, finally managing to get through the shirt collar. "...Though to be fair, I think people would worry more if they saw you with infected old wounds... of course, I'm sure you didn't know how bad it was, given your surprise at... that." He gestured towards the quill, gently moving the shirt and discovering an entirely new form of panic. "...Ah."

"You keep making new noises that I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with," Toshi teased. "What is ah?"

"Sorry. Uhm." Izuku looked a bit like a nervous frog, his voice squeaky. "I maaaaay have uhhmmmmm snippedatinybitofyourhairimsorry"

Toshi b l i n k e d. Very. S l o w l y. "HERE, EAT THIS!" "Ah," he replied in the same tone young Midoriya used, unsure how to respond to this new information amid all the rest.

"It's just a tiny bit, I promise! You can't even notice, it's just..." he gently brushed at the little snippings of Toshi's dandelion floof. "There's, ahm. Bits."

"Bits," Toshi squeaked. Did he shiver just now as the kid brushed the newly snipped bits? Goosebumps speckled his arms and the warm feeling in his chest grew a bit more. I'm torn up, losing blood, getting a haircut while having a spine imbedded in me....and yet I'm ok with this. ....??????

"You can't even tell, really... it's just-- I don't want it to get into the wounds... a-and of course it's your hair, I didn't mean to obviously but--"

Toshi snorted. Then giggled. The giggles became laughter. And though it hurt, the laughter grew louder.

"aaAaAaaAA"

Toshi jumped at that, then winced in pain. "Good or bad?" he gasped.

"--Huh? ...Oh. Sorry. I was just still freaking out that I cut your hair."

"Oh right!" Toshi snorted again and then winced again. "Doncha worry, my power doesn't leak out of my hair! That was a one time thing."

"...Oh. That's good." Didn't even think of that....

Even so, Toshi tried to peek at the golden snippets. "Oh right, I was calling Recovery Girl."

Izuku nodded. "I think it's safest, yes. I don't think I could pull that spine out without... well." He made a face. "Doing a lot of damage I'd rather not describe." He looked at the chair. And the floor. And his hands. "Also, you're bleeding Everywhere. And I'm not sure you can keep that up for long."

Toshi made a moue of distaste, glancing about the room. "Hrhm. True." Is it bad that I'm super curious to see the spine? How did I not even notice--wait. ow. OW. Oh there it is. O W. frack. He held up one of his few unstained fingers to silence Izuku as he called the nurse's office.

Izuku nodded, placing the slightly sticky scissors on the desk. He watched Toshi make the call, wondering if there was anywhere he was supposed to be applying pressure until medical assistance got there.

((TBC))

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #ducky writes #fluffy writes #dadmight #all might #toshinori #sunflower dad #izuku #midoriya #deku #broccoli son #fanfic #blood of the father

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feysandfeels · 3 years ago

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Sometimes I think of the trigger Lucien must have gotten when he saw Feyre die and Tamlin holding her crying. He probably made a parallel about what happened to him and Jesminda. I believe that's why he didn't help Feyre so hard in relation to Tamlin in the second book, because Tamlin got the opportunity he didn't get.

Of course there's every part of Tamlin being his High Lord and he owes him allegiance, but I believe his trauma has been addressed.

Of course, that's not an excuse, but I can't stop thinking about it.

Hiya Sugar, I know you asked me this like three weeks ago, sorry I'm just getting around to it.

So this mainly has two sides to understand first is what was happening to Lucien. Here we need to take into account his history of abuse at the hands of his family and Tamlin. The second is clearly how Feyre understood the situation from her own place of enunciation. Still I think this is one of those discussions in the fandom where you should tread lightly because I don't think either side is entirely wrong to feel what they felt and every argument has a well crafted response that is enlightening.

Lucien.

I think by this point denying that Lucien is a victim of abusive relationships that showcased their abuse not only physically but mentally and emotionally is just irresponsable and willful blindness. Lucien's family dynamic speaks of a toxic environment if I ever saw one. The Jesminda's death at the hands of his brothers and father is something that has left a scar as visible as the one across his eye. This is an experience that molds how he interacts with other people as friends, as romantic partners, and also how he understands romantic relationships that he is not involved in (Feyre and T*mlin).

From this angle, yes, UtM was extremely triggering for him because yet again he was placed in a situation where the loved one is killed and the other person "can't do much" about it (the quotation thingies are because T*mlin was being useless af here and he should have done more than just beg, Lucien's situation he was magically and physically restrained). He understands T*mlin's nightmares better than almost anyone, and as he told Feyre, T*mlin will never not hear the sound of her neck breaking. I do believe that if T*mlin had talked about this with Lucien, he might have dealt with the whole thing better.

We can't also ignore that Lucien carries a lot of guilt regarding Jesminda. He couldn't save her and seeing his friend die in a similar manner must have brought up his own traumas so its understandable that his full on attention might not have been spent towards understanding what Feyre was going through. We all are dealing with things and it's fair when you don't have the mental space to see what is happening to those around you, even when you are as observant as Lucien is. If your mind is not seeing, it doesn't matter if your golden eye sees it all. This guilt of not being there for the ones he loves (in any capacity) is also shown in WAR when he realizes better what happened to Feyre and he says something about being the villain in her story. As much of an Elucien fan that I am I do think that part of his reasoning for going to fetch the army was to make amends with Feyre. He felt guilty for not being there for her friend. (Yes he had a lot more to address on his plate, there's no doubt of that). In a way I do think he recognized that he could have done more.

On top of this we add that Lucien's relationship with T*mlin is based on a partly on the loyalty earned from saving him from his brothers. I think that it is not for nothing that in ACOSF Eris says that he's the one that sent word to T*mlin about what was happening to Lucien, which implies the existence of a friendship that predates the murder of Jesminda. This means that along with that loyalty there must be some old fashion good hearted feelings that nourish what we see as the friendship these two have. What I mean is that probably Lucien's vision of T*mlin is the friend he used to be way back when and the loyalty for offering a "home".

We don't know when exactly T*mlin started being abusive towards Lucien, but at least we can all agree that during ACOMAF he was. It wouldn't also be a stretch to think that in the pre-acotar days there might have been incidents of physical abuse, but so far we don't know for sure. There is a missing piece of information that we don't have yet because Lucien was more feisty during UtM when his life was at risk, than he was during MAF... this tells us a lot of how T*mlin was handling things with him.

There's also something to be said with how Lucien understood abuse. It's a heavy possibility that he perceived abuse like he saw it in the AC. He had a naturalized version of what abuse is, that for him w abuse looked like and felt like what he lived in the AC, so what he experienced with T*mlin pre-acotar did not seem to him as abuse (even when it was). And after Amarantha he began to understand the multiple faces of abuse and thus started to being afraid of T*mlin. Lucien could have also been dealing with the realization that a centuries old relationship had be tainted with abusive behaviors.

I do think that Lucien thought that he tried as hard as he could with the tools he had. But that does not mean that he shouldn't have done more. The problem is that Lucien didn't know he could. Like if he had fought with Tamlin for Feyre's sake where would he go then? Feyre had the option to go to the Night Court, Lucien did not. I like to believe that if he had known the truth about the NC before and had him and Feyre talked about it they would have said fuck you Tamlin, bye, black is the new spring. But he did not know. So he stayed on the comfortable zone of pushing but not jeopardizing his "home". You can hardly blame him for how he played the game when he did not know he was playing with one hand tied to his back.

I will not excuse though when he tried to grab her against her will during the woods. I understand that he was scared and desperate, but I still think that it was not right.

Feyre.

When I stand from a Feyre point of view there are two things that speak to me above all others. First she died for Tamlin and she bargained her life for his court -Lucien included- so I understand the she expected him to push and fight hard for her too. I know there's a quote about her recognizing that T*mlin had fought for her but that she had fought harder for him, and I think that can also suit her relationship with Lucien to an extend. I'm not saying that Lucien is like T*mlin, because no, not at all, not even in the least; but I do think she would have liked for her friend to fight for her well being like she fought for his during UtM.

Second it is hard to be see your friends still be friends with your abuser. Yes Feyre doesn't know all the variables that affect their relationship, the toxic loyalty that T*mlin saving Lucien created, the genuine friendship that was there before her and before Jesminda... but I understand the pain to see your friend not draw the lines for your sake.

This offers a beautiful arc for Lucien in the sense that only recently there has been a movement of "tell me if I'm friends with your abuser", and this awakening is a reality that a lot of people are facing. Is hard to untangle yourself from a person you have known for x amount of time, because you are trying to see the abusive person in the face you related to kindness or something not abusive. Again, we don't know how their relationship was pre-Feyre, perhaps Tamlin had been nothing but a sugary cupcake with Lucien and it's hard to associate that version of his friend to the version he is post Amarantha, the version that will physically abuse them; perhaps T*mlin had always been an ass but "the good outweighed those few instances of abusive behavior". What I'm trying to say is that sometimes it is hard to make a clean cut when the abuser turns out to be the person who saved you (from an even worse abuser but like you get what I mean).

I will not do him the disservice to say that he might not have connected the dots and thought that T*mlin's behavior was abusive towards Feyre. Even if he was just understanding how abuse can look like and even if he was reliving Jesminda's death I do think he could see that T*mlin's behavior was abusive towards Feyre (here I am making the distinction between reliving the trauma of having his love murdered and him recognizing abuse). Lucien is clever and intelligent. I think he did see what was happening, but that implied also a massive shift of reality for him that he was not prepared to see and did not have the tools to deal with, he was also struggling there.

Final thoughts.

I think Feyre is not wrong to feel a tad of distaste against Lucien through ACOMAF. Speaking from a personal experience it is quite sad and tough to see people who you conceived as friends not stand up to you when you are suffering at the hand of your S.O who happens to be their friend. It sucks a lot because you truly feel alone and you feel that at the end of the day they did not take care of you at the expense of taking care or helping or remaining on the good graces of your abuser.

But I think that simply condemning Lucien's actions during MAF without understanding the complicated history of abuse he has, is irresponsable. You are of course allowed to say that he is not fave and that it left a bad taste in your mouth, that's fair, but to condemn him the way I've seen this fandom do without an ounce of empathy or critical reading is just baffling (which to be quite frankly is also something I saw everybody after ACOSF with Rhysand, they condemned his actions without truly taking five second to understand the historical context of them).

Characters are allowed to make mistakes and are allowed to fall short in any given situation, because we as living creatures sometimes fall short in life. What's important to me is that Lucien is learning and when Feyre returned to the SC in WAR we could all see that he changed his approached towards the situation and was there for her. And also you will pry this off my hands but the fact that he is invited to their Solstice celebrations speaks of the state of their relationship right now, they are understanding of what the other is going through and I do think they are making amends and creating a friendship that acknowledges the mistakes they have both made towards the other one.

Yeah this was a long ramble.

Again, apologies it took me so long to answer

Long live Lucien and Feyre. I can't wait for them to grow closer.

#Lucien Vanserra #Feyre Archeron #ACOMAF #ACOWAR #ACOSF #FeysandfeelsAsk #mistakes will be corrected when I inevitably publish this and see them

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aros001 · 3 years ago

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First time read through light novel vol. 18. Random thoughts.

I somewhat suspect the author was hungry while writing this volume.

Also, wow, I knew Kizuna was short but the prior artworks never gave me the full idea of how short. She

is only chest-high compared to Naofumi and Glass (I suppose that could make Glass happy, though; ease of access for Kizuna and whatnot).

Given that, outside of the natural gluttons like Filo, S’yne, and the killer whale sisters, the only person on Naofumi's side with the "Eat food for EXP" matter is Itsuki, I think this is him falling dangerously close to thinking only in terms of game mechanics instead of reality, much like the other three heroes had been early on. Theoretically, yes, if you can gain levels and strength just by eating, why wouldn't you do a lot of it? But he's almost outright ignoring the physical discomfort and pain it's causing his allies and seeing only the numbers. Not to mention that he himself doesn't appear to be eating nearly as much, as he's focus on the cooking.

That said, it is cute that this is the first time in her life Filo is starting to feel full.

Chapter One: Sloth

OH SHI-! Oh, wait. Wrong franchise. We're good. I did not want to have to imagine Kizuna biting her fingers off (Kizuna: "My brain trembles!!!).

If Kizuna is indeed suffering under the curse of Sloth, I'm curious what triggered that specific sin for her. We only have the four heroes of Raphtalia's world to go off of but each sin applied to that specific hero for a reason. Naofumi: Wrath because of his hatred of what Witch and Trash put him through. Ren: Greed because he wanted more EXP, levels, and loot; a toxic extreme of his solo-adventuring. Itsuki: Pride because he believed only in his view of justice. And Motoyasu: lust and envy because of his obsession with Filo and being kept away from her. Kizuna's obsession with fishing, even when there's other important matters that need to be dealt with, I suppose could be considered lazy and thus lead to sloth as its extreme, but it feels a little bit like a stretch.

As he did so, the books from a nearby shelf whirled up into the air, forming . . . a dinosaur . . . perhaps. No, a dragon. The monster’s name was “Magical Tome Dragon.” Now things were really getting a bit crazy. A dragon created from books! Was this some kind of joke?

I want a Yu-Gi-Oh card of that.

“Don’t tell me, Glass is like the Raphtalia of this world? Could we really get that lucky?”

I mean, that's what the fandom likes to joke when it comes to her and Kizuna.

Breaking the sloth curse through Kizuna's love of fishing was about what I expected. Not complaining, of course. Again though, I'm just wonder what about her coincides with Sloth. She prefers talking it out and making allies as opposed to fighting but I wouldn't exactly call that lazy or slothful either.

Kizuna had a lot of folks like this among her allies—people who had started out as enemies but then became allies. If I fought someone as an enemy, there was generally no coming back—there were exceptions, like Sadeena and Shildina, so it was probably better not to generalize.

Glass and L'Arc are literally standing right next to Naofumi as he thinks this and Motoyasu, Ren, and Itsuki all tried to murder him at one point or another. S'yne was part of the gladiator fights too, now that I think about it, and while they never fought he and Trash were definitely enemies for a while. This dude turns more enemies into friends than freakin' Naruto. Being kind of oblivious is part of Naofumi's character but I suppose this could be seen as an interesting look as to how exactly he considers someone an enemy. If they fought him for reasons he eventually came to understand and sympathize with, then he perhaps doesn't consider them as ever having been a "true" enemy.

Aww, Glass is jealous of Tsugumi being close to Kizuna. And unlike Raphtalia with Naofumi, Kizuna doesn't have any kind of tragedy that keeps her opposed to relationship and would require Glass to be patient. I suppose Glass could simply be afraid of hurting their friendship by proposing romance or even that Kizuna doesn't swing that way. And this is from Naofumi's perspective, so Glass being gay could be completely off the mark. Still, it'd be nice to get a solid landing one way or another. Even Eclair unknowingly rejecting Ren at least give solid confirmation that he's into her and why they're not together.

“What! I’m the Hunting Hero! I don’t handle the cooking part!” Kizuna complained.

“And I’m the Shield Hero!” I retorted. Not the Stewpot Hero! If anyone called me that, I would kill them with cookery!

And technically, you're not even that right now. Not with that mirror on your arm. The mirror is cool and all but I am looking forward to Naofumi eventually getting his shield back. He just feels incomplete without it.

“Almost feeding time!” one of them said. Others proceeded to chime in.

“Yes . . . the time we’ve all been waiting for.”

“The moment we live for, basically!”

“Even if I only get to eat one mouthful . . . that is the fuel that will keep me alive!”

“I’ll never eat anything but his cooking ever again!”

“I think the schweiz is the best! It has to be!”

“No! The stietz!”

“Hey! No fighting! We’ve been warned about fighting!”

Did they stumble across a food cult?

“It isn’t bad,” Filo said. “It just isn’t as nice as yours, Master.”

“Well, okay . . .” I replied.

“All of the heroes have cooked in the village, Mr. Naofumi, but Filo and everyone else all feel the same way,” Raphtalia told me.

Filo also grew up with Naofumi's cooking since birth, so while he's already a good cook you get the added taste of home for her. I've said it before but out of everyone I consider Filo to be the most like Naofumi's daughter.

“Then you wish to settle the bill,” she replied. I thought it was free. As my suspicions intensified, the girl spread both of her hands and continued. “How was the food at Seya’s restaurant? It was so delicious, wasn’t it? If you wish to become a member, please leave all of your assets or hand over anything that can be turned into money. If you leave some personal items as collateral, you can have some time to go and fetch some offerings.”

Yep, that's a cult alright.

“Master’s food!” Filo said.

“They’ll get a surprise when they taste what you’re cooking, kiddo,” L’Arc said.

“Indeed. Your victory is assured, if that’s the best they can do,” Glass agreed. I was still concerned about how aggressive they were being. Were they hopped up on endorphins or something? They weren’t acting in character at all.

My first thought was that the OOC behavior was some side effect Naofumi didn't realize came with the Mirror weapon's power-up method, but then why wouldn't Raphtalia or Kizuna be effected when they have been eating the food too? Then I thought maybe they were more used to eating Naofumi's food in general and would have a tolerance to any addictive effects, but then why is Filo still effected?

“That’s the best dish Seya’s restaurant has to offer! Seya’s curry bag! And it’s Fifth Floor too!” one of the MCs shouted. I barely stopped myself from tipping over onto the ground. He really was just reheating a premade curry in a bag! So he was allowed to heat and serve already finished dishes? I mean, that might give me some ideas myself . . .

“The flavors that are normally lost in reheating have been sealed in the bag using proprietary technology! Now you get the maximized flavor from the moment you open the bag! This truly is the ultimate culinary technique! Everyone, watch this kitchen miracle closely as it unfolds before your astounded eyes!” The MCs continued their diatribe, but it just made it harder for me to keep a straight face. It was all a matter of perspective. Capturing the flavor in a bag was certainly a worse approach than making it on the spot.

“Naofumi . . . am I imagining things? It looks to me like he’s just adding or warming up instant ingredients using hot water,” Kizuna said.

So, like most other antagonists in this series lately, Seya is just an arrogant, entitled fraud high on his own stolen power. Why am I not surprised? Though he is giving me a bit of a Kazuma from Konosuba vibe with how he managed to figure out how to recreate items the old heroes would have talked about from Japan. It's odd to say he doesn't have nearly the same level of charisma as Kazuma give...well...it's Kazuma and he's deliberately written to be a massive scumbag.

I do like with his magic powers and awesome cape, Naofumi is basically the little muddy boy meeting a superhero, one who will save the day through cooking.

As for Kizuna . . . I handed her some of the fish we had brought in and had her cut it up. She’d finished with the poisonous fish already. Her life as a fishing fool was paying off now. She knew her way around a fish. The blood had been skillfully drained, and overall, she was a step ahead when it came to gutting and cleaning.

...You think the Hunting Tool can turn into something like the Wunder Boner

I explained pointedly, looking at Seya, Trash III, and the other MC. Trash III responded by flipping me off. I could taunt with the best of them, and I mouthed some swear words back.

I mean, one of my favorite scenes in Isekai Quartet was Naofumi and Shalltear sassing each other, so I can agree with that.

“Pollution?” Kizuna asked, looking puzzled.

“You didn’t notice that?” I replied. “Well, just watch.” She wasn’t the brightest bulb, that was for sure.

“Hmmm, I think I need to go wash up,” the rotund noble said. “I’ll be right back.” The judges proceeded to take turns visiting the washroom. Once they had all returned, it was time to eat Seya’s food.

“Huh?” Kizuna, L’Arc, and Therese were looking puzzled. The other diners around us too. I guess there was cause for a little suspicion.

...Did Naofumi give them laxatives?

“Ah!” Kizuna finally cottoned on. “So that’s why you used so many medicinal herbs in your dishes!”

“Exactly. The reason they all wanted to go to the washroom after eating was to expel the toxins. I also used other herbs to bolster the lethargic feeling that would bring on,” I explained.

He gave the judges f**king laxatives! That's hilarious! I get the actual explanation he gives is more complicated than that, relating to purifying and digestion and getting them to finally take notice of the toxins in Seya's food now that they're free from its hold, but it's funny to think that's basically what he did. He won a cooking competition through dishes that encouraged the judges to take a sh*t (or a p*ss, I suppose).

“Hey . . . you’ve been reading too many cooking manga. It’s an illusion that delicious and good things will be evaluated highly. What you need is popularity and demand,” I said. Of course, it had to taste good, but putting the emphasis on that as a bare requirement was also a problem. If you were planning on selling food in a restaurant, of course it had to taste good. Customers came because of other elements, because of popularity. If Seya’s restaurant collapsed here, it would cause trouble for all the judges. That was why I’d created an escape for them. In order to realize the future that boy wanted.

While we don't see Naofumi selling his wares so much anymore because he has far less of a need to, it is nice we do still get that cynical and merchant side of him. All that time didn't just go to waste and it's still a key part of his character.

“What, then? What do you want?” Seya asked.

“There’s someone behind all of this, correct? Someone pulling the strings. If you tell us all about that, we’ll let you go. Hey, I have an idea. Write it down on this piece of paper here. I want a record of this.” I said and passed a piece of paper to him. Seya’s expression immediately brightened.

“That’s all you want? Fine, I can—” But the rest of that sentence vanished into an awful grunt. The moment Seya tried to write a single word, his head simply crumpled in on itself. He managed a brief scream, and then his entire melon exploded. I didn’t want to traumatize my allies, so I quickly threw up a cage and blocked out the grisly scene. Then I gave a sigh.

Well...that was kind of f**ked up for Naofumi to do. Don't get me wrong, after what they had to do to get Takt to be willing to confess, this is much less horrific. But Naofumi did basically just give Seya false hope and then trick him into executing himself. I get why he did it and how dangerous the vanguards are, but it is interesting to think that while ROTSH isn't the darkest of the light novel series I've been reading, Naofumi, save for Ainz Ooal Gown, is definitely the most morally grey of the protagonists compared to Kazuma, Subaru, and Goblin Slayer.

“No matter how delicious the food is, if you eat the same thing every time, you’ll start to get sick of it. Once you get sick of it, you won’t overeat simply because you won’t want to. I’ve been applying that concept to my food,”

That is better than what I was thinking with Naofumi getting too into the game mechanics. And boy do I feel for his friends. It's the same thing that killed me off of soda for a few years. Obviously it's worse to starve than be overstuffed but it's still not a pleasant experience.

We were talking about the primary reason why Kizuna was summoned here in the first place. To put it simply, the idea was to revive the Demon Dragon.

YYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

And they Tanya'd him too; reborn as an infant of the opposite gender. So does that make Kizuna or Naofumi Being X?

“Seriously . . . it brings dragon tears to my dragon eyes to see you, the great Shield Hero who defeated me, now reduced to this.” The Demon Dragon placed her front paws against her head and muttered sadly to herself.

“I hope you aren’t looking for sympathy,” I said harshly.

“Just think about it for a moment. The same bunch who shouted about defeating me and saving the world are now back, having screwed everything up, relying on me—their sworn enemy—to save them! Take a look around. Does this world look like it’s at peace to you? Well?” the dragon said, really coming for me now. What was worse, I didn’t really have a reply. This world was still plagued by humans fighting each other and had been ravaged by the vanguards of the waves. Everything the dragon had said so far had been so on the money that Kizuna and Glass probably didn’t have any response either. “Can you see how this might feel like something from your own past? Having been chased as a criminal, and then having to clean up after those very weaklings who were chasing you after they had been beaten down by the waves and people from another world?” That punch really landed hard. I wanted to call it a low blow, but she was basically providing a stunningly succinct summary of my life in these other worlds.

Seriously though, after Kyo, Takt, and the various other vanguards, it is so refreshing to have a villain who speaks with some dignity and can actually make a decent point or two, rather than "I'm strong so I can do whatever I want! Losers!" In my vol. 16 random thoughts I compared Takt to All For One from My Hero Academia and I still feel the same way. The two are not that much different goal-wise. They wanted the world and had the power to make it theirs, thus their actions. It is an immature goal when you think about it but AFO did not act anywhere near as immature as Takt and it made him feel so much more intimating. He would sometimes mock his enemy but when he did they were deep cuts that he knew would get under the skin of someone he truly hated, like All Might, rather than just throwing out insults and acting like a brat. And the Demon Dragon is the same (the High Priest too, now that I remember him, even if I don't talk about him as much). I liked Glass as an antagonist because she was intimidating, spoke only as much as she needed to, and was very powerful compared to the protagonists at that time, getting Naofumi to fear facing her again and giving her weight to the story and for the audience. Finding out later her motivations gave her some depth and added grey to the situation. The Demon Dragon is not nearly as sympathetic, but he still works for a lot of the reasons she did. There's presence to him, er, her. It's not a brat who needs to be knocked off their high horse but a genuine threat.

And being able to work with the heroes weirdly makes that even better. The Demon Dragon calls a 100 year truce, not because she's on the side of good, but because she wants there to still be a world around for her to take over. She's completely open about her goal, which ironically makes it easier to trust her.

“That should do for now,” the dragon said. “Hmmm, and this is a female body. Excellent. Shield Hero, under the condition that you will ultimately mate with me, I shall provide even greater cooperation.” So that was how long it took for things to take a crazy turn.

Still a little weird that she wants to f**k Naofumi though. And when the anime gets to this part there is almost definitely going to be a fanfic or doujin. Actually, now that I think about it, there are going to be creators getting some mileage out of when the Demon Dragon tried to take Naofumi over earlier in the series.

“Can’t you make do with Kizuna? She’s one of the four holies from this world. You’ll just have to overcome the gender barrier,” I said.

“Why me?!” Kizuna exclaimed.

“What are you planning on doing to Kizuna?” Now Glass turned a hostile gaze on me too.

Ahh, Naofumi's such a d*ck, I love it. Also, now that's two rivals in one book for Glass. She's almost caught up with Raphtalia.

It would have suited us better if the enemy was a bunch of morons. It was annoying that life never worked out quite so easily. We had no idea how bad it was going to get with the waves, so we had to plan our moves carefully and move to prevent this “fusion of the worlds,” whatever that meant.

Wouldn't that be a heck of a comeback to my bitching about the villains? The ones behind the vanguards have been sending out their idiots first, the ones arrogant and drunk off their power, to soften up the heroes first and cause a bunch of damage but that they know will ultimately just get killed. Takt and the others getting offered up as sacrificial lambs basically because those like S'yne's sister don't like them either.

“I’m starting to feel sorry for Naofumi,” Kizuna agreed.

“He probably thinks you two are in the ‘harem,’” I told them.

“I really don’t like that,” Glass responded. “No, I don’t. I don’t like that at all.” I wasn’t sure why she said it three times, but I didn’t like it either. Just for the record.

“Naofumi is a friend and a comrade, but we’re not like that!” Kizuna retorted. I wondered if she really understood the situation. She was the type who needed things to be said directly to her face.

“A shame we don’t have Fohl here. Even L’Arc would have worked,” I said. Just a few guys mixed in might have broken the group up a bit and prevented it from looking like a harem.

“Naofumi . . . even if we did have some guys, it would probably just give them some different ideas. Like . . . boys love?” Kizuna said. It sounded like, whatever the composition of the party, they would presume a lewd relationship with me at the center.

You know, you never hear about this kind of thing with Ren and Itsuki. Motoyasu went out of his way to have a harem and he still doesn't get it thrown at him as much as Naofumi does. Maybe it's one of those "He protest too much" kind of mindsets, where the more Naofumi denies it the more people think it's true.

“You got lucky. If a wave had occurred with the world of our illustrious leader, we were planning on shattering you. That’s the problem with this system; that’s the only way to get the reward for destroying a world,” the sister explained. I’d heard this talk about rewards for destroying worlds before, I vaguely recalled. I had no idea where that reward came from.

So there's a third world mixed up in all this. Obviously there already was the implication of multiple universes with S'yne and such but now there's a big spotlight on somewhere besides Raphtalia and Kizuna's worlds, where the big bad supposedly lives.

“That’s pretty much what I was expecting. Shield Hero, let me tell you something interesting,” the Demon Dragon began. Then she looked at the Artificial Behemoth’s chest again. “That part there houses a corrupted holy weapon from this world, which has artificially turned the monster into one of the four holy heroes and has allowed it all the power-up methods. It’s basically the monster version of a holy hero.”

I'm somewhat suspecting it's the Blunt Force Holy Weapon, given how easily that beast is smashing through barriers.

The soul that Raphtalia had pulled from the vanguard of the waves was not much like the body it had come from. Instead, it was a gloomy, Japanese-looking guy who was probably in his thirties.

...

“The vanguards of the waves are people who have been reborn or transferred over here after being selected by the one who assumes the name of God. They are given all sorts of abilities, such as the power to steal holy weapons or seven star weapons. They come into these worlds and start causing chaos,” I explained.

“Reborn? You mean like having spare bodies, like Kyo?” Raphtalia asked.

“No, something else. Just their souls were led to this world from Japan, and then they were reborn here as someone from this world. With their memories of the past,” I said. For example, they are people who died in unfortunate accidents—people like Ren, Itsuki, and Motoyasu. This “god” would whisper to them that they had died an untimely death and offer to reincarnate them in any world they liked. They were already dead and so had no reason to reject such an offer. If they did, the “god” probably claimed to be taken with their resolve and promised to give them additional cheat powers, basically forcing them to accept. In some cases, maybe they were just forced to be reborn, no matter what they felt. I’d read books like that, loads of them. Now that they knew being summoned to another world was actually a thing, why not getting reborn or transferred over?

So I was right about Takt being some OC f**kboy! They're all OCs! They're people from Japan who died and now are getting to live out their sh*tty power fantasy fanfiction as their equally sh*tty original character! As a source of useful but disposable minions, that's actually kind of brilliant. We saw how bad Motoyasu, Ren, and Itsuki had been at the beginning (with Naofumi himself potentially on that path as well before he was betrayed) and they were chosen by weapons that actually have the world's best interest at heart. Take those same people and have a malevolent entity constantly feeding their egos and pushing them to do terrible things because "it's their right to do so" and "they're the real heroes" and you've got an near endless source of wrenches to throw into the works of those trying to stop you.

Of course, now I just have this image in my head that the World Eater is Aqua from Konosuba. Which would actually be kind of amazing, not gonna lie. A godly being reincarnating otakus from Japan into a new fantasy-based world for a singular purpose and giving them special powers and tools in exchange.

“What if . . . and just hear me out . . . what if this one who assumes the name of a god is somehow responsible for my game knowledge?” Itsuki quietly suggested. That sounded possible to me now. Even if being summoned was the correct process, having some prior knowledge would change your actions once you arrived.

Before, when the Shield Spirit had explained to Naofumi that he was a first pick choice and the other three heroes were their weapons' third picks, I'd theorized as to why and how the final selection ended up. Assuming the weapons were telling the truth about being able to grant any wish once the waves were over, it could be assumed they have some power over reality even in the four's home universe. So I'd theorized the weapons set up a window to snag their picks, with the shield getting Naofumi and the other weapons, by sheer unfortunance, had their picks keep missing the window and thus they became more desperate, thus why their third picks had to die in order to reincarnate because the weapons couldn't leave things to chance anymore.

Now, with the new speculation and info, we can assume the World Eater has some influence over other universes too, including the heroes' original ones. So two new theories come to mind.

The first, and one I find most likely, is that the World Eater is causing video games that are similar to the worlds impacted by the waves to appear in the original worlds of the heroes. In theory, the butterfly effect could cause a chain of events that'd lead to such games existing, so it's not like the World Eater is just dropping them into each reality. It would just need to nudge things in the right direction. If video game knowledge is actually detrimental to the heroes, then that leaves less choices for the Holy Weapons (at least in regards to what their ideal candidates would be) and opens up more choices for the World Eater, since it wants arrogant and know-it-alls like that for vanguards.

The second, which could still work with the first, is that the World Eater is aware of humans the Holy Weapons have their eyes on and is actively sabotaging them. A weapon has a first choice, so the World Eater throws the game or other things in their path to turn them into a less desirable option, possibly even vanguard material.

After all my comments about the recent antagonists, S'yne's sister is starting to grow on me. She's filling a similar role as Witch; manipulating and using people before ultimately tossing them aside. But like the Demon Dragon and High Priest, there is more of an air of dignity about her than with Witch. With the exception of her sister, she's not really talking down and belittling anyone to try and promote her own strength. Like Glass she feels like someone who is genuinely powerful and doesn't need to prove it. How she's using the enemies of the week is curious and perhaps even a little scary because it does feel like she's testing and experimenting and these losses are not really a loss for her. And there's the added mystery Sadeena threw in over what she really wants. Whether bad guy with a bigger agenda or a secret good guy, she's more enjoyable to read about, as opposed to the vanguards where the biggest enjoyment they offer is watching them get taken down, and even that's not much with all the whining and tantrums they have after they're beaten. She's different from Witch and Kyo. She's not completely high off her own power and doesn't refuse to recognize her enemies' strength. Her casually teleporting away for a bit when she realized the battle was turning in the heroes' favor gave a ton to her character.

I'm just looking forward to when she gets a name other than S'yne's sister or Moron Woman. I appreciate Naofumi's completely lack of caring for learning the names of people who don't deserve it, but if she's going to be a serious antagonist or secret ally, a name would help.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/shieldbro/comments/kdwai7/first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_18_random/

#rising of the shield hero #random thoughts #reddit repost

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something-very-special · 4 years ago

Text

Call Her Back

Probably already a post with this title from the Let’s Play but it’s appropriate.

Thoughts on Replicant up to Ending A (and change):

This game is pretty. I guess it didn’t really hit me because I’ve always thought that the original NIER was pretty, but this game can be very pretty.

This in particular just kind of struck me as I was going across the Northern Plains. It had been dominantly gray, overcast skies up to that point because Part II of the game is meant to be. You know. Bleak. But I walked out onto a bright, sunny day with an expanse of blues skies, the mountains in the backgrounds, the ivy a burst of green growing up the rusted sides of the train tracks and it just kind of hit me that the game can be very pretty.

(Then I got punched out by a Shade.)

It’s definitely not a matter of massive graphical overhaul. The models look much better (getting a good look at the Twins during the finale, they really are beautiful) and I’m sure the environmental poly count is much higher and just overall smoother, and there are little touches here and there and just the capacity for better atmospheric lighting... I mean it all helps. But NIER is a game that’s always had fantastic art direction, making the most out of its budget through atmospheric tuning. There’s something uniquely beautiful about its muted palette and the way it uses its spaces that elevates it beyond the its actual technical limitations. It doesn’t look like an end-of-generation PS4 game, but that’s not an insult; it looks very much like itself from ten years ago, with its solid art direction, but touched up where it matters.

Does the sidequest grind seem... better...? I haven’t really dug into the BEST part of the game (spending 30 hours grinding out weapon upgrades) but I mentioned before my theory about how the sidequest grind is supposed to be carried out across multiple playthroughs and that’s why it sucks. To my surprise I finished Ending A missing only one sidequest (your friend and mine, Life in the Sands), with all of the other ones being more or less... pretty natural? The only thing I really needed to go out of my way for was Memory Alloy but all the other components didn’t really give me the kind of grief I remember from my playthroughs of the original. ‘Grief’ of course being relative to getting the platinum trophy, but my first time through the game I gave up finishing a few outstanding sidequests (specifically, fixing the lighthouse broke me-- I could not find 10 Mysterious Switches!)

Maybe I just got lucky, especially with the Machine Oils. Maybe some weird muscle memory kicked in. I feel like there were a few purchasing options that weren’t open originally, too, to ameliorate some of the grind, but it might also be a case of those options being cost-prohibitive so I just didn’t really acknowledge them... whatever the case the sidequest grind felt overall pretty painless. I dunno!

I really need to know how to manipulate events. For literally seven playthroughs straight of the latter half of the game I always did the keystone quest as Junk Heap (start) - Forest of Myth - Junk Heap (end) - Facade - Aerie. It wasn’t until I did a run with my college roommates and Popola gave me the Aerie letter before the Facade in invite that I realized the Aerie wasn’t actually programmed to be the last event.

Absolutely blew my mind, and ever since I became aware of it, it feels like the game goes out of its way to make sure the Aerie always comes before Facade. When I did my Let’s Play of NIER I kept a save file from the start of the kystone collection so I could re-do the events in case they went ‘out of order’ (according to my headcanon)... which they did. I replayed the latter half of the game again in order to get things the way I wanted them to be, same order, and fortunately it cooperated the second time, but I still don’t understand what the trigger is, if there’s a way to manipulate it, or when the determination is even made.

And then they throw the Little Mermaid into the mix, which I wasn’t expecting (that is, I knew it was added, but I’ve been mostly avoiding spoilers -- and happily, the changes have largely been a delight, I’m so excited for the subsequent playthroughs -- but the way it was posted about made it seem like it would happen after and apart from the keystone quest. Not so, my friends).

The reason for this is just the emotional escalation of each factor of the quest. The Forest of Myth is weird and little else (at this juncture, of course). The Junk Heap is a personal tragedy, but the actual tragedy has already occurred and you’re just experiencing the fallout. Facade is a powerful and personal tragedy that deserves to be experienced later on. The Aerie is a terrible place and nobody misses it it’s an enormous loss and profoundly traumatic for the party, and it feels like the appropriate apex to basically force them to go to the Castle and finish the fight, having already lost far too much.

Also it’s just super weird to me that they see that devastation, they literally wipe an entire settlement off the map, and then the next day everybody’s super excited to go to a wedding.

It also becomes even weirder that you go to Popola post-Aerie and nobody mentions ‘yeah that didn’t go so well’ but coming out of Seafront they have a legitimate conversation about the loss of the ferryman and the people they’re never getting back. I guess that guy had a personality but I still think maybe somebody should mention the smoking crater where people used to be.

Then again it’s legitimately funny to me how basically everybody is just agreed the world is better off without it.

This might also just be an issue of familiarity. Maybe if I’d always ended on Facade, or actually known that they could be swapped out as they are, it wouldn’t feel so weird. I definitely got used to the pacing with the Aerie at the end and I feel like I got into a debate with somebody about how it’s more appropriate for Facade to come last so this might just be a personal thing. But it’s still a personal thing and I’m still vaguely irritated I can’t figure out how it works.

Anyway I blew up the Aerie So that’s that problem taken care of.

I feel like the ambiance surrounding Wendy was a little creepier this time. I swear I heard that good stock creepy child laughter in the background.

Then the ferryman left This was a nice bit of foreshadowing; following the Aerie events I wanted to hop over to Seafront to take care of an extant sidequest only to find the ferry dock in the Northern Plains empty. I thought that maybe this was just a weird way of railroading you to make sure you went through the Village first, even though there were no scenes that would trigger just by being in the Village.

Alas.

Not gonna lie, when the couple was first introduced I thought for SURE it was going to be the wife who wound up dead. I guess it’s because the guy had a purpose as an NPC so yeah, I was tricked. Good design decision; the ferryman is talkative and bright and definitely difficult to forget and even though he was kinda obnoxious there’s a definite void where his dialogue was. It’s clever too that you’re forced to use the ferry at least once so you can’t escape the dialogue that you’re presented with, meaning that even if you don’t really make use of the ferry you’ll always have that contrast between him at the start of Part II and the other guy (his brother, maybe?) taking over the job and just not really talking to you afterward.

Episode Mermaid First of all, to be clear, I’ve not done the Route B playthrough yet. All I know about the Little Mermaid is what’s presented on the surface, what can be gleaned from there, what I remember reading in the Grimoire NieR short story. This is very much just an impression and reaction to the first encounter and it’s pretty cool.

I like that they managed to go into yet another genre style aping a point-and-click adventure.

I like the atmosphere of the wrecked ship. It really brought me back to the ‘ghost ship’ level archetype with its little hints of spookiness.

I appreciate that it ties subtly in to the Haunted Manor (technically the Part I Seafront dungeon) with Weiss’ utterly irrational fear of ghosts.

I love every excuse they find to get Kaine and Emil (and especially Kaine) out of a situation. It’s almost a running gag that Kaine keeps getting knocked out of dungeons and boss fights. None of them are quite as great as her getting Rules Lawyer’d in the Barren Temple, but there’s something delightful about “Let’s get you some fresh air, we’ll be right outside, be careful!” and then bookending it with Kaine and Emil just chilling at the end like “Well yeah there are a lot of holes in the hull we just popped in.”

(I forgot to go backward to see what happens if you try to take them into Seafront proper, gotta remember that next time.)

Interesting thing when you find some of the dropped apples is that Nier and Weiss talk about the dinner they had with the couple. This was actually a really sweet and oddly emotional conclusion to the added sidequest between the bickering couple-- entirely missable. I would assume the dialogue just doesn’t trigger if you didn’t do the quest but it was a nice touch.

I appreciate the use of dead bodies in the hold.

(That’s a sentence.)

But for the game’s focus on violence and excess of blood it’s very selective in how it uses actual corpses. Any time you see a dead body it really emphasizes the seriousness of the situation. The corpses in the hold and the blood spatter -- especially compared to how bright and clean Seafront as a whole is -- was surprisingly effective. Again, just good atmospheric buildup.

Bit of an anticlimax as a boss, though. It is a really cool boss, between the environmental buildup to the fight and then actually unveiling her, but for how big and scary she is the fight itself went by fairly quick, and the actual finale (the postman whacking her hand telling her to go away she’s groooooss) felt a bit weird in comparison to the way the boss fights in the rest of the game usually play out. Of course, I don’t have context of her dialogue (I can take my guesses, her holding out her hand to Hans as he freaks out and attacks her is already a palpable tragedy) and by the way the scene was framed I suspect the Route B reveal is where the most important part of the scenario lies.

And the seals came back! It’s the little things.

“I wish I was Fyra.” So in the original Replicant the conversation between Emil and Nier before Sech’s wedding was apparently an implication that Emil had a crush on Nier and wanted to marry him. It was ambiguous enough that people had to ask for clarification and some players interpreted it as a weird, childish expression of looking up to and respecting Brother Nier. It was clarified in the Grimoire NieR that Emil is gay and crushing hard on Brother Nier, and this line of dialogue here seems to have been... not made explicit, but changed even between RepliCant and ver. 1.22 to make the implication a little clearer, at least insofar as he isn’t interested in girls. (It winds up missing the implication that he’s into Nier specifically, though.)

...which is funny, because it colors his introduction to the King of Facade somewhat differently. These two meeting is honestly really sweet on a few levels (Sechs recognizing him from Nier’s descriptions, which implies that Nier’s been visiting Sechs regularly and so proud of his interactions with Emil he told the king of another nation all about him, and the King is legit excited to meet him) but then a couple of minutes later Emil is all ‘I’m so jealous of Fyra’. He isn’t crushing on Nier, but he is totally crushing on Sechs.

Endgame At this point in the game the distinction between Brother and Father has become mostly lost and the final charge is pretty much the same as

wait what’s up with the music in the Lost Shrine? This is Snow in Summer.

Or an arrangement thereof. That particular track level from Snow in Summer winds up getting used in a few new places and it has this kind of weird, vague sense of dread that makes it work pretty well. Utterly threw me off in the Lost Shrine, though (I think it’s appropriate given its connection to the Shadowlord/Gestalt Nier so slowly re-introducing it in the climb is pretty cool). It also builds insanely as you climb, which is a very cool effect but, um, I’m just here to pick up some sidequest items right now this feels like a little much.

There isn’t much to say regarding any impact or differences in the large part of this area of the game. It’s a good final dungeon, it carries good momentum, it works as well as it ever did (that is to say, rather well). The emotional beats are great and translate equally well between the protagonists, although I have to give the nod to Papa Nier during a lot of this just for the imagery of such a big, powerful man becoming so broken the further he goes in (and Kaine being strong enough to toss him around like a rag doll anyway).

The final flashback with Nier and Yonah also feels better with Papa Nier. I always read it as, of course, Papa Nier having his moment with Yonah, giving her the flower, and as he lays back down Yonah does the same big sigh like she’s trying to emulate her dad and it’s really sweet. This is another one of those moments where it’s not something that feels wrong in Replicant, but just having that comparison in the back of my head is something that I just can’t help.

Is Papa Nier still Best Neir? Yes.

But there’s room in my heart for Brother. I’m glad the bizarre marketing decision happened and both of these characters can exist.

...and then we reload the save. Okay, okay, so-- so here’s the thing-- I figured that’s a good place to conclude a session, right? Get to the ending, prepare for the next run. But I also know that Route B starts with Kaine’s unskippable novel segments. I’ve read them, of course, so I figure I’ll just reload into Route B so I can make a save after the novel sections, really get into the meat of Route B when I’m fresh.

So skim through those--

Beat up the Knave--

Skim through the rest--

Educated Warrior... didn’t pop...?--

Wait what’s this camera angle--

Why am I outs--

oh my god

KAINE AND EMIL HAVING GIGGLY GIRL TALK AROUND THE CAMPFIRE OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING

THERE’S MORE.

THERE’S. MORE.

I legit short-circuited. Going in I knew they added the Little Mermaid. I knew they added Ending E. Those were things I suspected would be added and went out to specifically confirm; beyond that I’ve been keeping myself completely spoiler free.

I had no idea there was more. I had no idea this was happening.

I’m so excited.

And a goofy thought for the road

“I polished you with a special cloth, I poured warm water on you--”

“Wait, you poured water on me?”

/imagines Emil running blindfolded eight hours across the Southern Plains with an 8oz plastic water cup, getting to the library, splashing it on Kaine, waiting expectantly

/nothing happens

/walks dejectedly eight hours all the way back to the Manor

#NieR #NieR Replicant #Musings #Ramblings #OH MY GOD WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT THIS #I AM SO GLAD NOBODY TOLD ME ABOUT THIS

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

Text

in harmony.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: i’ve cast the choirs (because i think i’m hilarious) and have a playlist to listen to as you read, if you want the ~full experience~. i’ve done my best to time it out with the music so it flows properly, depending on how fast you read. the beginning moves a little faster than the music, so i would recommend starting the playlist at the beginning of the fic. this one has been living in my head rent free for way too long and i’m so stoked to share it with you.

straight no chaser as the nsa mc6 a cappella as the atf pentatonix as the fbi

words: 4035 warnings: mild swearing, internal monologuing, and pining!hotch ft. supportive!jj, tw: a capella themes setlist here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7GQkhBUhUfdJI4m0vZbqbJ?si=46TMCTj9SkCRoHlnAxHfkg

masterlist | requests closed!

The Official Unofficial Los Angeles Inter-Agency Choral Competition was in its final stages of preparation, and you were at the center of it. CIA did the judging, as usual, and each agency had a team, a setlist, and a competitive streak a mile long.

Because the bragging rights awarded by the CIA were so coveted, the agents involved in the choral groups got a half day off of work, waived by the Assistant Directors themselves.

Thus, the NSA, ATF, and FBI choral teams were goofing around in the federal building auditorium with the abandon of a bunch of high schoolers. Sound check was always criminally fun, and most of it was spent giving each other a hard time and arranging music on the fly.

The engineers were still working and would still need a few minutes to themselves before you all got onstage and ran your sets.

“Hey, Bureau.”

You turned, finding Ben behind you in his black button-up and tie. “Hey, dumbass.”

Ben was the arranger for the NSA team and your closest friend in Los Angeles. You got along famously, and you joked that the friendship between you was the only reason there was interagency cooperation in your jurisdiction at all.

He was looking particularly sharp this afternoon, as the NSA team prided themselves on their polished performance aesthetic.

“Ready for tonight?” He asked.

You laughed. “God, am I ever. I’ve been working CT down in the bunker for weeks.”

“Oh, dude that’s brutal. When was the last time you saw daylight?”

You blew air through your lips. “Ah, fuck, I dunno, like a week?”

Ben laughed and slung an arm around your shoulders. “This is a helluva way to get back into civilization with the rest of us.”

You scoffed. “It’s bold to imply anyone at the NSA is a part of any society.”

“C’mon. Trash talking doesn’t start until we’ve rehearsed at least once.” He jostled you, and you let out another peal of laughter.

“Try me, hot shot.”

Meanwhile, upstairs, the BAU was finishing up their goodbyes and case reports for the Los Angeles field office. There was a spree killer wreaking havoc in the Mid-City neighborhood, and the BAU was of enormous help in apprehending the suspect.

You’d been in the aforementioned CT bunker for at least a week and had no idea your (greatly missed) former unit was on your side of the country, let alone in the same building.

“Oh!” Agent Fitzgerald said, suddenly. The BAU looked up all at once, and it was almost comical. “I completely forgot. There’s an event tonight that’s always really fun. If you all aren’t in any rush to get back to Quantico, we’d love for you to stay. If you’re eager to get back, they’re in the auditorium right now for a dress rehearsal and it shouldn’t take more than a half hour.”

JJ’s head tilted. “What’s going on?”

“The Official Unofficial Los Angeles Inter-Agency Choral Competition.” Fitzgerald grinned. “It’s really fun, surprisingly good, and never not hilarious.”

Emily laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little.”

+++

Ben and his team were in the middle of their set, and you were bopping along with some of the ATF guys in the corner.

You couldn’t deny the talent on the NSA team. They were clean-cut, crisp, and well-arranged (thanks to Ben), but you couldn’t help but think they were a little too polished.

Ben had the lock on comedic mashups, and had a great on-stage persona - one of the very few NSA agents with a sense of humor. He sang directly to you, much of the time, in rehearsal because he knew it made you laugh. His sense of humor was infused through all the arrangements, and the lyrics alone were enough to have you on the floor.

Their movie medley opener was your favorite, full of silly references and even a sing-along section. You knew all the words simply because you’d sat with Ben as he spent three days arranging and adjusting it a couple of months ago. Obviously, you offered absolutely no help because all you wanted was to watch him crash and burn.

Maybe some sabotage could come in handy next time…

They rounded out their set with a clean-cut cover of Smash Mouth’s All Star. Ben was always in it for the laugh, and you loved it. Both teams in the house were laughing as the NSA made increasingly bigger spectacles of themselves.

It was easier to forget how much you missed your family in Virginia when you were with the other teams - rehearsing and bonding and spending time together. There was no unit in Los Angeles like the BAU insofar as the bond between team members, but this event always mimicked it better than anything else.

Without Ben, you’d barely have anyone at all. He happened to be assigned to you as a liaison between agencies on one of your first cases, and you got on like a house on fire. His friends became your friends, and you found your footing in your new home. They showed you the best beaches (Manhattan and Malibu), the best sushi (Enya), and perhaps most importantly - the best route and attack strategy for navigating the hell that was LAX.

You avoided calling your old unit as much as possible, as you were sure it would keep you from fully settling down. If half of your head was in Virginia, you’d always hate Los Angeles. That said, Aaron was still the first number on your speed dial, and your thumb spent a fair amount of time hovering over it before inevitably shoving it back in your pocket. You’d done it just today, walking from your office to the auditorium.

You left the ATF to their ridiculous devices, and joined your team in the house.

“Doin’ alright? I heard it was a rough week for y’all down in CT.” Michael, a Texas native and an insane talent, could have been an excellent profiler if he wasn’t so great at ferreting out tax fraud. You both spoke in hushed tones, as to not disrupt the rehearsal.

You nodded, patting him on the arm. “I’m alright.”

“Missin’ home?”

You nodded again. “Just a bit. It’s weird coming out into the world after being in the bunker - it’s almost like I don't remember where I am, and I almost expect to be somewhere else.”

He didn’t say anything, but leaned against you. It was a small gesture, but a meaningful one.

When NSA was finished, with their levels set and lights programmed, it was ATF’s turn to get up on stage and flutter around until they were adjusted.

Michael said something ridiculous, and it made you laugh out loud. You slapped a hand over your mouth, hearing it resonate through the house as one of the floor mics picked it up.

At the back of the auditorium, only minutes prior, Agent Fitzgerald had slipped in with the BAU. They all stood along the back wall, and you only would have seen them if you knew where to look. The auditorium was massive, and the only lights up were the lights onstage - distinguishable features were nearly impossible to determine from the distance.

Aaron’s breath caught for a moment. A microphone picked up someone’s laugh near the stage, and it sounded startlingly like yours.

Must be mistaken. There’s no way.

As ATF started up, Ben grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to your feet. He turned you under his arm and led - dancing you around on the floor at the front of the stage. You laughed your way into his arms, and fell into a relaxed Lindy Hop. You took turns leading, throwing him under your arm just as many times as you ducked under his.

Aaron’s thoughts wandered, the laugh he heard triggering something in him. He missed you greatly, but that was no secret. You two had started seeing each other, unbeknownst to the team, a little more than three months before your transfer.

The team were too polite to tell you, but they knew something was going on from the get-go. Hotch was happier, and you were more effusive in all situations. You balanced each other well, and could bounce ideas and fight and communicate like nobody else in the unit. It was an asset more than anything, but when the transfer assignment came through, there was no negotiating.

For all involved, you decided it was best to end things - or at least pause them - while you were stationed at the LA field office. It would be too hard, and you’d hate to hate him by the time you got back to Virginia for one reason or another. So, you were alone at the LA field office, while he stayed right were he was.

Wait. The LA field office.

He was jarred from his thoughts by JJ, who smiled and asked, “What’s their deal?” Her eyes were trained on the dancing couple on the house floor, out in front of the apron of the stage.

“Oh those two are the only reason the FBI and NSA play nicely in the sandbox together. They’re two peas in a pod. They work counter-terrorism for their respective agencies, and have a knack for solving inter-departmental disputes.”

“Are they together?” JJ’s question was light, but Hotch knew there were ulterior motives. Maybe she’d heard your laugh too, and refused to doubt.

She was good at that - not doubting. Hotch, on the other hand, sucked at the whole faith thing. He found his skepticism was only getting worse with age, and he (in that very moment) decided to have a little more hope.

“Oh, no, not at all. Ben doesn’t swing that way, and my understanding is that Agent L/N left someone back on the east coast and hasn’t been seeing anyone out here.” It was clear Agent Fitzgerald, a new import to the LA field office herself, had no idea you worked with the BAU prior to your transfer.

Maybe you hadn’t talked about them at all.

That thought sent a little unpleasant spike through Hotch’s chest.

Hope. Hope.

Maybe Fitzgerald just missed something, or didn’t know you too well.

Hotch could feel Emily’s eyes on him, but continued watching the ATF runthrough. It was your laugh he heard. Ben threw you around with ease, and you both cut clean, sharp lines silhouetted against the stage lights.

Then, of course, it was Emily’s turn to ask questions. “So how did this...tradition start?”

Fitzgerald shrugged. “It’s my understanding that it’s been happening for years, brought on by some ridiculous bet between ATF and FBI. Never ones to be outdone, the NSA inserted themselves, the CIA wanted a piece of action, and the rest is history.”

“Only in California,” said Dave with a laugh.

As the songs changed, Aaron watched you tap out of the dance, sitting down heavily in one of the house seats and taking a few huge sips of water. Ben grabbed his water bottle from the floor and came to the row behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

Though he was just told Ben would not ever be into you in that way, Hotch couldn’t help the prickle of jealousy that snuck up his belly. JJ, beside him, stepped close to him and hooked her hand around his forearm, her thumb brushing circles against his suit jacket.

“I’m alright,” he whispered.

She squeezed once. “I know.” It sounded like she knew more than that, but Hotch let it go. While sometimes irritating, it was nice to have people around him that knew him so well.

JJ continued to cling to his sleeve as the ATF transitioned to the FBI.

It nearly startled him out of his skin to hear your voice echo through the house on a hand-held microphone. You stood on the edge of the stage, squinting at the booth at the back of the house. “Can we run full tech? We have AV that needs to be sequenced correctly.”

A click, then a disembodied voice. “We’re ready for full AV.”

You shot a two fingered salute. “Thanks, team. Let’s bring up the seal for now and go from there.”

The FBI seal and motto floated into focus on the fabric behind them, and Aaron felt himself almost lean forward in anticipation. He chanced a look down the line, and the rest of his team was smiling, waiting, watching. Just like he was.

JJ bumped his shoulder.

The stage was rather dark, but he could see all five of you lined up almost against the fabric. The song started quickly, with strong base and an uptempo beat.

Your team ran to the front of the stage one by one, following the phrases of the music - fun and high energy.

“I didn’t know…” Emily whispered to Derek, at a loss. He shrugged, still totally floored. You’d never joined them in their horrible karaoke spectacles, claiming the sanctity of your dignity, but Hotch realized now it was just to spare their feelings.

You were incredible. Your eyes shone in the light, your smile flashing behind your microphone. It was obvious you were having a helluva time, and were close to your teammates. You played off each other easily, keeping pace without conducting, feeling the music and harmony in every cell of your body. Hotch saw your work ethic even in this - collaborative, but still taking charge.

It was clear your team looked to you for tone and energy, and you delivered. With a start, Aaron realized he’d never heard this song before. He leaned forward and asked, “Are some of these originals?”

Fitzgerald nodded. “The FBI team has a few strong writers on it this year, so they were able to pull together a medley, an original, and the closer in about three weeks.”

Hotch raised his eyebrows. “Wow. That’s impressive.”

She laughed lightly. “You’re tellin’ me. I was in here one day when they were workshopping after hours and was blown away.”

When you were finished with your first piece, you looked back to check the cyc - satisfied to find Home, arranged by Y/N L/N in gold, in the FBI font.

“I’m gonna practice my little spiel here or I won’t get it tonight. I’ll count you off at the end, go on three, yeah?”

Click. “Copy. Go for it,” came the disembodied voice once more.

“When we were deciding which medley we wanted to use, we figured out there was nothing in our library that really spoke to us at that moment where we were. So, we wrote a new one. This one is called Home, and includes a bunch of songs that not only include the word ‘home,’ but ones that mean something to us or someone we love.

“Home, to us, is where our families are. We all chose a series of pictures that represent home for us, the people we love. I hope you enjoy listening to this medley as much as we enjoyed writing it.” You flashed a winning smile before raising your hand, waiting a moment, and then dropping it, immediately starting to sing.

The rest of your team fell in right away, stepping up to the mics and sinking into the arrangement. A figure jogged up the steps toward Hotch, and he latently realized it could only be Ben, his agile stride giving him away.

He settled right beside Hotch, leaning against the wall. Needless to say, Aaron was confused. That is, until -

“You’re Hotchner, aren’t you?”

Aaron kept his gaze trained on the stage. “Who’s asking?”

“Ben Collins, NSA. I would be a really shitty friend if I couldn’t recognize someone I’d seen in a framed photo on Y/N’s desk like 20 times.”

With that, he gave Hotch a mock-salute and trotted back down the stairs.

JJ furrowed her brow. “What was that about?”

“I have no idea,” Hotch admitted. “He knew me, though, from photos.”

He felt, rather than saw, JJ’s smile as she bumped him with her shoulder. “Focus - You’re missing it.”

He huffed a laugh, and tuned back in.

Home was an undeniably fun medley, and the photos were heartwarming and strategically chosen to hide all faces except the agents’ on stage. Aaron smiled when he heard a line from one of his favorite songs.

Our house Is a very very very fine house...

Just a brush, but it felt like your touch, your smile, reaching him. You took the next section with renewed energy, never falling into stillness as you drove the music forward.

JJ clutched at Hotch’s sleeve, and he lifted his gaze from you to the cyc. On it, there were photos of Dave’s backyard, mixed in with what he only assumed were the pictures from your teammates’ homes and families. They were piling on top of each other, as if someone was throwing them into a pile, one by one.

A photo of JJ, Emily, and Penelope flashed by, their backs to the camera.

There was one of you, Jack��s face hidden in your neck as you smiled fondly at the person just to the left of the camera. Aaron recognized that image, but from a different angle. You’d been smiling at him, just next to Emily.

Emily’s eyes strayed to Hotch. There was a look on his face she’d never seen before. She almost looked away, feeling like she was intruding on an intimate moment. Instead, she lightly smacked Derek’s shoulder, and he looked over too.

“The separation has been hard on them both,” he said, his voice low. “Look.” He tipped his chin toward you.

Your posture didn’t look any different to anyone who knew better, but Emily could see the slight sag in your shoulders, hear the small catch in your breath. The music affected you more than you’d care to admit.

A photo came into view on the screen - one where you stared out the jet window with your chin in your hand, Hotch’s face pressed into your torso as he slept with his head in your lap. Your fingers were tangled in his thick dark hair, twirling absent-minded curls into the locks behind his ear. JJ smiled. She’d taken that one. It was soon covered with another, then another, then another.

Agent Fitzgerald bid the team a quiet farewell and slipped out to take a phone call. Hotch barely noticed. She’d been on her phone most of the time, and had missed the photos. She was blissfully unaware of your connection to the team, and for that Hotch was grateful. It almost felt wrong to disrupt the little world you’d built here.

They were almost done, preparing for the closer.

Maybe he was biased, but Hotch felt your team was the strongest.

NSA had the polish and that classic choral look and looked like they were having just the right amount of fun, but there was still that competitive edge that took some of the luster out of the performance.

ATF were the most traditional of the group, all of their music recognizable, tightly arranged, and reminiscent of barbershop quartets. While entertaining, it was clear you and Ben stole the show with your dancing, the music taking a ready backseat to your antics.

Your team had fun. There was no bite in it. You weren’t there to win, but rather just there for the sheer fun of it. Your music was yours, it meant something, and was more creatively arranged than the rest of them by a long shot.

Aaron felt a rush of pride as he watched you shine. While he couldn’t articulate it, he could sense the same thing Derek noticed. There was something pulling at you - the same thing pulling at his shoulders and the corners of his mouth whenever he had fun without you.

“Alright,” you said, just a little out of breath. You took the mic off the stand. “We have one last number, and we all sing it together.” You held the mic out to your left, and Ben took it from you.

“This is our favorite, because it’s a really good excuse to think of the people we love.”

Some agent (whose name always escaped you) from the ATF took the mic next. “Thanks for coming out tonight to watch our ridiculous annual competition, for bragging rights and honorary ownership of the City of Los Angeles.”

Ben took the mic from him and passed it back to you.

“I hope we all have someone in our life that we love so much it's difficult to articulate. I know I do.”

JJ inhaled sharply as Hotch let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You missed him. He could feel it. He wasn’t alone.

You replaced the mic, and stepped back. With the FBI in the center, ATF to the right, and NSA to the left, you began.

There’s a calm surrender To the rush of day When the heat of a rolling wave Can be turned away

It was a beautiful picture, all of you standing together as one united front. The sound was incredible - filling the space with sound that spun right into the chests of everyone listening. You stepped up with Ben and an ATF agent, standing close to the mic.

Ben reached for your hand, knowing this one was hard for you. You’d probably never get a chance to have Hotch in the same room, feeling what you felt, singing this song. It was silly - a Disney song. But it always cracked you wide open. It was only ever for him.

You took Ben’s hand and gripped it tight. It wasn’t performance, so you could really do whatever you wanted as long as sound and projections were able to do their work.

The breakdown of the song was your favorite, and you threw your hands in the air, releasing Ben - the final lighting cue of the show. It was designed to bridge the gap between the players and the audience, bringing everyone together.

The house lights came on about halfway, and the BAU was visible from the stage, as they’d all crept forward during the set. Hotch could only imagine what that lighting effect would do when the house was full of agents and their families later tonight. A true communion, with the music and the people.

Your eyes scanned the house, rehearsing your engagement pathway through the audience. A small cluster of people caught your attention, and Ben squeezed your hand. You looked over at him, still singing, and he gave a tiny toss of his head back to the group.

Looking more carefully now, you saw your team. More specifically, you saw Aaron.

He was watching you with a fond smile, and you knew he saw you clock his presence. JJ was on his arm, likely anchoring in him place and comforting him in only the way she could.

Against your will, a broad smile pulled at your face, a shot of adrenaline pushing you into the finale. Your eyes were locked on his, the music only a footnote to two simple words running on loop in your head.

He’s here he’s here he’s here he’s here.

The world for once In perfect harmony With all its living things.

You hit the final chord and let it hang in the air for a moment. It felt like forever - the BAU burst into applause, Derek and Emily whistling and shouting - while you and Hotch just stared at each other across the house.

The connection was only broken when Ben yanked you back to rehearse bows, which took all of thirty seconds. You squinted at your friend when you stood straight again. He had a smug little smile on his face.

“You knew,” you accused with absolutely no heat.

Ben shrugged. “I investigated.” He shot you a wink as he said, “It’s what I do.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved past him, nearly leaping down the steps into the house. You ran up the aisle, and Hotch was there to catch you, holding you close.

“You’re here.”

He kissed the side of your head. “Of course I’m here. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

+++

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#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm

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majimemegoro · 3 years ago

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as a huge fan of depicting scenes i absolutely want to read how you envisioned sato and okudera's first interactions yes please

Ok !!! I'm not fully pleased with it yet, but this one is for you, comrade! anyone please share any thoughts or advice you have. *FROZEN ROAR SPOILERS*

November When Sato woke up, at first he was surprised that he wasn’t in his cell. He had gotten used to that dim, miserable little room. But instead he was - what, in some kind of shack? There was worn wood overhead, and the smell of dirt and woodsmoke. He blinked blearily up at the low ceiling and shifted a little as he struggled to remember where he was, and how he had gotten here. Then there was a shuffling sound to one side, and a face was looming over him. And Sato found himself staring into the eyes of his mark. Okudera, 51 years old, 1.8 meters, 86 kilograms. He was bearded, and his hair had grown longer, but it was unmistakeably the man from the photograph Sato had been given, smuggled in rolled up in a toilet paper tube. Urgently Sato tried to sit up, succeeding only in raising himself onto his elbows and sending a wave of excruciating pain through his body. A flash of white overtook his eyes, and then faded away. He swallowed with difficulty. “Oh no,” the man said, backing away a little, “Don’t move! You have a nasty frostbite, you’ll damage your tissues.” Frostbite. Yes. Sato had been thrown from the snowmobile, and wandered for awhile, and been sure he was going to freeze to death. But he was alive. And his mark, the man who had apparently been impossible to find for two years already, also seemed to be alive. If only he could confirm the identity for sure- “I’m Okudera, by the way,” the man said. Sato let out a shaky breath and lowered himself back down onto the bedroll. “What’s your name?” Okudera asked. Sato said nothing. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just go into town and check the news to see which inmate recently escaped from Abashiri.” Reflexively Sato tried to sit up again, and pain shot through his body anew. He considered lying, but - the location, the uniform - it was obvious. There was no point. “Turn me in, then,” he rasped. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to kill Okudera quickly in this state. This whole hit was turning into a mess. Instead of tracking Okudera, offing him in one good, clean swoop that would look like an accident, and then disappearing again, Sato was injured and at the mercy of the man he was supposed to kill. But Okudera shook his head, and crouched over the fire, poking at it with a stick. “I don’t want to turn you in,” he said. “I just want to know your name.” Again Sato considered lying, but as Okudera had just pointed out, it was an easy thing to fact-check. Sato’s mugshot was probably papered all over Sapporo by now. “Sato. Sato Kiyoshi.” “Nice to meet you, Sato,” Okudera said. “Are you hungry?” Sato was, in fact, hungry. He turned his head to look around the little hovel and saw there was a fireplace with a pot over it. “...Yes,” he admitted. “Great,” Okudera said. “You still shouldn’t move much, but if you can prop yourself up a little, I can tenderly feed stew into your mouth.” He threw a grimy pillow at Sato’s face. Sato gingerly maneuvered it behind his neck. Okudera finished preparing two bowls of stew and scooted over beside Sato, placing a bowl down. There was a moment’s pause. “Oh, I was kidding about feeding you,” Okudera said lightly. “Moving your arms a little isn’t going to kill you. Probably.” Scowling, Sato managed with difficulty to get into a hunched sitting position. The stew was hot, the meat tender. It was seasoned plainly, with just salt and onions. Sato tried to eat slowly, moving his arms as little as possible. It was difficult not to just wolf it down; it had probably been over 24 hours since he had eaten. “...How long was I out?” he asked between bites. Okudera swallowed what must have been a giant bite, from the effort it seemed to take, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “A whole day,” he said. “I carried you back late last night, and now it’s late again. I don’t know what time. It’s been dark for hours already.” He began shovelling food into his mouth once more. Sato nodded, and resumed feeding himself. The meat was a bit gamey. It

conjured up very old memories. “...Is this rabbit?” he asked. Mouth full, Okudera nodded. His eyes widened a little, as though he were impressed that Sato could recognize the meat by its flavour and texture. But he didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he swallowed another massive bite. “By the way,” he said, “I don’t suppose you have any contraband on you?” Sato narrowed his eyes. “What?” “You know. Isn’t jail a hotspot for contraband? Do you have any cigarettes or drugs?” “Uh, no.” “Aw. Shit,” Okudera said good-naturedly. “Oh well. Can’t have everything in this world.” And he turned his attention back to the food. Can’t have everything, huh, Sato reflected sarcastically, observing the surroundings. It seemed more like Okudera had almost nothing. The building they were in was more alike in size to a hunting hut than a proper house, and one in a poor state of upkeep at that, but the impressive array of items hung on the rough walls and piled at the edges of the floor - more than any man could carry with him - left no doubt that this was Okudera’s permanent dwelling. Wary of seeming too observant, Sato looked back down to his rabbit stew and kept eating.

[...]

“You’re lucky I found you out there,” Okudera said conversationally. “If I’d been half an hour later you probably wouldn’t have made it.” Sato didn’t reply. He was thinking about the little hearth, about having a fire in such a small, derelict structure; thinking about whether it would be possible, in theory, to suffocate Okudera and somehow blame the death on the fire. Burn the place to the ground, with Okudera inside. Preferably already dead, since Okudera looked strong and the walls didn’t. Destroy the evidence that way. It was possible. But Sato didn’t yet know if anyone else knew he was here. He cleared his throat. “Do you live alone?” he asked. His voice still hoarse, more than usual. But he had almost frozen to death. “Nope,” Okudera said. “This guy is staying with me. I rescued him from the mountain. He’s an escaped convict from Abashiri.” Sato’s eyes narrowed. “...Are you talking about me?” “No, I’m taking about the other escaped convict I rescued,” Okudera said sarcastically. Then, “Yes, idiot, I’m talking about you.” So Okudera did live alone. And with any luck, he wasn’t close with any neighbours he had, as might be predicted from the fact that no one had been able to track him down until now. Getting close to anyone was dangerous for a wanted man. Sato nodded slowly. “I hate to impose on you,” he said. He would have to exaggerate the effects of the hypothermia and frostbite, maybe even fake an illness until he had a foolproof plan, so Okudera would think he was weak. “As soon as I recover I’ll depart-“ “Ah, I don’t really care,” Okudera said. “You can stay as long as you want. But,” he added sharply, “I’m trying to make money, here, so you’ll have to learn to hunt if you want to stick around. I’m not wasting good game on you if I can help it.” “I don’t eat much,” Sato said. Okudera scoffed. “Be grateful I fed you anything,” he said. “I don’t owe you shit.” “Why did you save me?” Sato asked. “You seem like a pretty selfish guy.” The comment had been calibrated to make Okudera angry, but instead he just made a stern, motherly look. “My dear man,” he said. “Can’t a selfish guy do something out of character, if he wants to?” What an odd, dangerous thought. Sato flexed his aching fingers, judging how long it would be before they regained enough strength to pull a trigger, to grasp a knife, to wring a man’s neck. Not long. Not long. But Sato was a professional, and he didn’t want to leave any loose ends. So he needed to learn more about his target. For now, he would bide his time. Learn how to hunt, if he had to. And he said, “I guess.”

#sato kiyoshi #okudera #frozen roar #yakuza 5 #og okudera #memecomradeoriginal #banji's scroll

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