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daddyjackfrost · 3 years

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Akaashi Keiji;

Prompt 6: “There’s nothing you could say to me that would ever make me stop.”

i’m so in love with this man.

warnings: angst? hurt/comfort? fluff kinda? insecure Akaashi, mention of not being good enough, tears, a sweet kiss, akaashi hating himself:(

a/n: this was kinda rushed and it’s 2:57 am rn and i just thought about this and i had to write it. which is ironic because there are like 8 half finished writing pieces staring at me rn but wtvr

!!!! A/ex/g ➡️ Akaashi’s ex-girlfriend

Akaashi Keiji stared at himself in the window of a floral shop.

His blue eyes raked over his simple attire, messy black hair, and the briefcase he clutched in his right hand.

Akaashi had planned to stop at this floral shop today to plan and get an order on your favourite flowers for your one year anniversary in two days.

Akaashi couldn’t believe it had almost been a whole year. He couldn’t believe that someone like you stayed with him for a whole year.

Akaashi reached for the door handle, and then paused. What if he got you the wrong flowers? What if they didn’t come on time? What if you hated them?

With pursed lips, Akaashi took a step back, and then turned around and began walking back to his car. Akaashi had been a mess all day. He woke up five minutes after his alarm went off, causing you to wake up, and Akaashi had felt so guilty. Then, at work, he had managed to lose a manga panel, which he found after ten minutes, but those ten minutes had been the most terrifying ten minutes of his life.

Akaashi sat in his car and gripped the steering wheel. His eyes fell on his hands and he frowned. Long and pale fingers stared back at him, and he quickly released the wheel.

Akaashi sighed and then did something out of character.

Akaashi slammed the steering wheel and let out a quiet string of curses.

As of right now, Akaashi hated himself. Akaashi had a bad habit of being caught up in his own head and indulging in his negative thoughts, but he had been really good at keeping himself level headed.

Akaashi knew why he had done a good job.

You.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Akaashi started his car and began to drive, making sure to keep his eyes on the road and not his hands. His stomach churned and Akaashi had no idea why he couldn’t just stay out of his head. Why did he have to fall into this negative and self-loathing mindset so close to your anniversary?

Unknowing to Akaashi, his subconscious knew why. The only reason Akaashi was on a self destructive rampage was because of your one year anniversary. Akaashi didn’t think he was capable—deserving—of the love you had for him, and it was eating him up.

Ever since he was a young boy, Akaashi had known that life was not on anyone’s side. Akaashi would have a few great weeks, and then he would have a terrible week. It had become a routine, a sixth sense. Akaashi had been waiting for the terrible week for a while, not believing that he was allowed to have just a good month.

The writer believed in happy endings, just not his own. Past relationships had made it very clear that Akaashi could not be loved. His last and longest relationship had shown him that he would never be enough, and it was eating him.

Akaashi hadn’t even realized he was home until he stopped the car and looked up. Slowly, Akaashi turned off the car and opened the car door.

He was anxious.

He knew you waited inside, and although a bigger part of Akaashi wanted to see you and lay in your arms, the insecure version of Akaashi, the one he kept hidden, wanted to be alone. Akaashi had always been a calm and collected person, until he wasn’t, and Akaashi hated it when others saw him at his weakest.

You knew of Akaashi’s insecurities. His anxiety attacks. And even though you have told him countless times that it was nothing to be ashamed of, Akaashi wasn’t willing to believe you.

Akaashi wiped the sweat off his hands, and forced a small smile upon his face. He knew you would immediately see through his facade, but he did it anyways.

Akaashi opened the door to his house and was immediately greeted with soft music playing. He took a few small steps in and heard a familiar tune of BTS’s The Truth Untold. Akaashi quietly untied his tie and slipped off his shoes, his eyes on your back as you quietly swayed, staring at two picture frames in your hands.

You hadn’t noticed Akaashi yet, and he was thankful. Akaashi’s eyes glazed over some of the boxes that belonged to you, and his heart started beating faster.

Akaashi had asked you to move in with him two weeks ago, so why was he nervous? Why was his heart beating faster at the thought of you in his space?

Akaashi finally cleared his throat and you quickly turned around, releasing a small breath of surprise.

You quickly put down the two frames and smiled at Akaashi. “Keiji! How long have you been standing there?”

Akaashi swallowed the lump in his throat, and licked his cracked lips.

Your eyes zeroed in on Akaashi’s slightly pale face, his disheveled tie, and the slight shake of his fingers.

You immediately took small steps towards Akaashi, frowning when you noticed how shaken he looked.

Akaashi just stared at you with wide eyes. You were really here. You were really with him. You were moving in with him. All of the evidence was right there, so why was Akaashi having such a hard time believing it?

You slowly brought your hand up to rest on Akaashi’s arm but he flinched, and you dropped your hand.

With furrowed eyebrows and eyes filled with concern, you took a small step back, wanting to give Akaashi his space.

“Keiji? What’s wrong?”

I don’t know, Akaashi wanted to tell you. Sometimes I look at you and my heart begins to beat faster. I don’t why you’re with me, he wants to yell, when you can do so much better.

Instead, Akaashi says, “Why are you here, y/n?”

Your heart drops into your stomach but you don’t move. You don’t show your hurt, because you know Akaashi didn’t mean it like that. You knew the signs. Akaashi looked pained, like he had been walking through a storm, except the storm was in his head.

“What do you mean, Keiji?”

Akaashi dropped his briefcase and ran his hands through his hair. You bent down and picked up the briefcase, and gently put it down on the table.

You walked to the kitchen and filled up a cup with water, and then walked to the sofa. You looked up and met Akaashi’s clouded eyes.

“Sit down, Keiji.” You sat down on the couch, motioning for Akaashi to do so as well. “Talk to me.”

Akaashi had no control over his movements, not when you spoke to him with a soft voice and gentle eyes.

Akaashi walked to the sofa, sitting down on the edge. He wasn’t used to talking about his feelings. Before you, he never even tried, but ever since you walked into his life six years ago, it had been a bit easier for him to talk and try and explain his feelings.

Akaashi sighed and rubbed his hands together. Your eyes were on his hands. Akaashi unconsciously dragged his fingernails across his hands, leaving red marks.

You reached out and grabbed both of his hands in yours. You didn’t look up at him, your sole focus on his hands. You gently rubbed your thumb over the scratches, trying to soothe them.

Akaashi stared at your actions with watering eyes.

You both were quiet, your music had filled the silence. You would never force Akaashi to talk, and he knew that, but you also wanted to push Akaashi into talking. Akaashi was intelligent, and he usually found the solutions to his concerns as he talked. All you did was make sure he was on the right path.

“I’m scared,” Akaashi finally mumbled after some time. You didn’t stop holding his hands, you slowly drew circles on the backside of his hands, knowing that it brought him comfort.

“Scared of what, Keiji?”

“You.”

You looked up, and Akaashi looked down to meet your eyes. Your eyes met his and you were quite sure everything around you stopped. His dark eyes reminded you of the bottom of the ocean. They were dark, hiding secrets you would only know if you swam all the way down. Fortunately for you, you weren’t scared of drowning, and as you looked into those heavenly deep eyes, you could see yourself sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

Akaashi’s eyes held so many emotions, so many unsaid words he wished to convey.

“I’m scared of the way you make me feel. I see you and I stop breathing.” Akaashi stared into your eyes. His lips lightly quivered and you knew that the words coming out of Akaashi’s mouth would be the most important words you would ever hear. “When A/ex/g left me, I never thought I would love again. I was so sure that I would never open my heart again, and then you stood by me every single day and you always smiled at me and you--you never let me feel alone, y/n.”

You let out a small breath. Akaashi had never been this vocal about his feelings for you, and your eyes began to water. You weren’t quite sure where Akaashi was going with his words, but you were just glad that you were here to hear them.

“It hurts. I just want you to have the best and I’m not the best y/n.” Akaashi’s watering blue eyes locked on yours and you felt your heart break as you heard Akaashi’s next words.

“I’m not the best for you, y/n. You deserve better but I’m greedy and I don’t want you to leave me but I can’t give you much. I’m a mess and I’m anxious and I can’t really breathe and I want to love you the way you deserve but I don’t think I can.”

You watched as a tear rolled down Akaashi’s beautifully pale skin. Akaashi’s words rang in your head, but you wanted to laugh. You wanted to laugh and you wanted to cry and you wanted to hold and kiss Akaashi, but all of that had to wait.

As smoothly as you could, you slipped off the sofa and sat on your knees in front of Akaashi. You held his hands in yours and you looked up at him.

You pulled your hand away from Akaashi’s to wipe the tears that spilled from his eyes. The ocean was bleeding and you hated it. You licked your lips and took a deep breath, hoping the tears that had gathered in your eyes wouldn’t fall.

“Keiji,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

Akaashi lifted his head and almost choked when he saw the love and adoration swirl in your eyes. Akaashi was afraid to look at you because he didn’t want to see satisfaction in your eyes. He didn’t want to see everything he was afraid of.

“I don’t deserve better, Keiji, you are the best. I’m greedy too, and I’m not going to leave you, ever. I love you, Keiji. I love you with everything I am and everything I hope to be. After all this time, I still love you.” You squeezed Akaashi’s hands. “Keiji, It’s always been you. I’ve only ever wanted you, I love you with your anxiousness and I love you with all your messes. I love you today, and I’ll love you tomorrow, and I’ll love you forever. There’s nothing you could ever say to me that would make me stop.”

Tears fell freely down Akaashi’s face. He had never been told that he was loved this much. If you hadn’t been staring into his eyes the whole time and clutching his hands like you would collapse if you didn’t hold them, Akaashi would have never believed you. Your words were burned onto his heart, but Akaashi still felt like he didn’t deserve them.

“What if I said,” Akaashi paused. “What if I said I hated you? Would you love me then?”

“Do you, Keiji?” You smiled at him. “Hate me, I mean.”

Akaashi stared at you with vulnerable eyes. “No,” Akaashi let out a small disbelieving laugh. “I don’t hate you. I can’t hate you, y/n. Not when you hold my heart.”

You brought Akaashi’s hands to your lips and laid a soft kiss on his fingers. “You hold my heart too, Keiji. You’ve held my heart since the first day we met.” You pressed your lips against his hands again and then looked up, your eyes meeting his. “You are enough for me, Keiji. You’re more than enough for me.”

Akaashi bit his lips to stop the sob that he knew was coming. Akaashi wasn’t surprised you knew the insecurities that plagued him. Akaashi didn’t know how to react to your words because the way you looked up at him, with your eyes shining, made him want to believe your words. You looked at Akaashi like he had hung all the stars in the sky and Akaashi wanted to cry.

“Keiji, it’s okay to doubt yourself. It’s okay to be insecure, but Keiji,” you squeezed Akaashi’s hands and pushed yourself up so you were now on your knees and almost at eye level with him. “Don’t ever doubt me. Because no matter how much I say I love you, I always love you more than that.”

You captured Akaashi’s sob with your lips, having pressed your lips gently against his as he cried.

You tried pulling away, but Akaashi’s hands cupped your face and kept you in place. The kiss was soft, just two lover’s lips pressed together, but it was what Akaashi needed.

When Akaashi pulled away, you grabbed the glass of water and handed it to Akaashi.

The writer let out a dry laugh but you didn’t miss the small smile and the way his eyes shined.

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anime-grimmy-art · 3 years

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Told you guys I’d ramble in due time.

I absolutely adore Bravely Default 2. It came at a really bad time cos I can’t waste 70 hours on a jrpg, but well, it’s too late to be concerned about that now. And as is tradition with me obsessing over a new game / show / whatever, you’ll basically find a fullblown review disguised as ramblings right under the cut. Be aware that I’m gonna talk about EVERYTHING, so spoilers are a given. Some maybe even for the previous Bravely Default games.

Also, if you wanna talk about this game in any capacity, hit me up, I’m DESPERATE to talk more about it.

Just for reference on how long this is gonna be, I made a voice recording while driving to remember all the points I wanna make, and that recording is almost 2 hours long. I did cut it down but still, this is gonna be a lot.

I’ll start off with the things that actually bugged me about the game, since there are only 3 things that really bothered me. First of, I really don’t like that you can name Seth. He has too much personality to be a self insert and player integration is not that big of a part in the game that this decision can be justified. It wouldn’t bother me that much if it didn’t leave a bad mark on the ending. First of all, we were robbed of Gloria desperately shouting for Seth, which makes the impact work less, and it’s just so prevalent that the name can’t be said because you have all the normal sound design going. If they’d just let the credits still play I wouldn’t have batted an eye, but because every other sound comes in it’s so obvious they’re just silently shouting in this scene, which makes it look silly. Like I said, this decision is more a detriment than an addition, and it’s a shame it casts a shadow on an otherwise heartfelt ending.

Speaking about lost potential, the other thing that really bothers me is the lost potential in certain plot points and character conclusions. I mainly mean Adam and Edna here. Both of them have been built up to be these formidable foes but they just, die. If it was just Adam I’d be fine with it, since you expect Edna to backstab him and be the actual big bad of the story, but I cannot fathom why they dropped Edna this HARD. If not Edna herself, I don’t understand why we don’t get more of a reaction from the Fairies and especially Adelle. I mean, Edna was her sole reason she left for her journey in the first place, then Edna dies and that’s it? No part where she grieves for a second? No concern from the others about Adelle? Mind you, I haven’t finished all the Sidequests, so maybe there actually is one in which this is addressed, but I think even just a Party Chat after Bad End 1 would have been sufficient to show how Adelle suddenly feels about the loss of Edna. It would have made Bad End 2 / The Secret Ending even more impactful, because, yeah, of course, you kinda know Adelle isn’t going to turn her back on fairy kind, but one of the reasons she doesn’t leave is because if Enda didn’t get a happy ending, then she shouldn’t either. It would have been amazing foreshadowing if she showed this sentiment before this scene happened. Other than that, it’s a shame that we know so little about Edna, or rather, how she became “bad”. I get she’s supposed to be corrupted by the Night’s Nexus, but how did it even come to this? It can’t have been a gradual thing, after all, Adelle says Edna was always good natured and then just disappeared one day. Really would have loved seeing more of that plot point.

Ok, last gripe I have, some choices in the soundtrack and sound design. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the OST, and I will get to that, but damn, whatever Revo used for the lead instrument in Wiswald hurts my ears. It’s a really good track, but I always have to turn down my volume because these high pitched sounds physically hurt. And for sound design. Dude, the Night’s Nexus is the least threatening, nightmare fueled abomination that ever existed. I get that its growl is kinda supposed to be layered with Edna’s or sth, but it, it just sounds silly. If they went the route of just swinging between different voices or began distorting it from phase to phase, it would have been fine. But the choice they made really made an otherwise creepy design just absolutely silly.

Ok, enough jammering, on to the good stuff. Like I said, there’s going to be a lot, so I’ll try to be brief in each aspect.

Gameplay

I honestly like the new battle mechanics more than the old ones. This individual, turn based system feels way more dynamic and it’s easier to strategies in battles. Because nothing made me more angry than setting up for a heal and the enemy suddenly being faster than me and killing my healer. Now it’s easier to plan ahead a bit.

I also found myself experimenting more with the jobs. Not sure what it really is, but none of the party members leaning more towards certain types of jobs and the job leveling being way faster probably helped.

And I know some people get up in arms because the boss sometimes can be a real pain in the ass (looking at you pope dude), I still found it very interesting getting around counters or even using these counters as a benefit. As an example, I made Adelle my main physical fighter and gave her lots of counter abilities to help her profit from being countered by enemies themselves. Now, she can attack enemies, get countered, automatically evade that counter and earn a BP at the same time. Made a lot of boss fights way easier and fun to exploit.

Music

Ok, I will try my best to be really, really brief, because in my recording this part takes up almost 40 minutes. Anyways, Revo might have just become one of my absolute favorite composers ever. I don’t know what kind of magic he used, but I initially wasn’t that impressed with the OST, but every time I listened to it, I just fell in love harder and harder. Before getting into specifics, I wanna highlight the two things that made me love this OST overall. First of all, this soundtrack almost seems like a refinement of BD’s. While losing some of that fairytale vibe, it sounds even more fantasy now. And in contrast to the original, this almost sounds more balanced? Like, BD’s OST felt high energy throughout, BD2’s on the other hand manages to find a good balance between high and low energy pieces. Like, the character themes or battle themes are absolute hype, but the overworld themes are a lot calmer and easier to listen to while exploring. Second big point that makes this soundtrack amazing is that Revo is an absolute god at using emotional progression/storytelling and leitmotifs in his songs. And heck, do I love myself my leitmotifs. You’ve got some obvious ones, like the final battle theme in which all the character themes and other leitmotifs are integrated. Then you got some maybe more subtle once, just like how the overworld themes are just the main theme, just a lot calmer and using the lead instruments of the towns of the areas.

But my absolute favourites gotta be the character themes and the main theme. I love how fitting the themes for the characters are and in general, each of them is such a bop. At first I prefered Elvis’, because I sure am a sucker for jazzy vibes, but over time Adelle’s became my fav. It’s just something about the trumpets, and how the theme almost sounds a bit melancholic and bittersweet, that drew me in. And considering her story, mostly her bad end, that the bittersweet tone really fits.

Then there’s the main theme. Just like BD’s it shouts “triumphant anthem” and it definitely gives you a very familiar vibe, but I’d argue it has even better emotional progression. Heck, the first time I heard the music start up in the reveal trailer, I didn’t have to look at the screen to know this is gonna be a BD game. Also, the credit song version had me weeping at the true end. I’m someone who’s very easily affected by music (if me shouting about soundtracks on this blog wasn’t proof enough) and just hearing that ending song, getting the after credits scene, just for the second credits to start as a freaking duet. Dude, at that point I just started sobbing, I’m not gonna lie. Just this little part showed how much Revo knows how to put emotion in a song and also write it in such a way that he can elicit strong, emotional reactions from you too.

Story

People have been complaining how the story is too boring and kinda disappointing in comparison to the last one, but I just think the games tried to accomplish different things here. Since the BD series is a celebration of old, classic jrpgs, “cliche” storytelling is a given. Though, BD did throw a lot of meta stuff in there too. BD2 in contrast just feels like a direct execution of that initial idea. It feels familiar, it feels comfy and it feels safe. Except for the little things with the endings and then overwriting the Nexus’ “save file”, BD2 doesn’t really get that meta, which is totally fine. It doesn’t try to reinvent or innovate anything, it just wants to be a fantasy story, that might be cliche, but still fun and enjoyable in its own right.

I’d also argue that the pacing is a lot better than the old game, because with BD I sometimes found myself skipping through scenes to get on with the story. Not that this game didn’t have me rushing through stuff as well, but I found it kept my intrigue way better than the original.

Characters

Next to the music, this is the part that I absolutely love the most. While, yes, they did lose a lot of potential with some characters, mostly with the villains, the main cast is just so much fun. I love these 4 dorks so, so much.

I honestly can’t stand how much people compare them to the original cast. Yes, ofc, I’ve been doing my fair share of comparisons too, but calling these four a more boring version of BD’s party physically hurts me. Because except for some initial impressions, the Heroes of Light are completely different from our beloved Warriors of Light.

While yes, Seth and Gloria give off strong Tiz and Agnes vibes at first, they both grow into such different characters that they’re not really comparable. I think this shows with Adelle and Elvis even more. I do understand how people could compare Adelle and Edea, since they’re both the feisty girl type, but I can’t understand how people can see Ringabel and Elvis as the same character type. While those two are the “suave” party members, they act so differently from another. And that’s honestly apparent the first time you meet them.

Anyways, I love these 4 so much.

We technically don’t know a lot about Seth at all, but they manage to pull so much out of just the fact that he’s a sailor, that it makes him really endearing, really fast.

I was kinda disinterested with Gloria at first, because again, the initial impression was Agnés2.0, but she grew on me a lot. Gloria is way more hard headed and honestly sassy in comparison to Agnés and I absolutely adore it.

Elvis. Elvis, my man. I love this fantasy scottosh wizard so, so much. He’s such a ridiculous character but so endearing at the same time. You got all this dorkiness, with him setting himself on fire as a student, him doing god knows what for a good drink or just laughing danger and prejudice in the face. But then you got his super empathetic and caring side. Mind you, most of his wise moments come from quoting Lady Emma, but still, as much as he’s hopeless with certain social situations, he’s actually still really good at reading the room and playing things smart. He’s a smart and powerful idiot, which makes him a danger to everyone and himself, and I love him for it. (I also can’t believe they called him Lesley I MEAN COME ON)

And then there’s Adelle. I liked her from the start, but I didn’t think she would stick out to me. I think now she’s my favourite character. Not even talking about all the stuff that happens in chapter 3 and onward, because these story threads are awesome in their own right, but there’s just something about her personality that’s interesting and appealing to me. Like I said, I’m not surprised people compare her to Edea, I did too at first, but while Edea walks very close to the line of a Tsundere, I was really surprised that Adelle is, well, not a Tsundere at all. Yeah, of course she’s putting Elvis down a lot, but that stems more from her preventing his ego from going to his head than her being all embarrassed. No, Adelle is actually really well adjusted when it comes to communication. While it’s hilarious that she and Elvis met with her chucking her shoes at him, the two just got along well right from the start. Adelle in general has this really open and helpful personality, but also doesn’t shy away from putting her foot down, even if that sometimes comes out as an embarrassed sputter. She’s also the mother hen of the group. She looks out for the other three and gets concerned about them real fast.

I dunno, Adelle just really grew on me over the course of this game, and then her kinda being paired with Elvis too, as partners and as partners, makes me like her even more. Because as much as I like their personalities individually, I like their character dynamic even more. I honestly love the relationships between all four of them a lot. You really feel them grow closer as friends and all the little character sidequests just always made me really happy.

Conclusion

You might not believe me, but I really held back there. This could probably have been 3 times its length. As much as I love this game, it’s of course not perfect. It struggles and flails in some parts a lot and it certainly has some aspects that might turn people off. But for me, it was just a very familiar and comfy game that didn’t necessarily deliver anything new, but that told its story in such a way that it still got me excited to keep going. The soundtrack is absolutely amazing and the conclusion of the story actually got me to cry. While not groundbreaking, this game is highly enjoyable and leaves you absolutely satisfied at the end.

Also, I would like to iterate that I am desperate to get more content about this game, so if you wanna chat about it, hit me up.

Anyways, anyone else felt like having a fever dream when everybody in chapter 2 started talking fantasy scottish? Cos I sure did.

#bravely default #bravely default 2 #bd #bd2 #fanart #review #ramblings #seth #gloria #adelle #elvis #elvis lesley

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sit-down-and-shut-up · 3 years

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time- a. hotchner

SUMMARY: you get kidnapped lol

WARNINGS: kidnapping (duh), some injuries but everyone lives, aaron being m a d, and reader being a freaking baddie

WORDS: too many 6604

A/N: sorry that it’s been a hot minute since i posted, im lazy

Aaron glanced up as the workday finally drew to a close, watching you wave goodbye to the team and stroll towards the unit chief’s office, just in time to see JJ as she ascended the steps on her way to the room as well. You started to wave, but JJ murmured something you couldn’t make out and you stopped. Aaron’s blood ran cold, and he mentally cursed himself for being naive enough to believe that things would work out for once. He turned to look at Emily and Morgan through the blinds, who’d been talking near Emily’s desk, and saw their eyes trained on you and JJ. Emily swore under her breath, then headed to the conference room with Spencer and Derek not far behind.

+++++

Aaron sat down next to you in the conference room, meeting your eyes and giving you a halfhearted smile. You returned the gesture and went back to scanning the grisly photos before you. He zoned out as JJ spoke, giving the rundown on each of the girls that had been abducted, then murdered mere hours later. The murders seemed somewhat random, with the exception that the victims were all girls in their upper 20’s. In fact, they were all 29, just like you were.

Something clicked in your mind, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions. You could feel Aaron’s steely gaze on you, and you wondered briefly if he could tell what you were thinking. You were lost in your thoughts, to the point where you didn’t hear Aaron’s deep “Wheels up in 30.” After everyone had left the conference room, Aaron turned back to see you still staring at the photos, searching for something you couldn’t quite name among the blood spatters and empty faces. He walked over to you and gently tapped your shoulder, causing your head to whip up to face him. Realization washed over your eyes, and you mumbled an apology.

Aaron shook his head in response, saying “I’m sorry. I was hoping we’d actually get to go out tonight.” You sighed, then replied.

“Who knows? Maybe the unsub will be caught by the time we get there and we can go get dinner or something.” You laughed as you said it, but your laughter was tinged with a resigned sadness Aaron despised, wishing he could take you somewhere you’d never be forced to feel this way again. Aaron watched you for a few seconds longer, as your face darkened and you grabbed your files and left the room, heading to his office, where both of your go-bags were. He wanted to tell you so much, but wasn’t sure how to start. He wanted to tell you that he’d been planning to propose this evening, that he wanted to be with you forever. But he couldn’t.

+++++

Aaron noticed you lost in your thoughts again on the plane ride while the rest of the team went over the case. The sheer amount of bodies was enough to give someone pause. In addition, the unsub took a girl each Thursday, but never kept them for more than a few hours. Why?

The plane ride felt fairly short. You were hit with a wave of nostalgia as the plane touched down in New York, where you’d gone to college years earlier, and worked before you were transferred to the Behavioral Analysis Unit and moved to Quantico. As you walked into the FBI field office with the rest of the BAU, you couldn’t stop your mind from remembering the last time you’d been in the building, when working a terrorism case alongside Agent Joyner four years earlier.

She’d been killed immediately by a bomb in your SUV, and metal had been lodged in your left leg, cutting the femoral artery and nearly causing you to bleed out. If not for your Aaron, you would’ve died there, on the cold pavement. When Aaron came to visit you while you recovered from surgery, you managed to slur out that you loved him. At the time, he blamed it on the drugs you were on, until he showed up at your hospital room again a few hours later, to drive you home. You’d suffered hearing loss as well, and coupled with your leg injury, you couldn’t go in the field or on the plane for a while. As he helped you up and handed you the crutches you’d be relying on for nearly a year, you met his eyes and said confidently, “I meant what I said earlier.”

He’d paused for a second, before his lips spread into a rare smile, and he said, “I love you too.” You’d always known the relationship wouldn’t be easy, considering his recent divorce and your unconventional jobs, but you were fine with it. Being with Aaron was good enough.

Present-day Aaron subtly placed a hand on the small of your back, a sign of encouragement he’d adopted over the years. You glanced up at him and nodded, silently letting him know you were okay. He dropped his hand, and held it out to the new director of the New York field office: Agent Milenka, an enthusiastic but imposing woman you’d met at the Academy when you were younger. You caught Morgan glaring at her for a second, reminding you that Morgan almost got that job. Still, you knew that Morgan loved you all too much to leave the BAU for a job directing the New York field office. The team was his rock, the weight that tethered him to reality when he was at his lowest. Aaron introduced Milenka to the rest of your team, until she cut him off when he got to you.

“I know her,” she declared loudly, “I was her firearms trainer at the Academy, but she had to show me up and be better with a gun than I am.” Spite dripped from her words, but the mischievous smile on her face told you she wasn’t really upset. Aaron nodded slightly, caught off-guard by her remark, then interjected to ask where his team could set up.

Agent Milenka led all of you to an empty conference room, with the case files already arranged neatly and a blank evidence board at the front of the room. She turned on her heel and stared firmly at the team. If you hadn’t known her for years, you’d assume she was going to attempt to assert control over the case, but instead she said, “My agents have come to see this office as a family, and probably won’t take too well to the fact that I’ve called you in. If any of them give you hell, tell me, and I’ll make the devil look like a cuddly teddy bear.” She pivoted on her heel to leave, then turned back around. “Agent L/N, my office.”

+++++

You were shocked, to be honest. This woman could bring grown men to their knees, and now she sat in front of you, spinning in a swivel chair, teasing you over your obvious infatuation with Aaron Hotchner.

“Really, Milenka, I gotta get back to the team,” you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Fine”, she grunted, making a shooing motion with her hand. “But here’s what I meant to tell you. I’m guessing you and your team want to know why it took this many bodies for me to call you in. I mean, I’d be wondering that, too. The bodies were all dumped two days ago, even though they’d all been dead for various amounts of time, so I’m guessing the unsub wanted to make sure I had to call you guys. Keep that in mind. He knows how this works.” The humor and mischief was gone from the agent’s voice, and in that moment you knew how she’d risen through the ranks of the FBI so quickly. Something about her made you want to do everything you could to solve the case as quickly as possible. She wasn’t someone you could let down.

You grimaced, then nodded, unable to say anything, and left her office, getting coffee from the espresso machine for you and your teammates as you walked back to the conference room. As you passed around the cups, Aaron watched you expectantly, obviously waiting for you to relay whatever information Agent Milenka had told you, and so you did. The reactions among the team members were the same, set jaws and darkening eyes. You didn’t know where to start with the case, until you remembered the idea you’d gotten back in D.C. You leapt from the black desk chair you’d just sat down in and practically ran to the evidence board, grabbing a red dry-erase marker and organizing the victim’s pictures from the first to the last to be abducted. You circled the eyes on some of the pictures, the hair on others, the widow’s peaks on some, and other various defining features.

“He’s working up to someone specific,” Spencer muttered as you worked. You whipped around, pointing a finger at him and downing the last of your coffee.

“Yes! Okay, so, look at this: The first and last girl are wildly different, but when you look at the chronological order of the victims, each one gains another characteristic that the next one didn’t have, like he’s working up to getting one specific girl, and kept killing those that looked increasingly similar to his real target!” You blurted the words, and watched as your teammates looked on in a mix of awe and horror, at both the board and a piece of paper Spencer had messily written on. Aaron, who was usually so emotionless, looked especially horrified, and scared. You shot Spencer a questioning look, and he held up the paper he’d shown the rest of the team. He’d taken the first letter of each woman’s name, and when lined up, they spelled out a message.

Your name.

+++++

“You’re off the case.” Aaron said, crossing his arms over his chest as you paced around the empty office he’d practically dragged you to.

“What? If some psycho is after me, I want to be the one to catch him!” You spoke firmly, almost yelling but not quite.

“If some psycho is after you,” Aaron started, sounding much calmer than you had, “I want you to be safe. Sending you out to hunt him down isn’t keeping you safe.”

You scoffed, then yelled, “As long as he’s out there, I’m not safe! If you let me help, we’ll find him faster. I can’t- no, I won’t- just sit here doing nothing while this man kills women just because he’s got some sort of vendetta against me!”

Aaron’s resolve broke down. You could tell from the way his back slumped and he pulled you into his chest. You wrapped your arms around him, basking in the feeling of calm it brought. Your anger dissipated when he held you like that, and he knew it.

He murmured, “I can’t lose you,” into your ear, and your heart broke from the way his voice cracked from fear and sadness. Aaron pulled away far too soon, and gave you a look that you knew meant to stay put, and pulled out his phone to call Penelope Garcia.

A few moments later, Spencer walked in, hands in his pockets. He looked unsure of himself, and you couldn’t figure out why until he said, “Hotch wants me to drive you to the hotel.”

You stared at him silently for a second, then mumbled curses under your breath and stormed out of the room to find your bag. Spencer put an arm out to stop you, then said, “He said he’d bring it for you tonight.”

You glared at him for a moment, before averting your gaze to the suddenly interesting polished linoleum beneath you. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t be mad at you.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, and replied, “It’s okay. You’re stressed. We all are. Hotch just wants you to be safe.”

You nodded, and he led you from the building to the shiny, black SUV parked outside. Aaron jogged out of the building towards you, and grabbed the handle of the vehicle before you could. You met his eyes, and he murmured, “I know you’re mad at me, but I need you to stay in the hotel room, okay? Lock the door, and I’ll be there tonight with your go-bag.” You nodded, and he paused a second before saying, “I love you.”

Your pride got the best of you, and you simply muttered, “I know.”

+++++

You’d been sure that the SUV’s tires were full when you’d arrived in New York, but the flat passenger tire begged to differ. Spencer pulled into a nearby gas station to fill up the tire, something you were fairly sure he’d never done before. You couldn’t help but laugh when he called Morgan to ask what to do, who responded that it would be easier for him to come fill up the tire himself. You mouthed that you had to go to the bathroom, and Spencer nodded as Morgan’s laughter came through the phone. You stifled laughter as you walked into the gas station, grimacing at the smell of sweat and cheap hot dogs.

+++++

Aaron wasn’t sure if he’d ever been so mad. No, mad wasn’t the word. Was there a word that could encapsulate the unadulterated fury coursing through his veins? He paced the conference room like a caged lion, practically screaming at Spencer and Derek through the phone.

“What the hell happened?”

Spencer was crying, he could tell that much from the muffled sobs, and Aaron couldn’t help but think that he might never see you again. He slammed the phone onto the table with nearly enough force to break it, and looked up to see Emily, Rossi, and JJ already halfway out the conference room, before he’d told them what happened. The four of them slid into the two remaining SUVs. Aaron screeched out of the parking lot, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Rossi kept shooting him worried glances he pretended not to notice.

“We’ll find her,” Rossi said, “But you need to stay calm for us to do it.”

Aaron nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to work right now. If he tried to speak, he knew he’d probably cry. He pulled into the gas station just before Emily and JJ, and a voice in his head reminded him that this might be the last place you’d ever see. Rossi hopped out of the car, giving Aaron a sympathetic look as he did so.

+++++

The team had been at the gas station for almost three hours, interviewing customers, collecting evidence, and talking to workers. Multiple people reported seeing a woman similar to who Aaron described enter the bathroom, but no one saw her leave.There was a window in the girl’s bathroom that had been broken from the inside, with blood on both the window and the glass. The forensics team ran the blood, and it was all from the same person.

Aaron didn’t need to hear the results to know whose blood it was. Spencer tried to help, informing him that she hadn’t bled out because women had approximately 4.5 pints of blood and that was at most half a pint, but Aaron cut him off. He couldn’t hear it, couldn’t listen to everyone talking about his girlfriend, the love of his life, as though she was already dead. He knew the odds, knew that she was almost certainly going to be dead within the first 72 hours, considering how the unsub had killed the other women.

He was going to find you alive. He knew it.

Because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t.

+++++

Everything was fuzzy and painful and oh my god what is that stuff coming out of your side and out of your hand and holy crap you can’t move you’re tied up what are you tied to what’s going on and-

“You’re even prettier than I remember.” The voice sounded familiar, but the only thing your brain could fully focus on at the moment was the excruciating pain. You felt a hand on your side, and then a searing pain that was somehow worse than the pain you’d already been feeling.

“You got a piece of glass in your side. I’m getting it out.”

You felt pressure on the spot, and forced your head to move so you could see what was going on.

He was wrapping your waist in some sort of bandage to staunch the bleeding. You forced yourself to look around the musty room you were in. You were seated in a chair, with your arms tied to the back of the chair by a coarse brown rope and a metal chain and heavy shackle attached to your left ankle. Your eyes followed the chain, to where it connected to a silver hook jutting from the wooden floor, which was coated in a layer of dirt.

Dirt.

You must be in a barn, or shed, or something. You definitely weren’t in New York City anymore.

You vaguely remembered what had happened in the gas station bathroom. There’d been a man waiting in the first stall, who jumped on you, shoving your head against the mirror hard enough to crack your skull. You figured that you’d blacked out, and he’d jumped the window with you in tow.

Then another memory washes over you like a tsunami, flooding you with regret.

Aaron said he loved you, and you didn’t say it back. Now, you might never get to tell him that you love him again.

+++++

Aaron removed himself from the case, leaving Rossi in charge. He knew he’d only slow everyone else down with the torrent of emotions dancing inside his skull. So now, he’s resorted to sitting in your hotel room alone, wishing he hadn’t told you to go to the hotel. He’d been crying for the first time in years.

Aaron had no clue what to do, and it gives him newfound respect for the families of abducted victims that he speaks to. He pulled the sparkling diamond ring he planned on giving you tonight out of his bag, staring at it and imagining it on your ring finger. It doesn’t make him happier, instead it just turns the steady stream of tears into a storm.

+++++

Morgan, Rossi, JJ, and Emily, seated at the silver table in the conference room, were going over every last piece of evidence they have, while Spencer made a map of the abduction sites as Agent Milenka told him the addresses. They already established that the victims were high-risk due to their above-average athleticism, and each victim was taken from a high-risk location. Spencer looked for any sense of a pattern in abduction sites, but couldn’t find one. Eventually, he sat down next to Morgan and Emily, defeated.

“So all we know is that he’s obsessed with Y/N, and that he wasn’t remorseful about the murders of the other women.” Derek sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, if he was able to subdue her, he most likely had the element of surprise. So, he probably isn’t physically strong, and needed that advantage to knock her out.” Rossi added, and Derek nodded.

Spencer looked up from the crime scene photos. “There’s no ligature marks.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, we went over that. So?”

“Why knock the women out and transport them if you’re just going to kill them immediately instead of holding them somewhere? Why not just kill them wherever they already are?”

Emily’s mouth fell open. “Practice. So that when he had Y/N, he knew exactly what was going to happen. But he didn’t want to ruin the rest of the fantasy by taking someone else where he’s planned to keep Y/N. He wants that to be special.”

“So we know he’s going to be holding her somewhere secluded, then,” Milenka chimed in.

After a few moments of silence, the phone rang in the center of the table, and the team members all stared at it for a few moments before Derek turned to the computer next to him, where Garcia was currently on a video call with the team.

“Can you trace this call, babygirl?”

Garcia nodded. “I don’t have a trap and trace set up yet, but I can get one, honey. Just gimme one second.”

Derek’s hand hovered over the button on the receiver to answer the call, and when Garcia affirmed that she was ready, Derek pressed the button. Instantly, a somewhat timid male voice filled the room.

“Where’s Agent Hotchner? I want to speak to him, not any of you.”

The team shared a perplexed look, and Emily asked, “How do you know who is here and who isn’t?”

“The window’s open.”

JJ ran to the window, then turned. “He’s there,” she said, pointing to a man directly underneath where the conference window was with a phone to his ear.

The rest of the team sprinted down the stairs and out of the field office, with JJ not far behind. By the time they got to where the man had been, he was long gone. No one near the area said they’d seen him, either.

Derek turned and punched the wall out of rage, while Emily cursed loudly. The rapid darkening of the sky didn’t help with trying to catch an unsub, either.

Dejectedly, the team returned to the conference room, where Garcia excitedly said, “Your man forgot to hang up for a few minutes! I don’t know entirely where he went, but I know the direction he was headed!”

“Where, Garcia?” Spencer asked, desperate for a lead.

“Straight west.”

Spencer looked to Emily, who said, “Let’s go.”

+++++

The team knew the unsub needed somewhere secluded to keep you, but couldn’t figure out where. He’d been on foot when they’d seen him, so it had to be somewhat close. Or maybe he’d had a car in a parking lot somewhere? There were too many variables. They needed Hotch.

+++++

“Drink.”

The man held a cup to your lips, but you kept them closed tight. After trying to force you for a while, he gave up. Sighing, the man ran a hand through your hair, forcing your head upright. For a serial killer, he was surprisingly gentle.

“You need your strength,” the man murmured, but you looked away when he picked up the cup again. He set it down, shaking his head, then pulled a knife out of the back pocket of his blue jeans. You knew better than to scream. It was likely that he craved your pain, so allowing him that satisfaction would coax him to continue. He walked behind you, to where you wouldn’t see him. You closed your eyes, praying for a quick death, praying Aaron would find you, praying you could see your team one last time.

But you didn’t need to.

The man cut through the rope binding your wrists, then left the room. He was rarely in the room with you, and you wondered what he was doing outside of it. For the first time, however, he came back within a few minutes of leaving. You could theoretically move if you wanted to now that the rope was gone considering how long the chain attached to your leg was, but you were weak and hurting. The last thing you saw before your vision went black yet again was the man standing above you with a syringe.

+++++

Aaron was with the rest of the team, visiting each abduction site for something, anything to help the profile, when the unsub called him.

“This is Hotchner.”

“I have her, Agent Hotchner, and I treat her better than you ever could. You think what she needs is a big strong man to control her,” he mocked, “But you don’t truly love her. No one could, except me.” Although the man’s words were confident, he sputtered out the words like an old truck engine. It sounded like he was reading a script, as though he’d had to plan out what he was going to say beforehand. As soon as the unsub finished speaking, the tell-tale click of the phone hanging up sounded.

Emily, who’d been walking next to him, stopped, pulling out her phone to contact Penelope.

“Can you get the rest of the team on the line? I think Morgan and Reid are at the Central Park crime scene, and JJ and Rossi are probably still by Times Square.”

Emily could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she responded, “Can do, gorgeous.”

A few keyboard clicks later, Penelope stated, “You’ve got me, Morgan, Rossi, Reid,and JJ.”

Emily took a shaky breath before saying, “We think Y/N knew the unsub.”

“What do you mean, knew?” Reid’s voice sounded.

“He claimed that he loves her more than Aaron ever could. He thinks he knows her better than us, so he probably knew her when she used to live in New York.”

“She went to college here, didn’t she?” JJ responded.

Penelope chimed in, exclaiming, “She went to John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Graduated top of her class.”

Morgan cleared his throat, then added: “Maybe the unsub didn’t know her, but thought he did. He could’ve been stalking her when she lived here, then kept tabs on her when she transferred to the BAU years ago.”

“He probably found out about Y/N’s relationship with Aaron recently, and that’s his stressor.” Rossi added.

Emily stared into the distance. There was something off about this. The theory made sense, but at the same time, it felt, well, wrong.

Agent Milenka, who’d been surveying the crime scene Emily and Aaron were at, sauntered over.

“I know who did this.”

Aaron met her firm gaze, confused and intrigued.

“Who?”

“There was this guy she met at John Jay, didn’t talk much, but he ended up applying to the FBI just because she did. He made it in a few months after her and got a job as a forensic analyst at our field office here. They worked together pretty often, and he was never too strange, but you got the feeling there was something off. He started acting weird after Y/N’s transfer to the BAU. I ordered another psych eval for him a few months ago, and he failed. I fired him, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Aaron and Emily shared a look, both hopeful and sad.

“What’s his name?”

“Ian Foster.”

Aaron nodded, murmuring a quick thank you, then turned back to Emily.

“Call Garcia. We need all the information we can find on Ian Foster.”

+++++

Your head hurt. You were somewhere different now; the dirty brown floor had been replaced with plush white carpet, and the chair you’d gotten used to was gone. Your left leg was still shackled, but this time it was attached to a shiny metal spike in the center of the room. You surveyed your surroundings, noting the vast difference between your current location and your past one. The chain attached to your ankle was long, probably meant to give you full access to the room you were in but keep you from leaving. The walls were white and spotless, along with the queen-sized bed behind you and the dresser and vanity along the far wall. You knew you must look out of place compared to the neatness of your surroundings, with your frizzy, dirty hair and torn, wrinkled, and stained clothes. You realized that you’d never checked your holster for your gun, and in doing so, found it empty.

Great.

Sun shone through the window on your right, and birds chirped happily, as if mocking you. They were telling you that they’re free, while you’re locked in this stupid white room.

Your captor walked in soon after you woke up, and you knew he must be watching you through a camera hidden somewhere.

“Drink.”

Your eyes searched his face, trying to understand who he was, now that you had enough light to see.

“Foster?” You managed to croak out through your parched throat.

Ian nodded, then grabbed your face with one calloused hand, forcing you to open your mouth so he could pour water in, which you promptly spat into his eyes. Instead of causing him to stumble, all it did was make him laugh.

“I see you’re still as fiery as ever.”

You clamped your mouth shut, pursing your lips and staring him in the eyes until he left. After he was gone, you tried to move your arms as much as possible. Your limbs felt heavy, like you were attached to weights, but moving was somewhat possible, a little bit at a time.

For now, that would be enough. You just had to pray that Aaron could find you.

+++++

Ian Foster’s paper trail was a series of dead ends, but Penelope Garcia, being the lovely omnipotent being she is, was able to find two properties owned by his dead uncle in upstate New York that he was likely using to hold you.

Aaron couldn’t describe the relief that wrapped itself around him, like a soft blanket, when Garcia chirped that she’d found where he was. He’d refused to allow himself to think that you might be dead, and the knowledge that now he had your location was sweeter than any candy could ever be.

He wiped a tear from his eye that threatened to fall, and cleared his throat, nodding at Emily and Agent Milenka, wordlessly signaling her to join him as he ran towards the SUV they’d been using. Emily followed, calling JJ and Rossi to give them the address as she ran. The first property, an old farmhouse, was about 40 minutes away from their current location, while the second one, a pretty two-story house, was about three hours away. Hotch, Emily, and Milenka, being farthest from both locations, were driving to the house, while the rest of the team would check out the farmhouse first then meet them there.

+++++

There was this feeling, blossoming in your chest, comforting you, whispering that Aaron was on his way. You’d learned over the years that your instincts rarely lied to you, and you hoped to whatever God there was or wasn't, that this wasn’t one of the times they misled you.

So you knew what you had to do.

You acted nice every time Ian came to visit, roughly every half hour.

Then, after five visits, you drank the water he offered willingly. Gently, Ian helped you up off the ground, a gesture that would’ve been comforting had he not been a serial killer. He moved his hands until they were lightly situated on your waist, and gazed into your eyes with the crazed fanaticism of a deranged man. He leaned in for a kiss, and the second he closed his eyes, you drove your right knee directly into his crotch.

Serves him right for being dumb enough not to fully restrain you. While he doubled over in pain, stepping back, you set up for a roundhouse kick that you placed to the back of his knee, knocking him onto the ground in an ungraceful heap. While he was on the ground, you punched him in the throat with enough force to knock the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for air on the ground like a fish out of water. Sending another kick to his temple for good measure, rendering him unconscious, you searched his pockets for anything that could remove the shackle from your leg. Eventually, you settled for a wire cutter that you used to cut off the attaching chain, but your clumsiness left an angry gash in your leg in the process. Limping from exhaustion, you ran from the room as fast as you could with the pain in your side from the glass that had been lodged there and the blood from the cut in your skull dripping down your face and neck. Your head felt fuzzy and faint, and you knew you were likely to pass out from blood loss any second. You repeated Aaron’s name in your head like a mantra, telling yourself that you needed to get back to him first, then you could pass out from pain. Every part of your body ached, screaming at you to give up as you stumbled down the creaky carpeted stairs, leaving a trail of blood in your wake.

As you neared the foyer, you heard the engine of a car, along with footsteps. The door flew open, with Aaron directly behind it, followed by Morgan, Emily, Spencer, Rossu, and a few agents from the New York office. Aaron’s eyes scanned the room before settling on you, bloodied and bruised, and he ran to you, gathering you in his arms while you whimpered like a child. He whispered things in your ear that you couldn’t make out as you let the blackness at the edge of your vision take over.

+++++

Lights. Murmuring voices. Were you still in that house?

You opened your eyes to see two people, one man and one woman, leaving the room you were in. There was a pressure on your hand that scared you, and slowly, you turned your head to see the source of the sensation, and you were greeted with what was quite possibly the best view you’d ever laid eyes on: Aaron Hotchner asleep at your side, desperately clutching your hand.

“Aaron?” You murmured. He was a light sleeper, so you knew the sound would most likely wake him up. When it didn’t, you squeezed his hand while murmuring his hand again. His head jerked up, and his tired eyes met yours.

“Y/N.” His voice was filled with so much anxiety, grief, and regret that your heart shattered, as he reached up to ever-so-gently caress your face, then kissed you softly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” His words took the broken pieces of your heart and smashed them again with a hammer, until you were sobbing against Aaron’s chest. He held you, and let you cry, becoming painfully aware of his inability to help in times like this. His specialty was catching criminals, not helping people through the trauma, and he entertained the thought of asking JJ to talk to you for a fleeting moment, before deciding that he couldn’t let you out of his sight for the time being.

After a few minutes, you sniffed and lifted your head to wipe away your tears, but Aaron did it before you could. You stared down at your side for a moment, watching the blood that seeped through the bandage every time you took a breath, while you gathered enough courage to speak without your voice wavering.

“I’m sorry. You told me you loved me, and I didn’t say it back, and that could’ve been the last-”

Aaron cut you off with a kiss, murmuring against your lips, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You sat in silence with him for a while, leaning your head against his shoulder as he stroked your hair. Eventually, Aaron broke the silence.

“I saw what you did to Ian.”

You choked out a laugh despite the pain that ripped through you while doing so. “Yeah, I left him in pretty bad shape, didn’t I?”

Aaron nodded, smiling. “I’m proud of you. Most people wouldn't be able to escape a serial killer.”

“Well, I’m not most people, Hotchner.”

“That’s for sure.”

+++++

The rest of the team left for D.C. the next morning, but Aaron stayed to drive you home once you were discharged from the hospital. First, however, he dropped you off at the FBI field office to talk with Agent Milenka while he called Jessica to ask if she’d mind watching Jack for a few more days, explaining what happened to you. She practically viewed you as a sister, and after recovering from the initial horror, was happy to agree.

“Hey, Y/N! You’re alive!” Agent MIlenka called brightly as you limped into her office, bumping your crutched on the doorframe.

You chuckled. “Sadly, I am. Aaron told me it was you who figured out Foster had taken me. How’d you know?”

Milenka shrugged. “I may not be a profiler, but I sure as hell can tell when someone’s not right. The guy went almost crazy when you left New York. It just made sense.”

“But if that was his stressor, he would’ve started murdering earlier.”

“We thought at first that finding out about you and Agent Hotchner might’ve been the stressor, but it was impossible to tell when he’d found out, so we switched gears. I fired Ian a few months ago because he’d just been getting worse and worse, and eventually was a liability on cases. The last straw was him failing his psych evaluation. Maybe he felt that losing his FBI job meant he lost his last chance to be with you if he’d been hoping to transfer to your unit someday.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s around the time the kidnappings started, isn’t it?”

Milenka nodded. The two of you stood in her office in comfortable silence for a bit, until she stood up from her desk, crossing the distance between you and engulfing you in a nervous hug. She pulled away fairly quickly, most likely out of fear of hurting you, and awkwardly patted you twice on the shoulder. “Take care, Agent.”

“You too, Milenka.”

You turned to go, but stopped when you heard Milenka call, “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Hotchner’s a good guy. Don’t let that one get away.”

You merely offered her a smile, then strode out of her office as elegantly as one can with a limp.

+++++

The ride home was nice, full of easy discussion, laughter, and a few guilty looks that Aaron snuck at your stitched-up side, wishing he’d listened to you.

You made a joke he didn’t hear, and leaned over in your seat so you could wave a hand in front of his face, calling his name in a sing-song voice.

“Aaron, you good?”

Aaron shook his head slightly, rubbed his eyes, then turned towards you. “Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

You hummed in affirmation, then turned towards the window. The rest of the drive was spent in comfortable silence, until you arrived at Aaron’s house. You spent practically all of your time there. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d stepped foot into your apartment. Aaron helped you into the house and to your shared bed, where you passed out immediately. You vaguely heard a soft whisper of “sleep well” before you were out cold.

Aaron watched you for what felt like hours, feeling pent-up stress and anger roll off of him in waves as he silently stroked your hair, grateful beyond words that you’d lived. You murmured something in your sleep that sounded suspiciously like “I love you,” before rolling over to curl against his chest, nuzzling your head against the crook of his neck. And for the first time in days, he allowed himself a smile. Aaron basked in the rare feeling of relaxation, thinking about how nice it would be to bottle up this feeling and keep it forever, until sleep finally pulled him into its soft clutches. And for once, with you safely nestled into him, he slept easily. He still hadn’t proposed, but that was okay. Now that you were safe, you two had all the time in the world.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #crimnal minds #criminal minds fluff #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner smut #Penelope Garcia #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan

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solomonish · 3 years

Text

things my heart used to know (solomon x reader)

You find yourself stuck in an unusual contraption with Solomon, where the only way out is to take a trip through his memories that he was not prepared to take.

Based on Once Upon a December

Ao3 link: here!

With a spectacular grunt, you rammed your shoulder against a suspicious spot in the wall, hoping that just maybe you could bring the whole wall down or convince someone to help you out or something. Chances of that were low: you and Solomon had been alone when the mysterious magical device activated, trapping you both inside. Trying to shove the more hopeless thoughts of never escaping away, you continued to push at the wall, as if one spot would give and open up to let the two of you out.

Solomon was behind you, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked the picture of calm, a small smile playing with the corners of his mouth as he listened to your struggle. When you looked at him with the intention of giving him a glare, you saw the dim light in the box had turned from white to gold. With a cocked eyebrow, you pushed away from the wall as you felt it morph from stone to something smoother. “What’s…”

“It’s deciding which form to take,” Solomon answered as if that told you anything. Met with silence, he chuckled and pushed himself off of the wall to make his way over to you. “We’re in a memory box.”

“A memory box?” Inadvertently, you stepped closer to him, only stopping when your arm brushed gently across his. The sensation of the walls changing beneath your hands put the horrible thought of your hands getting stuck in a partially-morphed wall, and you wanted to stick next to him in case that really did happen.

Clearly amused, Solomon looked down at you, the teasing smirk on his face making him look much more condescending than he normally did. “Yes. They require a strong magical energy to work, and typically only work once. They’re especially popular with those of us who...have a lot of memories to sift through, but they can be used by anyone. I’m surprised this one lasted so long without being used...”

As he talked, he walked forward, noting how you stuck close to his side and looked around nervously. The darkness was slowly dissipating and the focused light began to expand into a broader golden glow. The box transformed into a long hallway, the end opening into a room you couldn’t quite see into. Curiously, the walls around you started to shine, taking on their own gilded form. Intricate shapes were carved into the gold, reaching tall like palm trees. In front of each carving stood a gold pedestal, each with some artifact on it that looked to you like they belonged in a museum.

Finally pulling apart from his side, you ran your fingers over one of the trees. The walls seemed stable, thankfully. “You seem to know a lot about these memory boxes. Have you used one before? Oooh, or did you create them?”

He picked up a small statuette, his gaze darkening for a moment as he stared at it absently. “I...am familiar with how they work.”

He placed the statuette down with a solid clink, drawing your attention from the wall and stopping you from commenting about how utterly unhelpful his response was. Had you said something wrong? His footsteps were faster than before as he made his way down the hall, barely glancing at the walls as if he had seen them before. Well, actually, he probably had. As far as you were aware, you didn’t have an intricate temple in your memories, so this must be coming from him.

Scurrying after him, you followed him through the shadowed doorway and stepped into a room that was just as ornate but not at all connected to the hallway you were just in. While the hall looked like some temple from the first century, the ballroom-like space before you seemed much more recent, if not still at least a hundred years old. You were standing on a high landing, having emerged from an archway several feet taller than you. You weren’t an architect or archaeologist, but you could guess the style of the architecture was different. Maybe...more European? Of some sort? Cringing, you tried to push the image of your humanities professor scowling at you out of your head and slowed your own steps, choosing instead to look at the high ceilings around you.

“I’ve never seen a place like this before…” You murmured in awe. Though the room was dark and clearly abandoned, you still felt a still kind of magic around you, different from what you normally felt around Solomon. He was a few feet to your left, looking at a separate old artifact and standing before a table littered with them. If you squinted, you could see what looked like wings stretched across a long serving dish, the paint chipped and faded. You couldn’t tell if it was an angel or a bird - the pinched expression on Solomon’s face didn’t give you any clues, either. A chill settled in the room, but only you shuddered, suddenly realizing that you were an intruder in these unfamiliar rooms. The thought had you awkwardly kicking at the worn rugs beneath you, the threads dirty and torn yet somehow still looking expensive.

Without a word, Solomon dug around in the bag he was carrying with him, hastily looking for something. You watched him drop it unceremoniously on the ground, bringing up a cloud of dirt around it. In his hand was the notebook he used to teach you different runes, a faint glow coming from the page following the stroke of his pen. The sound of the page being ripped from the binding seemed to fill the room, followed by his steady footsteps as he made his way to the grand staircase. You watched him go, only turning your head so as not to draw his attention.

After he passed, you cautiously sauntered over to the table Solomon was standing at, stooping to pick up the bag he left behind. Slinging the long strap across your chest, you picked up a bear figurine gilded in chipping gold, turning it so that it caught the light. All of the figures before you seemed to be masterful pieces of craftsmanship, regal things to be envied yet somehow seeming personal. You were almost afraid to touch them for fear of offending the unknown owner.

Your hand fell to your side, bumping a cool metal box on the way and nearly knocking it off the table. Thankfully, you caught it and brought it to your face. Opening up the small lid to reveal another bear, this one standing up as if dancing one half of the tango, you gently turned it around to find the crank. It was old and a bit rusty, but still you turned it gently once, twice, three times until you could feel the springs coiled so tightly they might break. For a moment, you held your breath, then -

Nothing. No sound came out of the box.

"Hmph. That's a shame," You murmured, tapping the side gently with your finger. Unsurprisingly, that didn't work and you set the box down on the table again. Turning over your shoulder, you called out, "So, what is this pl- ack!"

Just as you turned, a small display of glitter resembling fireworks shot out from Solomon's hand, the shimmering ash eating away at the paper that hovered in midair. Your shout of surprise didn't stir him, his back rigid and still facing you.. The quiet fizzle that caught you off guard became a visible stream of magic curling around him and you before spreading to the far corners of the room.

You watched as the shadows were pushed into the walls before entirely disappearing, the magic gilding the ballroom and mending the disrepair it had fallen into. Tapestries unfurled to hang on the wall as the vibrancy of the old portraits returned. Overhead, empty arches found themselves holding large, crystalline chandeliers that bathed the room in a welcoming glow. Behind you, the music box started playing, the tune sounding like a full orchestra even if you knew it should only be a dissonant metallic tin. The extravagance caught your breath, nearly distracting you from the way the paintings began to shift and colors bled together.

With another wave of his hand, Solomon drew figures from the painting, hundreds spilling out as if a day had been broken. A few emerged from the floor, entering the ballroom the same way one would step out of a lake and onto the shore. Some of the figures wire masks, hiding their identity with the facade of thespian comedy. Others came as they were, wearing the same face in a variety of expressions. Despite the period clothing and many different hairstyles, the face was eerily familiar.

You watched ghoulish duplicates of Solomon traipse around the floor or mingle, talking to invisible counterparts animatedly. The figures that were not identical were faceless, aside from the occasional partner that seemed to exist in greater detail than any version of Solomon. The figures never stepped a foot on the staircase that was now covered in a rich red carpet - somehow, they were completely unaware of your presence yet seemed to know and respect that you and your Solomon lived in reality. They were citizens of the mindscape, figments of the past, and the barrier between what is and what was should not have been breached.

So caught up in your shock were you that you failed to notice Solomon head down the stairs, as if in a trance, and breach that barrier.

Once you saw him slipping between the ghostly figures, expertly sidestepping them as if he had studied their waltz for years, you called out to him. But he did not answer, too focused on the people milling around him. Maybe your voice was drowned out by the faux chorus around you. With a huff, you gripped the strap across your chest and followed him, walking down the stairs so quickly you almost tripped.

The moment you reached the foot of the stairs, you felt as though you had stepped into a bubble. With a close eye on the figures around you, you picked your way through the crowd with significantly less grace than Solomon. You never lost sight of him in his dark clothes, the dancers only distorting his image as if you were looking through water or a warped mirror as they passed in front of your line of sight. One pair accidentally passed through you, sending a harsh arctic chill down your spine. You watched that Solomon, his hair slightly neater and sporting a ridiculous frilly neck accessory you might have made fun of under different circumstances, pay no mind to you and instead look down at his companion. His expression was mischievous, scheming, but the woman he was dancing with had a face of static, barring you from reading her reaction.

Clutching tighter to the bag strap, you hastened your pace and tried to maneuver through the spirits, occasionally brushing your elbow or hip through the people around you. Each time it sent a different shiver through you, some icy while others were warm and tingled your skin. Surrounded by phantom Solomons only made you more eager to find your place next to the real one again, but the static shock you got from passing through the hurdles made you all the more careful in your steps. Who knew finding your way through a crowd you could walk right through would be harder than finding your way through a collection of solid bodies?

Near the center of the room, you found yourself in an open area with Solomon, your Solomon, standing in the middle. It seemed the translucent versions of himself knew to steer clear of him. You watched, standing just on the edge of where the crowd seemed to circle around him, watching as he took in his surroundings. Then, slowly, Solomon turned to you as if realizing for the first time that you were there.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing could come out. All your words tangled together, the confusion only growing when Solomon reached a hand out to you, palm up. The gaze he held you in was unfocused, his expression the closest to unkind you had ever seen. Even if there were no right decisions, rejecting his offer to dance seemed like the absolute wrong one. With the same timid air as a schoolgirl at her first dance, you placed your hand in his. For a moment, you felt vulnerable as you untucked your arms from your chest, only to feel at ease once Solomon pulled you in. His hand fell to your waist with a practiced ease. If he had been focused, maybe you would've felt butterflies swarming in your stomach, or maybe you would've laughed nervously. His far away gaze kept the joy down, and instead you pressed your lips in a tight line, watching him closely and allowing him to take the lead.

He fell into step with his doppelgangers, directing you through a path of the specters with the firm hand on your waist. Your time at Diavolo's party helped a little, but back then you hadn't been so worried about your partner. (Well, aside from the time Lucifer asked to dance with you only to threaten you - but then you were more worried about what your partner would do to you and not his emotional wellbeing.) It was all you could do to avoid stumbling over your own feet, barely missing his ties with your heavy steps.

"Solomon…" You breathed out, noticing how his gaze stuck to the spirits for a moment too long before turning to you. Your questions died in your throat - Are you okay? What's happening? What memory is this? How do we get out of here? - but he could read your expression clear as day, even with his mind preoccupied.

"These are all memories of me," He explained, leading you into a turn and arely avoiding one of his copies. "I didn't have a specific memory in mind when we activated the box, so...perhaps it just started to play all of them in one."

"So you've been here before?" You asked, astonished.

"It's...familiar. I've been to lots of places. It's hard to tell."

A pair of dancers blew through you, sending a spark down both of your spines. You turned your head to see a version of Solomon look both ways, checking for onlookers that were nowhere to be found, before tenderly reaching towards the face of the man beside him. Before they could meet, Solomon turned you so his body was between you and the romantic scene, but you were able to catch a glimpse of the man's face. It was completely smooth, like an unchisled head to a statue.

Solomon didn't make eye contact with you, a faint blush painting his cheeks. You squeezed his hand in the only reassurance you could give. "I don't mean to pry."

There was no answer, and you couldn't blame him. Even if you hadn't meant to peer into his memories, you were witnessing versions of himself he didn't tell you about, versions of himself he might not even remember. You didn't know if he was dancing with you to angle you away from the things he didn't want to see or just to keep you close, but the fact that you were even around to be swept up in the sea of Solomons was too personal for him to dwell on.

With an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, Solomon's attention was grabbed by someone on the other end of the room. His grip on your hand tightened and he tucked you slightly closer to himself, spinning you in order to turn your course. You couldn't keep up with his faster footwork, nearly tumbling to the ground and only saved by his firm grasp. Solomon wasn't paying attention to you, though; his focus was on whoever he was pursuing, his turns tight as he guided you into a small circle around the room.

The fast turns were making you dizzy, unexpectedly jostling you every time his target moved from his sight. Feebly, you used the hand resting on his shoulder to push him gently away, asking him to stop. The more he spun, the harder you pushed, occasionally asking him to slow down. He wasn't hurting you, but you were hoping that if you could get his attention he might stop. The figures around you were whirling, spinning, disorienting you - was that how dizzy and overwhelmed he felt every day, or just now?

Without warning, the figures around you stretched an arm out as their partners spun away from them, their fingers barely brushing past each other as they disappeared into thin air. As the remain figures turned to fade into their own memories, Solomon did the same to you. You tried to keep your hands connected, hoping maybe if you kept your fingertips on his he could you bring you back to him bring his thoughts with you. That didn't happen, and you felt your fingertips drag across his palm as you stumbled backwards.

Brushing your hair out of your face, you huffed and looked around. It was just you and Solomon in the room again, the Golden facade having faded back into the dim, abandoned ballroom from before. Solomon was staring at a blank space a few feet from the wall, his face scrunched as if watching the world rip something from him. Perhaps he was; perhaps he was watching one of the few faces he could remember beside his own, maybe one of the ones he loved, fade away from his grasp again.

This wasn't about you - clearly, none of the memories were for you to see - but you felt a creeping loneliness settling around you. Solomon was not only lost in his own world, but in hundreds of his own worlds, where details blurred and recognizable friendly faces were a luxury. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you noticed that the music box was now playing music, the kind you'd expect from such a dainty trinket. Now, the sound seemed hollow and eerie, far from how charming you thought it would be before.

Hesitantly, you took one step towards him as the song dwindled to a stop, but the click of your shoe echoed far too aggressively in the room. The walls were slowly returning to the non-descript box you were in before, but Solomon wasn't moving from his spot. The memories would always be swirling around in his head, you supposed. He had to take his time to bridge the gap between you - even if to you, it seemed insurmountable and ever-growing.

#this is my birthday gift to myself hehe #might write a part 2 later idk #obey me #obey me solomon #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me solomon x reader #solomon #solomon fics #solomon angst #solomon x reader

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random-tinies · 3 years

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Sea and Sky and Stupid Decisions

hi there! bio anon here, wanted to post a thing i made in the mcyt g/t discord here. it was initially just a little prompt but it ended up spiraling out of control ;P this is about 1 parts noms story to 3 parts legend myth, because i haven’t any idea how to write noms without plot ;P

(thanks again for letting me submit this to you!!)

content warnings for: soft vore, fearplay, major injury (not delved into at all), blood (also not delved into much)

The sea is vast and unforgiving. It holds no master, it does not bargain or hold grudges, it simply takes and gifts as it pleases, a bringer of life and freedom and of death and deep crushing depths all at once. It is unknowable to mortal minds.

It can also, on occasion, be extremely stupid in its decision making.

The sea god, in the form of a vast whale shark, had been gliding through his domain with a peaceful certainty of his power. The sun beat down upon his vast spotted back, glittering the stripes of gold and emerald that signified his divinity along his fins. The vast open ocean was where he was most powerful, most tricky to deal with. Along the calmer coral reefs and kelp forests and shallow shores of his domain there was the certainty of land beneath you, even if it was buried under the ocean tides. In the open ocean you were a puppet to the playing tides, the world went on endlessly beneath and above you, and if you were in danger there was nothing you could do but plead to the ocean for a mercy that he never felt too inclined to give.

The sea god had been making his way, with the endless patience of the filter feeder he was taking the form of, towards a tiny wooden boat bobbing like a toy atop his ocean. It was always fun to snap up a couple of mortals from their refuges at the surface, to remind them that their fear of the sea is not unfounded. It was a little surprising though that there was one all of the way out here - the main village trade routes generally kept to the shorelines in fear of his capricious nature. This mortal was either very brave or very lost.

It didn’t matter. The sea god swam languidly towards the tiny toy contraption, and however many creatures were inside of it.

He shifted into a sea serpent’s shape as he got closer, allowing the mortal the dubious honor of seeing its own doom approaching in the form of almost a kilometer long stretch of scales and fins, far more vast than even the greatest of the sea god’s creatures.

The psychic scent of a mortal in a deep panic, of a fearful and desperate prayer being sent out, made him grin. Then the sea god surfaced in a blast of surf and, in one bite, entrapped the boat and crushed the wooden frame like it was little more than a splinter. The sea god sank below the waves that were pushed up by his arrival, descending into the depths to play with this mortal.

The first thing he did was shrink down from his vast form into something a little more manageable. The scent of fear and terror and faster prayers (too late little mortal. You are in my domain now) made him decide on something that would tease even more terror from it. He chose an enormous shark, one with rows and rows of teeth that oh-so-carefully shredded the boat further, releasing the mortal from it and spitting out the remains of the pathetic ship.

It flailed in his mouth, and he could feel the texture of feathers and wings. Perhaps the mortal had been bringing birds with it. Feathery little ground-fowl that were so beneath him he could hardly feel their presence. He amused himself in the mortal’s pathetic struggles for a moment longer, before opening his mouth and gulping in an enormous swallow of sea water that washed the mortal down into his gullet. It continued to struggle all the while, and he was starting to really like it’s fear. Just the tiniest hint of useless hope in the center of it to make it persist even when the mortal was all but dead.

He swam for a long while in the indigo blue deep sea, indulging in the feeling of struggle and burning land-based life in the middle of his domain. But… hm, he could go more with this. The mortal had remained remarkably resilient and active in its useless hope, and he wanted to see if he couldn’t tease out any more reactions from it before it eventually perished.

He started slowly, shrinking from the enormous shark into a massive tuna fish with scales lined in emerald, and felt with it the movements of the mortal get arrested in his stomach. The once large space it had been flailing in had decreased dramatically, and he could tell it was nervous about that.

Then he shrank further, into an oarfish with trailing fins of gold glitter. Its long snake-like body compressed the mortal further, and it had started struggling again for a different reason than before. The sea god whipped around joyously at the feeling, spurring from his erratic movements another wave of fear.

Finally, the sea god shrank further still into the form of an elder guardian, its spiny scales shivering and clicking as the size of the mortal within him pushed out against the organs that crowded close around it. He lazily made his way back to the surface, the warm sun once again comforting on his back. He was done with this mortal, and the way it curled up tight within him was satisfying enough that he desired nothing more from it. Soon he would let it die, or descend further into the depths and allow the ocean to crush it more thoroughly than any animal’s stomach could.

It was there, lying at the surface of the open ocean, shivering alabaster scales as the mortal seemingly never ran out of energy to push on the god around it, that the sea god was interrupted.

And lo, the sky ripped asunder and the heavens fell and in their wake the Goddess of the Continuation After stepped upon the ocean god’s calm sea, shepherded not by her faithful acolyte.

And She said unto the ocean god -

“Release him from your grasp, he is not yours to take.”

And the ocean god smiled and transformed into an enormous dragonfish, and spoke to Her on the sea breeze.

“Deaths at sea are my domain, dear sister goddess. I do not tell you who not to take on land or sky, you should not insult me to insist you take from my oceans too.”

And She said in return, “that is my messenger and lover, my Angel who harkens my power. I demand his safe return to me.”

And the ocean god said - “wait shit really?”

If he weren’t so caught up in playing with the mortal in such a way, the sea god supposed he would have realized that the feathers that had tickled his mouth had continued to persist, pressed up against a wall of his stomach. Not a simple ground bird’s plumage, but a vast creature’s wingspan. Wings fit for an angel.

It (he? The god supposed he would need to no longer think of it as a simple mortal) had renewed its struggles with more vigor than even before, hearing its Lady’s voice.

Despite the sea god’s surprise and Her demands, he felt anger build in him. The angel had been foolish enough to travel his seas, he should accept the risks that are brought with it. She had allowed her attendant worshipper to leave Her all-seeing sight - clearly She didn’t care about it that much. Gods can be territorial over what they own, and clearly this was just a case of the sea god taking a toy that She decided She still wanted.

And so, in his infinite wisdom, the sea god bared jagged glass teeth at the Goddess of What Comes After and refused to relinquish the angel to Her.

“I am fond of Your angel now. He has travelled with me to the depths of the ocean, and witnessed my power and myriad of beautiful creatures. I think I would like to keep him, dear sister.”

The Goddess raised Her wings of ebony and jet, and scavenging carrion birds that did not belong in the domain of the open ocean fled from Her and trailed into the sky. She said to the sea god -

“Do not become a fool, brother god. You will let my Angel go, or I may tear him from your gut. I will scatter your blood to all of the oceans of the world, and let your own creations feast upon you as you have feasted upon what is Mine.”

The sea god dropped his guise of the beasts of the sea, and in the form of a man wrought in gold and emerald he rose from the waters to stand before the Lady of the Lost. The two mighty gods clashed, tearing the sea and sky with their battle as the Goddess seeked to take back what was Her’s and the sea god desired to keep what he had claimed.

Their struggle only ended when the Angel, fearful and hurt by the pain his Lady had received in the fight and the harm that had come to himself from within the sea god, cried out. The Goddess of the Unforgiving Conclusion drew up a vast sword of midnight and tore the sea god open from the back.

From the god’s divine blood, the Angel emerged unharmed from his Goddess’ attack, and fled from the grasp of the wounded sea god into the great swarm of carrion birds that circled above.

The Goddess cast the sea god into the dark depths of the ocean, and wiped her sword of deep black clean. Where the droplets of divine blood hit the earth, all over the world, lay the tiniest portion of the sea god’s power in totems of gold and emerald. Where it hit the sea great pyramids of prismarine grew around it to celebrate its power. Now with his power broken into a thousand pieces, the sea god fled into the depths of the ocean, and he knew himself to be foolish for having tried to fight Her.

He never was quite the same from that day forward. The sea, his domain, was never fully his anymore. The wound along his back, struck to slice his gut open and release the mortal, never truly healed and even in the many shapes of the creatures of the sea it was still visible as a deep black scar.

In penitence for his childish stupidity he stepped up onto the shores that he had so despised for so long and, in the form of both a shark and a man, he tried to learn about the mortals that lived outside of his open ocean waters for the first time.

He had been foolish, and as such he didn’t deserve to rule the seas he had before. Perhaps though, one day, he can regain this title. Perhaps he could be reborn into this role, if the Lady so permits.

If the Angel forgives him, he may find his way back to the sea again.

AAAAAAAAAAAA *stimming on my desk* THIS IS SO COOL???? BIO, THIS IS AWESOME OIHUGYUFT I’M HONORED TO POST IT HERE 🤩 HOW?? DO YOU WRITE SUCH MASTERPIECES???? THIS IS SUCH AN AMAZING ORIGIN MYTH FOR TOTEMS AND OCEAN MONUMENTS AND FOOLISH!!! I will be thinking about this for days. Incredible uwu Thank you so much for blessing us all ohuigyuty GAh THIS MAKES ME HAPPY!!

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haus-seeblick · 3 years

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Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.”

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze.

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.” Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile.

It’s been a real headache of a night.

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm.

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right.

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County).

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

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

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes.

“Like-- like-- with a combine?”

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.”

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

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

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big.

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold.

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks.

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.”

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow.

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole.

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering.

“What?” Dean demands.

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive.

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?”

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.”

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It’s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on.

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks.

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!”

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out.

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth.

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground.

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat.

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming.

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom.

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

#suptober21 #destiel #minific #i had fun with this #this is the first fic I'm ever posting y'all!#happy harvest

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not-a-coral-snake · 3 years

Text

for @lamenweek Day 2 prompt: Folklore/Mythology

Canon au in which everything is the same, but Egeria is a dryad

Laurent panics when the edges of Damen’s wound begin to turn faintly green. Panics, and calls for Paschal, who comes in muttering about infection and carrying new bandages and alcohol for cleaning the wound and antiseptic salves for dressing it. Laurent scowls at the jars Paschal sets out: there is nothing among them he has not applied to Damen’s injury already. Damen, for his part, was still asleep when Laurent noticed the change. By the time Paschal arrives, he is half awake and protesting that he feels fine.

“Your wound is going green, Damen,” Laurent hisses. He is disinclined to take medical guidance from a man who claimed his injury was insignificant as he lay on the floor growing dizzy with blood loss.

“‘S normal,” Damen murmurs, and Laurent bites his lip over a reply he suspects would not have been stinging enough to cover his fear. If Damen is claiming green skin is normal, perhaps he is delirious with fever already.

But he is not feverish, Paschal confirms, nor is his wound hot with infection. If anything, Paschal says, the inflammation is much reduced relative to the previous day. In all ways but one, it appears to be healing well. “Look closer, your highness,” he says, and Laurent sees that the wound is not the purulent green of infection, but a smooth, even color, almost like—

“Like new growth,” he says. Not new skin, but the color of new buds unfurling in springtime, or a stem growing closed around a cut. A plant’s new growth.

“It was like this when his back was healing, as well,” Paschal says, matter-of-fact, and Laurent remembers having been faintly surprised at how much more quickly the Akielon’s back had begun to heal, once he was out doing hard labor in the open air, than it had when he was resting on cushions in Arles.

“You are. . . a dryad, then,” Laurent says, after Paschal has applied a fresh dressing and departed. The Akielon word is unfamiliar. The concept is unfamiliar as well. The wild folk of Vere are different than those of Akielos. “Or part dryad?”

“My mother was a dryad,” Damen says. “My father was human. It has little effect on me, save for. . . small things.”

“Small things,” Laurent scoffs. “You might have mentioned that you heal differently, at least.”

“I did say I was fine,” Damen says. He has, many times, and dryad-blood or no, Laurent still cannot believe him. Laurent frowns.

“Truly I am,” Damen says, and slowly, carefully, he sits up and gathers Laurent in his arms. “I’ll tell you the whole of it later. Promise.”

* * *

“My mother loved gardens,” Damen says, walking hand in hand with Laurent through the grounds of the palace at Lentos. “She designed most of the gardens here. It was what first drew her to humans, actually—she was enchanted with the way humans tame a piece of nature, give it a form that adds a sense of human artistry to the art inherent in the plant.”

The words are familiar. Damen does not have so many stories of his mother that he does not know each one by heart. But Laurent is listening intently, so he continues. “She began by building gardens in the wild, in clearings in the woods. She had a gift for it, and very quickly all sorts of wealthy people were asking her to create gardens for them.

“It took her years to finalize her design for the gardens here. First, in deciding what story she wanted the gardens to tell, then deciding how best to use plants to tell it. She always said that the sky and the sea and the cliffs here were already perfect, so the gardens had to be as well. Once she had the design, though, the plants flourished and grew to maturity faster than anyone had imagined they could.”

“Was she already married to your father, then?” Laurent asks.

“Not at the beginning, no. She was merely a skilled artisan he had hired. But he came to Lentos often in the summer, and she was always walking the grounds designing and supervising the project. And she didn’t care a whit about human titles, so she kept approaching him with questions. Questions led to brief conversations, which led to longer ones—”

“And they fell in love here,” Laurent says.

“They did,” Damen agrees. “The kyroi weren’t especially happy about it—she had no title, no wealth, no political connections among the nobility—but my father argued that an alliance with the woodland people would be valuable. And they could see he would not be swayed on the matter.

“At first, they weren’t sure if they’d be able to have children together at all. There aren’t very many half dryad people about, and it was years before my mother became pregnant. When she did, everyone was thrilled. But childbearing was hard on her. She had to return to her tree to recover. She said it would be years before she would be strong enough to take human form again.”

“How many years?”

“No one knows. It wasn’t in my father’s lifetime, and it may not be in mine.”

“That’s . . . lonely,” Laurent says. “To have your mother neither truly here nor truly gone.”

“I wanted you to see her,” Damen says. “Her tree is here, at Lentos. It’s not like meeting her, exactly, but. . .” He trails off, and in the silence is a quiet awareness of aloneness. He and Laurent have found each other, and there is no family left for either of them to be introduced to. He will never bow before the king in Arles and ask permission to court Laurent, will never present Laurent to Theomedes in Ios.

“I’d like that,” Laurent says, and so Damen leads him away from the carefully-designed perfection of the gardens up to a small grove of oaks overlooking the sea.

“This is her,” he says, laying his hand on rough bark. He’s always felt that his mother’s tree has a distinct presence, an air of awareness, of realness that sets it apart from the ordinary oaks that surround it. But that might be just his mind seeing what it needs to see. “I’m not sure how much she can perceive, but, well. . . Mother, this is Laurent.”

It’s a little shy, a little awkward. He comes here and speaks to his mother from time to time, but since early childhood has not felt comfortable doing so in front of someone else. But Laurent’s face does not change, shows neither amusement nor pity. Shifting his focus from Damen to Egeria, he bows. “I’ll take care of your son,” Laurent says. “I’ll protect his kingdom as if it were my own. I’ll give my life for his people.”

There is a rustling in the branches above, one that does not seem timed with the breeze, and Damen tells himself that the oaks that are not Egeria are remaining silent. Laurent says, “I won’t let him down. I promise you.”

* * *

Months later, it is spring again, and they lie beneath ancient trees somewhere in the Akielon countryside. They had stayed up late, sitting around the fire with Guillaume and Alexon and the real Charls, talking about the past, talking about the future. Now that they have finally set up pallets and begun to try for sleep, midnight has come and gone and the stars wheeled towards dawn.

It’s a mild night, but still the trees rustle overhead, almost loud enough to disrupt the nighttime quiet. Laurent isn’t asleep yet. Damen isn’t either.

“I always forget how loud it can be, outside at night,” Laurent says.

“The trees?” Damen says, and Laurent hums in agreement.

“When I was a child,” Damen says some time later, voice soft, “I used to wonder if they were talking to each other. If I would have been able to learn their language, had my mother been around to teach me.”

“Did you think about it often?” Laurent says. “Having your mother with you, I mean. And just—being different.”

Damen thinks of Laurent murmuring Kemptian words in his sleep, quietly observing Kemptian holidays in private where the Veretian court won’t see. “Not often,” he says, and it is truth, for all that it sits oddly with him now. “I tried not to. I had my family, my father, my brother—I didn’t want them to think they weren’t enough. And as I got older, well. . . dryads aren’t exactly known for their martial prowess. I was afraid people would think me passive, or a pacifist, or slow-reflexed. I threw myself into training all the more to prove them wrong.”

“I think I can imagine the feeling,” Laurent says, reaching for his hand.

Damen entwines Laurent’s fingers and his. “Now, though. . . lately, I’ve been coming to appreciate the value of deliberation, of getting a broad perspective before acting. Treelike traits both. And I’m coming to realize that one of my best traits might be steadfastness.”

Laurent thinks of Damen, solid and reliable as an oak, thinks of how he always feels grounded in Damen’s arms. “I think I’m inclined to agree,” he says, and snuggles closer.

#captive prince #Lamen Week #Lamen Week 2021 #my post

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

Text

Fated Part 2

Ares x reader

Word Count: 1230

Summary: Ares is hurt, and you are pissed.

When you arrived, Hera was nowhere to be found, but Thanatos was already waiting outside the bedroom door.

“You’re not taking him, little brother,” you warned icily.

He looked sad as he replied, “That has yet to be decided. You and I can quarrel about secrets later. You being with him will strengthen his spirit. Go.”

You kept your eyes trained on him as you walked past to enter the bedroom, but he didn’t so much as twitch from his post. The sight inside the spacious bedroom, however, was one that you knew instantly would haunt you until the end of time.

Hera stood next to the bed, a piece normally piled with comfortable red and golden throws that was now covered only in the stark white sheets that served to highlight how Ares’ normally beautifully dark complexion was a sickly grey color.

Apollo, the god of healing, was speaking to her softly not noticing your entrance. “There isn’t anything more I can do for him,” he was saying. “Now, we just have to give him time to see if he pulls through. Though with Thanatos lingering outside the way he is . . .” His tone made it abundantly clear what he thought of Than.

“Do not speak of my brother in such a way,” you ordered. “If there’s nothing more for you to do, then leave.” You’d already had a low opinion of this Olympian based on what Ares let slip about the event that drove him to Thrace in the first place; this commentary certainly wasn’t helping endear him to you.

His golden eyes--so disturbingly similar to your family’s trademark color yet so violently different in the type of glow--snapped over to you, shining brightly with his anger. “And who are--”

“She’s right,” Hera interrupted, clearly wanting to calm the brewing fight. “Ares would not want us here longer than necessary. He will be well cared for in her hands.”

“And who exactly is she?”

“The wife of Lord Zeus’s only legitimate heir,” was her lofty reply. Normally, you’d hate to hear the scorn in Hera’s voice as she talked down on Zeus’ other children, but right now you just wanted them out.

Clearly flabbergasted, Apollo finally stormed out without a word.

“Watch over him,” was Hera’s command before she, too, left.

Which left you alone and finally able to get a good look at the prone form on the bed.

As you’d noticed before, his skin had taken on a grey edge to it. Even the war paint-like streak around his eyes--already bone white normally--looked somehow paler. His armor was missing, presumably to dress his wounds, and you didn’t care enough presently to locate it. In fact, all of his usual clothing was missing; the only thing covering him from the waist down was that white sheet. You assumed that meant he had no injuries where he was covered since it would have just gotten in the way of healing him.

The thing that drew your attention after that initial scan was the line of burn-like marks diagonally across his chest, each in the shape of a link in a chain, all an angry red that almost matched the color of his eyes. An alarmingly human color on a god of Olympus. Still, the wounds at least didn’t seem to be open or infected. Apollo’s work, no doubt.

His breath was shallow as you gently brushed his light colored hair out of his face. “What happened to you, my love?”

“According to Hermes, giants. They caught him and bound him in an urn for the last thirteen months.” At some point, Thanatos had apparently entered.

Your hand delicately traced the shape of your husband’s face. You said nothing.

“The Olympians are frightened. They now know exactly what it will take to kill a god.”

“Will this?” Your voice was so painfully close to cracking you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment upon hearing it. “Kill him, that is?” Tears threatened to well up in your eyes, but you blinked them back; crying could wait until you were alone.

A gentle, cool hand rested on your shoulder. “Even I don’t know what our sisters have planned.” Thanatos hesitated. “I should have noticed. He and I see each other frequently, and still I failed him in a way he would never have failed me.”

“I am his wife, Than, and I didn’t notice. Your crime is no greater than my own.”

“Then perhaps it is no one’s fault,” he mused. “If you have not already thought of it, I’d recommend sticking to nectar to nourish him since ambrosia may prove too much for his current state.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sister. I must take my leave; I have mortals to collect. I . . . pray I won’t need to return.” There was another pause. “And congratulations on your marriage. For what it’s worth, I’m happy to hear that Fate worked itself out in that regard.” A bell tolled behind you immediately after that, signaling his departure.

“Thank you,” you repeated in the silence that followed.

And so began your vigil.

Your first action once you were able to will yourself away from his side even for a moment was to drag one of the room’s couches over to the bedside so you wouldn’t be horribly uncomfortable. Then you went hunting for his most prized belongings: his armor and swords. Fortunately, they were right where they were supposed to be--in the armory. Likely, they transported themselves back home while he was trapped judging from the dried giant blood caked on them and the fact that his family would never have such care for his things.

You gathered them in your arms, unflinching in the face of the seething rage the pieces emitted. “I know,” you murmured as you gathered the tools you’d need to clean and sharpen them. They calmed somewhat upon recognizing your presence. “I’m going to take care of you,” you continued. “Revenge will be yours soon enough.”

His breastplate, the most sentient piece, would need to be cleaned first. It would have to go to Hephaestus soon to replace the various torn clasps--you absolutely did not let your mind linger on how they got that way--but for now you could rid it of the blood and mud. Cleaning each piece to its original beauty, to Ares’ standards was a task reminiscent of particularly vengeful gods, but you were glad for the work. It kept your hands busy in the breaks between carefully dripping nectar into your husband’s mouth, made the days pass by faster it seemed. Your mouth never stopped moving as your regaled both Ares and the items of every passing thought that crossed your mind as you worked.

After that came the swords he normally kept strapped to his back. Still you talked. As you cleaned. As you sharpened. As you gazed longingly at his slack face. Thankfully this time passed without visits from either the Olympians or Thanatos. Your brother’s absence specifically, you took as a good sign.

Your voice was beginning to go rough from use by the time you started tending to his main weapon, the sword with the vicious curve and an edge stained red with the blood of those that’d fallen to it.

Your grip tightened on the hilt when an equally rough voice said, “When is the last time you slept, my love?”

#ares imagine #ares x reader #ares hades imagine #ares hades x reader #hades game imagine #hades imagine #hades supergiant imagine #reader insert #nemesis!au

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

One Shot: Ask Questions, Throw Shield Later.

Intro: Steve and Katie have an unwelcome late night visitor…

Warnings: “Language!” Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

W/C: 1.9k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: The first of two (yes, two) special 29th May Birthday One shots. Happy Birthday Tony! Man, I missed writing for these guys in this timeline! This fits into SSB within “I Told You I Said Yes”.

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Fuck, Steve...” Katie groaned, her head tilting backwards as Steve gave another deep thrust upwards, “right there... Jesus.”

“Good?” Steve panted as his hands grabbed her waist, finger tips digging into the flesh that covered her hipbones.

She nodded, grinding on him faster, his hands pulling her down making sure he hit as deep as he could.

Their soft, intimate sounds filled the room and, wanting to be as close to her as he could get, Steve sat up drawing a gasp from Katie as he did so. His hands moved to her back. One splayed half way up her spine, the other cupped the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her long, silky hair as he pulled her face to his. He kissed her, hard, his tongue dominating hers as he swallowed her moan, one that rumbled in her throat as if it came from the depths of her belly.

They’d already danced this tango once already that night. After a few beers with the team in anticipation of Tony’s birthday (minus Natasha as she was still on something Fury was running), they’d retired and gotten a little frisky some two hours prior. But then Steve had woken, his super sharp hearing alerting himself to some form of ransom noise deep in the floors below them and, well, he couldn’t get back to sleep. So he’d hugged Katie close.

Too close.

As ever he was unable to control his reactions to his girl and had ended up with a boner. Meaning she’d woken with him basically rutting up against her back, feigning innocence when she’d given him a grumble at the fact he’d dragged her from her slumber.

She hadn’t been grumbling for long.

“Stevie... I’m gonna...” Katie’s forehead pressed into his, her mouth open as her lips hovered over his, and he thrust upwards again, his nose brushing hers softly, like the touch of a butterfly.

“Let go. Doll,” he panted, actively fighting his own high, “cum for me.”

Her chest heaved, pert nipples brushing his bare skin and her movements stuttered. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, which cracked into a half grunt, half moan as she felt herself go, her body positively floating from her high.

By the time she came round, Steve had also finished, his broad shoulders rising and falling as he gathered his breath. Katie collapsed forward with a soft chuckle, her forehead pressing into his collar bone as he fell backwards, taking her with him.

They lay still for a moment, the only sounds being their heavy breathing and the soft rustle of sheets as Steve pulled the bedding up around them. The smooth cotton brushing over her sensitive skin made Katie shudder a little. Steve smiled and pressed a kiss to her temple, his large hands running up and down her spine.

“Am I forgiven for waking you up?” He asked and she shrugged, not even bothering to try and find the strength to sit up. “It’s three AM. I’ll think about it.”

Steve chuckled and she sat up slightly, leaning down to give him a slow kiss.

“Love you.” she pulled back a little, her eyes shining in the dim light, and Steve smiled.

“Love you too.”

Fifteen minutes later they were both settled down and on the verge of sleep once more when a loud crashing in the apartment made them both sit bolt upright.

“What the...” Steve was out of bed in a flash, wrenching the door to their room open.

Katie was seconds behind him, stopping only to grab Steve’s shirt from the chair at the vanity. As she shrugged it on, she ran into the hallway and heard a familiar metallic whoosh. There was the squealing of metal on metal and Katie flicked on the light just in time to see a flash of blue, red and white as Steve’s shield flew back to his hand. He looked over to Katie as she stepped towards him, her mouth falling.

“Is that...” she glanced down at what looked like a version of one of Tony’s suits. It lay motionless on the floor in two pieces, Steve’s shield having severed it at the waist. The failing electrics sparked as the various boards and cogs died, before it fell silent.

Steve nudged it with his foot. It didn’t move. He turned to Katie, a frown on his handsome face.

“Did he tell you he was making them autonomous?”

“That’s nothing new, JARVIS has always been able to control them remotely.” Katie shook her head as she crouched down, her hand gently touching the helmet. She tried to move the face plate but it didn’t open. Rapping her knuckles on the skull, she was met with a solid sound, not the usual hollow echo. “JARVIS?”

There was no reply.

“Why isn’t he answering?” Steve looked at her.

“Tony might have him down.” Katie answered. “He runs the updates at night some times. I do know one thing though.”

“What?” Steve asked as she stood up.

“That couldn’t have gotten in here without Tony letting it in one way or another.” She glanced at Steve, her pretty face full of annoyance. “Imma kill him, fucking idiot.”

She turned to leave and Steve gently caught her arm. “Honey...”

“Seriously? You want me to let this go?”

“Hell, no.” He shook his head, “I want you to wait for me to put some clothes on.”

Despite herself, Katie grinned as her eyes scanned Steve’s naked body, his shield still on his arm. He rolled his eyes and nodded to the suit on the floor, “I’m going to give him his property back, along with a piece of my mind.” **** Tony spun round, his brow arching as Steve and Katie walked into the lab. But whatever smart quip he had been about to come out with died as he spotted what was slung over the super soldier’s broad shoulders. With a loud slam, Steve threw the two parts of the robot down on the desk.

“What did you do to it?” Tony moaned.

“Threw my shield at it.” Steve folded his arms over his chest, the sleeves of the white ribbed Tee he had shrugged on straining over his thick biceps.

Tony was that distracted by his destroyed robot that he failed to notice Katie stomping towards him. She drew her right fist back and punched him hard on the shoulder.

“Ow, Kiddo!”

“You dick!” She yelled. “What the hell were you doing sending that into our apartment?”

“Wanted to test your reaction to it.” Tony shrugged. “See how it came across.”

“How it ca- Tony, it’s half past 3 in the morning!” She shrieked.

“Exactly.” Tony scratched his beard. “Total element of surprise. I thought you guys would give me a base of how people would react to them. Can’t have been that well if Spangles felt the need to cut it in half with his frisbee.”

“We had no idea what or who it was.” Steve felt his anger beginning to rise, “what was I supposed to do?”

“I’ve told you before, big guy. Ask questions, throw shield later.” Tony shrugged, “I can’t believe you killed Iron Kid.”

“Iron Kid?” Katie blinked.

“Yeah, the name’s a working progress.”

“Tony, what is it?” Steve pressed.

“It’s a prototype.” Tony informed them. “I had the idea last week. The Avengers exploded after New York. You should see the piles of fan mail that the guys downstairs sort each day.”

“Less bragging, more explaining.” Katie narrowed her eyes.

“The point is, we attract attention. So I had a thought about something that could help keep the public at bay,” Tony gestured to the pile of metal, “we can use them to issue instructions, help aid the emergency services. Keep civilians out of the way.”

Katie and Steve looked at one another, and Steve hated to admit it but the idea made sense.

Sorta.

“Clearly I need to rethink a little.” Tony mused. “I mean if they freaked you out then...” “It freaked us out because it was in. our. apartment!” Katie groaned. “In the middle of the night.”

“That’s the point, it was supposed to have the element of surprise, wake you up.”

“Well there’s your first fuck up!” She hissed. “We were already awake-“

“Why?” Tony frowned

“Because we just finished a great, sweaty sex session.” She shot back and Steve groaned, feeling the heat in his neck as he looked down, his bare toes flexing against the cool floor of the lab. “And you wanna be grateful we had finished because if we hadn’t I’d be really, really mad. You get me?”

“That’s.. disgusting.” Tony wrinkled his nose.

“And you’re an asshole.” Katie shot back.

With a shudder, Tony moved and picked up a screwdriver. He turned the helmet up aside down and opened a small hatch at the back. Stooping slightly, he prodded and poked at something inside.

“Huh, least the main board wasn’t damaged.” He straightened up and turned to face them both. “So, other than scaring the shit out of you what was it like? Voice interface okay? Too much me or not enough me or-“

“There was no voice interface.” Steve replied.

“What?” Tony frowned, “JARVIS was supposed to be controlling it. It should have told you why it was there and-“

“Well he didn’t.” Steve rolled his eyes, his already stretched patience wearing dangerously thin.

“He didn’t...huh?” Tony frowned and Katie moved past him to a computer.

“Oh for the... he’s on mute you dumbass!” She tapped a few buttons and JARVIS’ voice rang out.

“Thank you Miss Stark.”

“Shit.” Tony gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, buddy. Forgot I turned you off.”

“Mr Stark, may I suggest you call it a night, Sir? It is rather late and you’ve been awake for almost twenty-one hours. Miss Potts instructed me to ensure you-“ “And that is precisely why I did.” Tony rolled his eyes and Katie let out a growl of annoyance

“I’m done. Come on, Steve.”

She stalked towards the door and Tony looked up. “You not gonna wish me happy birthday?”

In response she raised the middle fingers on both her hands, flipping him off over her shoulders as she stomped out of the door.

Steve watched her go before she turned to Tony. “You know, I think you’re onto something. Keeping civilians away would make things a lot easier.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Tony nodded, eagerly. “We’d need a fleet of them, an Iron Fleet, no that’s... like i said, the names a work in progress.”

“We can discuss this tomorrow. Give it some proper though.” Steve took a deep breath. “Just don’t send any more into the apartment, please?”

Tony saluted him and Steve rolled his eyes. He turned to go before he stopped, and looked back at his friend.

“Happy birthday, pal.”

Tony snorted. “Cheers, Spangles.”

Tony watched Steve walk out of the lab, before he glanced back at the destroyed robot.

“Mr Stark... Miss Potts is awake...”

“Ahh shit.” Tony groaned. “How much trouble am I in?”

“I don’t think a Roman Legion would protect you.” JARVIS replied and Tony stilled, a huge grin spreading across his face.

“Iron Legion.” He tossed the screwdriver up in the air and caught it, chuckling. “JARVIS, you are a genius.”

“Why thank you, sir. And now I really must insist you go to bed.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m going. Lock everything down will you? Oh, and order us all breakfast from the diner on the corner of fifth.”

“Of course. The usual?”

“Yeah. Have it delivered about 10:30. Should be enough to calm Kiddo down.”

“Very wise Sir. I’ll ensure there’s extra bacon, just in case.”

“Yeah, who doesn’t love extra bacon?”

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

62 notes · View notes

holycow99 · 3 years

Text

石田お寿司 12/9/21 stream translation Part 2

This is not the full translation of the stream. I only translated the parts I could understand & interpret or parts I found interesting/important. I’m still a beginner in Japanese, so the translations may not be accurate. If you want to repost, please repost at your own risk.

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*Someone asked about Choujin X.

I: I’ve given the manuscript for chp 8. It’ll be released in a few days. I don’t really have much to say about this. I wanna write this month’s goals for Osushi. The big plan is to fix(?) chp 8. Then, I wanna release another two chapters this month. Chp 8 has 20 something pages. I want to at least draw the chapters in a weekly pace. What I mean by that is I wanna draw 72 pages per month. If I could draw 72 pages a month, I drew 18 pages per week during Weekly Young Jump too. So, I wanna draw 18 pages per week, which is 72 pages per month. That’s the amount of pages for weekly publication. It’d be nice if I could draw at least this much by myself. If I drew 25 pages weekly for three weeks, It’d have a total of 75 pages. I can currently get it done. If I updated 3 chapters a month, I’d have a total of 70-something pages per month. Then, nobody will complain. It’s not like anyone is complaining. It’s so that I won’t complain to myself. This is directed towards me as a challenge. Of course, it’s okay if I couldn’t do it. It doesn’t matter if I can or can’t, I thought it’s better to have a goal.

C: And the fact that you’re streaming right now is amazing!

I: Right? I spent a lot of time at the end of August doing rectifications, plotting, etc. They’re all important things to do. Since I have a little bit of free time, I thought of streaming.

C: It’s okay to draw the chapters slowly. Do you concern about maintaining the quality?

I: The quality is as usual. I mean, that’s one of the reason. It’s also to match the quality of the work. The drawing style in Choujin X is different, so of course the drawing will be different too. There are things that have changed. I want to match the vibe of the work, and also, I wanna prioritise speed over the quality. By speed, I don’t mean I wanna write them in a hurry. I want them to have a quality that’s easy to balance. I’m still playing around with it.

C: Until what chapters do you plan to release the physical copy?

I: I can just release it. I do have a plan for it, like releasing 2 volumes altogether.

C: I’m okay with anything as long as you don’t collapse later on.

I: You’re exactly right. I’m doing it with ease. So that the serialisation will go well, I’m adjusting my pace. This is just my ideal, but I wanna serialise another manga. It doesn’t have to be serialised, I have another stuff I wanna release. I’m finding the time to make one. If I make it a rule to do other things after I’ve done 75 pages per month, I don’t have to draw more. I could use the time to do other stuffs.

C: Don’t push yourself.

I: I’m not.

C: Are you overworking?

I: Not at all. I have many hands.

C: Did you play JJ?

I: I played the game like hell.

C: Is it easier to not have assisstants?

I: That’s a good question. This is kinda weird, people say that your work will progress more if you have more assistants, but that’s not the case. I did TG without knowing that. People will ask you to check on their works. So, the more the people, the more the workload. There’s probably an appropriate number of people you should have. 4 people would probably be enough during TG. But there were more people, like the helpers, but they did regularly help. It was quite a lot. I won’t be able to do my own work when there’s a lot of staffs. I don’t have assistants for choujin X so that I can do it with ease, and umm… It’s the fastest way for me. Of course, I do think the quality of the work will increase if there are staffs. I’m trying to see if I can speed up my work to a certain extent without having to check on others’ works and consider about other people, while creating the quality contents I’m capable of.

C: Working alone or with assistants finish faster?

I: It depends on the stuffs you’re making. For choujin x, I think it’d be hard for me to draw them if I had assistants. It’ll be great if we can have divisions.

C: Are you gonna hire a care assistant? (t/n: The Japanese word is Meshistant, which means assistant who mainly takes care of the mangaka’s meal, chore, etc. So, I just put it as care assistant.)

I: Definitely no. I didn’t let my assistants do the chore. I even cleaned the toilet myself. I kinda hate it. I hate the label they give to such people. Meshistant. I don’t like people who call them that. I don’t mean you. I probably won’t be fond of mangakas who use that word. They’re your staffs, right?

C: Do you think of the story all by yourself?

I: Yeah. Sometimes I do get ideas from my surrounding. But, most of it came from mine.

(t/n: I’m not sure if the last sentence is correct. I couldn’t really understand what he meant, but it’s something like that.)

C: I’m having a hard time to sleep. Recommend ways for me to sleep well.

I: Probably read books. It can make your eyes feel tired. Then, maybe by not sleeping? But you might think it’s better to sleep. I understand. I wanna keep trying to fall asleep, but then I’ll watch movies while lying down. I have trouble sleeping lately. I used to sleep a lot.

C: Meshistant is also an honourable job.

I: Then, why not just hire people who specialised in that. Like housekeepers. They have that, right? Something like a home helper. That is better, isn’t it? Using assistants who’re enthusiastic to draw manga to do stuffs like that is awkward for me.

*Someone commented about hiring maid.

I: Maid? Then, I’d like that. Hahaha. Should I hire a maid? I’m recruiting maids.

C: Even at the age of 250,000, you still have trouble falling asleep.

I: Yeah.

C: Are they hired to make meals?

I: Yeah. There’s various types of assistant in the manga industry. This one refers to an assistant in charge of meals.

I: What did I wanna talk about? Oh yeah, about Animal Rap. I’m thinking whether or not I should upload animal rap video during stream, but where is the file? I’ve decided to upload it after this stream ends. What was it that I wanna talk about? Can you tell me about my current status, such as about the Sui exhibition in Osaka and Nagoya, or about Ms. Towada’s illustrations?

C: How about a live rap?

I: Good idea.

C: About the plan for 30,000 subscribers.

I: That’s right 2x. We’re talking about what to do to celebrate 30,000 subscribers.

C: I can be your maid for free.

I: I’ll definitely pay you. If it’s for free, then you won’t feel your sense of duty. I’ll give a huge salary and pressure you so that you’ll work responsibly.

C: Ms. Towada can both write novels and draw. Amazing!

I: I also can. Hahaha. I also…ah, but I can’t write novels. I won’t lose to her.

C: Do you have double eyelids.

I: Mine is hidden one.

C: Appear in First Take.

I: I won’t.

C: Are your eyelashes long?

I: Yes. My eyelashes are long, I have hidden double eyelids, I am of medium build…but I’m already worn-out.

(t/n: He used the word ‘boroboro’. I couldn’t really find the proper word to translate it in this context. Worn-out is the only one I could think of that suits the context.)

C: Are you handsome?

I: Well…I’m pretty good looking.

C: Have you been going to the gym?

I: No, I haven’t, since I was busy with work. I wanna go though.

C: I wanted to go to Mr. Kunimitsu’s concert.

I: Me too.

C: Which one is more handsome? You or Kaneki?

I: Wouldn’t that be Kaneki?

C: How about another stream with Ms. Towada?

I: I re-listened to the stream with Ms.Towada. For some reason, she was laughing a lot in the stream. Though she always like that. It’s slightly embarrassing. She’s acting like she’s at home. It felt like she’s disclosing my family situation, so it’s a bit..., but I can do that again from time to time. When I wanna do something related to JJ, then I’ll call her. That’s the most suitable content.

*Someone asked him to invite his younger sister.

I: It’s impossible to invite my younger sister.

*People wanted Goubaru to be the guest.

C: Goubaru, huh?

C: Do you have someone you wanna invite?

I: No, I don’t. The corona is one thing, but I’m completely okay with not meeting people. I do talk to people I’m close with. I think that’s already enough. It’s not like I have someone I’m involved with. I do usually talk to Mr. Kunimitsu.

*People want Hanae Natsuki again.

I: Hanae? That’s definitely impossible.

*He’s talking about Japanese youtubers.

C: Can you beat boxing?

I: I’m practising at the moment.

*Currently taking about Japanese artists.

* Someone asked who he thinks could be the next popular artist.

I: Lately, I only listen to instrumentals. The one that I like recently is the girl band called Chai. The group’s vocalists are twins. The group is great. It’s not like I like the band because there’s someone who caught my intention. I listened to their songs first before I decided whether I liked them or not. I thought this kind of voice also exists.

C: Congrats for TG’s 10th anniversary.

I: Thank you. Thank you to Brazil as well. (t/n: Someone commented Brazil.)

*He pinned his Chai comment.

C: People who just came don’t understand what’s going on.

I: It’s okay if you don’t. Hehe.

C: Sensei, can you eat choco mint?

I: I can.

C: I thought the bgm was from Animal Crossing.

I: This is Yorushika’s Escape.

*Still talking about Japanese artists.

C: Have you seen Midsummer?

I: Yes, I have.

(t/n: He said something about the new evangelion movies. But I couldn’t really translate that part properly. He basically watched the Rebuild Evangelion movies from the start since he never watched it before. He planned to go to Yamaguchi prefecture, the birthtown of Evangelion’s author to watch the last movie.)

Y****: I’m reading Toro Hedoro! I recommend it!

I: I do read that. Don’t underestimate me! I do read One Piece as well, but half-way through.

C: You can watch the Evangelion movie on Amazon Prime.

I: I wanna watch the final movie at the cinema. Has the final movie come out? It has? But I’m still gonna watch at the cinema.

C: Have you read Tokyo Ghoul?

I: Nope.

C: I recommend Tokyo Ghoul!

I: Is that so? I have a story regarding TG, but it’s probably gonna be quite deep.

C: One Piece has reached 100 volumes!

I: That guy and Odacchi have reached 100 volumes, right? Hahaha. That guy is Luffy, while Odacchi is Oda sensei. Hahaha. I can’t call him that. Odacchi is Oda sensei and Kishikage is Kishimoto sensei. I see, that guy has reached 100 volumes? Way to go! Hahaha! No one is watching this anyway. I’ll properly lick his boots if he’s in front of me, since he’s the real deal. I’ll be very obedient and sucking up to him.

(t/n: Ishida was using the word ‘aitsu’ to refer Eichiro Oda. As far as I know, it’s an impolite way of calling someone older or in higher status than you in Japan.)

C: He’s scarier than Hikakin (a Japanese youtuber.)

I: Right. We are in the same industry after all. But I think Young Jump and Jump are different subsidiaries. Although, Hara sensei seems to have met with Odacchi, so maybe there’ll be an opportunity for me to meet him. But probably no. Someone like me won’t be able to meet Eichiro Oda sensei. I won’t meet him. He seems like a unique person.

*Ishida talking about an illustrator and youtuber called Saito Naoki.

(t/n: I couldn’t translate the first half of this part because they’re talking about something that had happened, and I don’t know the context of it.)

I: The name ‘Saito Naoki’ is very nice. Is it a pen name? It totally sounds like a real name though.

C: Are you close with Kishida Mel? (t/n: Kishida Mel is an illustrator and a character designer.)

I: I’ve never met him, but Kiyoppi, Kiyohara Hiro sensei and Melcchi are good friends. He’s like a friend of my friend. You have things like that, right?

C: The name ‘Ishida Sui’ is cool!

I: I seriously wanna change my pen name. I wanna change to something like Gengoro. I wanna change to a manlier name. I didn’t give a thought about my name before. I used that name because I thought I was gonna be famous in the future, so I didn’t wanna use my real name. I seriously thought that I couldn’t become a mangaka if my real name was exposed. I was like “Since I’m gonna be famous, let’s avoid using my real name.” I was being vigilant about it, so I half-heartedly named my pen name.

I: The name Gengoro is nice. Tagami Gengoro. Tokyo Ghoul’s author, Tagami Gengoro. The Tokyo Ghoul’s author, Tagami Gengoro’s exhibition is now open. I’d definitely sounds like a bearded fatty. With round glasses to top it off. Isn’t Tagami Gengoro a character from a gay manga?

*Ishida searching for Tagami Gengoro.

I: Everyone, don’t search for it. I’m scared something dirty will appear. Is it not? Oh, it isn’t. what’s the name again? There is a character named something Gengoro, right? It’s Tagame Gengoroh! I got it now! Tagame Gengorohw as born in 1964 and a Japanese mangaka. He calimed himself to be a ‘Gay Erotic Artist’. This is the one! It’s Tagame Gengoroh sensei.

*Ishida was looking at Tagame Gengoroh sensei’s illustrations.

I: This one. Wow, this is indeed gay! Hahaha.

C: I can’t believe it came out of your mouth.

I: Surprisingly, I do talk about these kind of stuffs. (t/n: I mean, he’s the man who wrote a whole R-18 chapter.)

I: So, I can’t use the name Gengoro, since there’s someone with this name.

C: Is the name ‘Ishida Sui’ an anagram of your Surname?

I: Yes, it is.

C: Are you gay?

I: Hahaha! Even if that’s true, you didn’t have to ask that kind of question! Let’s just say that I’m okay with both.

C: Kuso Miso. (t/n: Kusomiso is a gay manga.)

I: Of course, I’d be reading them (probably referring to gay manga). I mean, manga like Kuso Miso Technique are popular, right?

C: Ishida GayGoro.

I: Hahaha. That’s just gay.

C: You’ve been to a gay bar before, right?

I: Not at all. When I was hanging out with the staffs, Goubaru said he wanted to go to a Okama bar while crying.

(t/n: According to the internet, Okama is a term referring to guys who adapted female characteristics.)

C: I think it’s completely normal to be gay nowadays.

I: We’re talking about gay now. It’s not normal in the first place. It’s just a sexual orientation. If you pick on every little thing, everything will become a problem. Those who deliberately say they’re not prejudiced against gays are actually are. Even if you tell that to people, they’ll probably filter what they wanna say. They’d be conscious of every single thing they say. Things like that don’t matter.

C: Sensei, let’s talk about something else.

I: Why? I’m okay with it.

C: I’m bi.

I: Does it matter? It’s okay.

C: It’s difficult to say something regarding gender issues, right?

I: Well…It’s difficult, since it’s concerning your mindset. It doesn’t only apply to gender issues; you can hurt someone by making careless remarks. It’s just that you sometimes accidentally let out your opinions. I also think I sometimes make unnecessary remarks, so I might do that.

C: I want to be embraced by Masataka Kubota. (t/n: Masataka Kubota is a Japanese actor who played as Kaneki in the live-action.)

I: That’s right. Must be nice. I want us to embrace each other.

Part 3

#ishida sui #tokyo ghoul #jack jeanne #choujin x #chojin x #ishida sushi channel

28 notes · View notes

hoodoo12 · 3 years

Text

The Ties That Bind (And How To Follow Them) 1/?

Heave ho, here we go!

@werwulfy @rainingpaint @bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @mel-time @heresathreebee @sweetcat-666 @turtlepated @infptarius

Pate was dreaming, and this time she knew it.

For weeks she had been checking her reflection in mirrors, examining her hands to make sure they were normal, asking herself while awake “Am I dreaming?”, all in preparation for when she was actually dreaming.

“I am dreaming,” she told herself matter-of-factly.

In the months since her encounters with the demons Beetlejuice and his brother Rigel, Pate had apparently had many, deeply unpleasant dreams from what Beetlejuice told her afterwards; moaning and tossing in her sleep, desperate to escape something. She never remembered when she woke, which might be a blessing but was mostly annoying.

Now she had developed the ability to take control.

“I am dreaming,” she repeated to herself in the same, flat tone.

She looked around herself to see where she was. In her mind’s eye, she was standing amidst the hazy impression of a coniferous forest, the sky overhead gray like it was threatening rain. The road she stood on (and she felt sure it was a road, it was hard underfoot) was a rainbow of colors all splotched and running together like an impressionist painting.

Everything was slightly fuzzy around the edges, as though it was all out of focus and if she could just tune in her mental binoculars she could see it clearly. But already the dream was beginning to unravel and she felt herself waking up. She opened her eyes, finding herself reclining on a squashy pleather couch where she’d lain down to fall asleep. With a sigh, she sat up.

“Did you see anything?” asked the older woman sitting in a worn wingback chair across from her. Pate nodded and relayed the muddled details of the rainbow road in the watercolor woods. “Don’t forget to write it down,” she advised. Pate had begun keeping a dream journal for the purposes of trying to remember as much as she could from her dreams, carrying it with her to add details if and when they came back to her.

“It’s been the same pieces and fragments for weeks now,” Pate griped. “And I don’t know what any of it means.”

“You will,” assured her mentor, shrugging absently. “Or you won’t. It might not mean anything. The important thing is learning how to take control of what’s inside your head.” Pate grumbled, her face in her hands, but privately acknowledged that maybe the other woman had a point.

It was sheer happenstance, or maybe fate, that had brought Pate into Lillian Borden’s second-hand shop. She liked antique stores and sometimes used goods stores had interesting or rare finds. Pate had probably passed the shop a hundred times without ever going in, but Mrs. Borden had recognized something in her from the moment they met. Whatever Pate had, Lillian Borden had it, too.

At Beetlejuice’s urging, Pate had asked Mrs. Borden to teach her how to manage her . . . whatever it was she was having. Psychic episodes? Recurring nightmares? Visions? Either way, his concern had prodded her to seek outside help and Lillian had agreed to do what she could.

“Try to go back to it,” Lillian was saying. “See if you can make anything else out.”

With a sigh Pate shut her eyes and willed her mind to revisit her dream. It was overcast but not raining, and as she focused the irregular splotches of color on the rainbow road became brighter, the details of the surrounding woods more defined. They were definitely cone bearing trees.

The beginnings of a headache were making their appearance behind her eyes and in her temples and Pate checked the time. They’d been in the back room of Lillian’s shop for over an hour, and she still had to do something about dinner and get ready for work tomorrow.

“I guess we’d better call it a night,” she said.

Lillian hummed noncommittally, then said, “You burn that sage I gave you?”

Pate hesitated, only for the briefest second because, no, she hadn’t used the smudging tools. “Yeah,” she lied, hoping it was more convincing than it felt. Lillian’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she didn’t believe her.

“There’s a presence around you, girl,” she said. “A dark presence, a powerful presence. The smart thing to do would be to get rid of it.” Pate nodded her understanding, but immediately dismissed the idea.

There was only one dark, powerful presence she knew of that would be around her, and she had no intention of sending him away. In fact, he would be waiting on her to come home.

⁂

Puttering around Pate’s apartment, Beetlejuice couldn’t find a thing to do. He’d already read ad nauseum the graphic novels Pate had gotten from the library for him. She’d expressly forbidden him to shove any dirty kitchen towels back into the drawer he found them in; he was permitted to use them--her nose had wrinkled at the word “used”--but if one was “used”, she made him promise to wash it. The birds on the birdfeeder were just dumb sparrows and starlings, nothing fun like crows or vultures. He had the brilliant idea to put scraps of meat out to attract them which worked to draw in the acceptable alternative of raccoons, until Pate got a letter from the landlord that made her yell because it threatened eviction, so raw meat outside was even less allowed than using the towels to wipe his junk and putting them back where they belonged.

Seeming to realize that a bored Beetlejuice was a potentially destructive one, she did concede to purchase the streaming Disney channel. He spent some of the time she was gone flipping from The Muppet Show and documentaries about animals. He promised not to watch WandaVision without her. Sometimes she allowed him to go to work with her, if she knew no one else would be there. During her visits to Lillian’s, however, he was not invited. “I have to concentrate,” she told him, “and you hanging around distracts me.” She didn’t say it, but one time he’d chased a pesky minor poltergeist out of a chest of drawers in the older woman’s antique shop. It caused a racket and broke the drawers, and he knew that was more likely the reason he wasn’t to go back. He lazed around and watched TV and practiced card tricks in front of her mirror. He didn’t need to practice card tricks; he had his own sleight of hand better than any stage magician, but it gave him something to do to fill the time. Like a dog, he was tuned to when Pate returned. In a quick movement he made the deck he was holding disappear faster than humanly possible, and was beside the door waiting for her to open it the next second. Tonight was taco night! He took the bags of food the moment she was in the door. It was a move more greedy than gracious, but she didn’t seem to mind because she asked him how his day was and told him not to eat the raw ingredients in the same breath as she hung up her jacket. The specter waited for her to come into the kitchen before hugging her. “You look tired, baby,” he announced, eyeing her critically. “Are you sure Lillian is helping you? It seems like she’s just making everything worse.” He wanted Pate well and whole, but wasn’t pleased that although Pate had faith in this woman, it didn’t seem to be doing much good. He had to admit, however, that nothing he’d done had been able to help alleviate her nightmares either.

⁂

Having never had a live-in partner before, Pate had never given much thought to what it would be like to actually have someone waiting for her at home. But she found that she liked it. For the most part, anyway.

Despite the few hiccups like the incident with the racoons and the time he’d ruined her good skillet melting marbles in it on the stovetop, they had a pretty good thing going she thought. The way he always appeared at the door the second she walked in, like an overlarge, excitable, slightly moldy golden retriever never failed to make her smile. Tonight was no exception.

Pate gratefully allowed him to take her bags through to the kitchen while she deposited her keys and purse and jacket in their usual spots, following him and sighing contentedly as he wrapped her in his arms. She smiled against his chest, wishing she could simply live there and not have to worry about work or training or anything else. At his proclamation, she drew back enough to look him in the eye, smiling wanly.

“I kinda am tired, Beej,” she admitted. It had been some time since she’d gotten a decent night’s sleep, the dreams and nightmares taking turns with a general sense of unease and restlessness that kept her awake.

“The dreams may not be getting better, but she’s helped me enough that I can remember them when I wake up. Maybe that’s the key to figuring out what they’re all about. And if I keep practicing the lucid dreaming thing, maybe I could even stop them myself.”

Raising herself on tip-toe to press a quick peck on his lips, Pate then set his destructive proclivities to chopping up the tomatoes and jalapenos and other toppings while she browned and seasoned the meat for their tacos. It filled her with a cozy, domestic feeling as Beetlejuice jabbered absently about whatever had come into his head, interspersed with the ambiance of sizzling hamburger and the clacking of the knife against the cutting board.

She considered telling him about Lillian’s insistence that she cleanse her apartment and dismiss him, but she had a good idea how he’d respond to that and didn’t want to upset him. Besides, if she had anything to say about it he wasn’t going anywhere he didn’t want to. He was here because they both wanted him to be, and that was the end of it.

Instead she removed the pan from the burner, turned off the eye and moved to stand beside him at the island and the heaps of thoroughly massacred vegetables. “What’re we watching tonight?” she asked, opening the taco shells and arranging them on the plates.

⁂

She made him use a knife--knife tricks! He should practice knife tricks!--on the tomatoes since on the first taco night he’d simply crushed them to pulp, but she did say it was okay to rip the lettuce with his hands. Beej did that with relish, managing to fling bits into the air. Like he was imparting a secret, he told Pate that they recorded the noise of breaking lettuce and celery to substitute for bones breaking in movies.

Pate reminded him he told her that every time they had tacos, but softened her chiding with a kiss.

There was a Nicolas Cage movie he was interested in seeing, Color Out of Space, but maybe that wasn’t Pate’s idea of a good time. It was Friday, so the decision was easy: what was with the recasting of Pietro? Did it mean there was finally going to be a connection between the X-men and the Avengers? They settled on the couch to catch up on the latest episode of WandaVision. For the entirety of the show, with the exception of once or twice having to rewind because it was hard to hear over the crunch of the taco shells, they ate without interruptions. Once it was over, the dishes had been cleared, and Pate changed into pajamas, Beetlejuice escorted her back to the couch. Sometimes she had emails to answer from work or simple tasks to complete from Lillian, but tonight she seemed more tired than normal, so he held her while she told him about her day. She said something about wanting to . . . Beetlejuice waited a moment for the rest of the sentence, but Pate had dozed off without completing it. Despite what they’d been through, he still marveled at how easily she gave her trust to someone like him. It would be easy enough to get her into her bed, but he liked being her pillow, so he pulled a blanket from the back of the couch over them, and turned that Nic Cage movie on low to watch it while she slept. Maybe it was the different location, maybe it was because she had just had a lesson with Lillian--maybe it was Nic Cage!--but Pate didn’t stir while they were on the couch. Smiling and hopeful that maybe her nighttime dreams were getting under control, Beetlejuice carried her to bed. It was in the darkest part of the night that she kicked and cried out against him, lost in her head. ⁂

Pate sat bolt upright with a gasp, chest heaving and heart racing. After taking a moment to orient herself, she buried her face in her hands. The same dream, the same tantalizing images, the same mounting sense of dread that grew worse and worse as the dream wore on, pressing between her shoulder blades and against her breastbone, constricting her chest.

The scenes flashes behind her eyelids again: standing on the rainbow road in the middle of the misty forest; the strange red brick tower that stood like a transplanted European castle turret on top of a hill; the sound of rushing water; and standing the in center of a round room with no roof, the starry sky overhead, surrounded by figures that all looked exactly like her.

And the overwhelming notion that something was coming, something unfathomable and indescribable, something powerful and ravenous, drawing closer and closer.

Sighing into her fingers, Pate dropped her hands, sure that she must’ve roused Beej from his restive state, but before she could turn to him another figure appeared in her periphery. Standing by the side of the bed was a strange woman, tumbles of auburn waves falling over her shoulders, her eyes glinting like a cat’s in the darkness.

“Hello, dear,” she purred at Pate, a friendly yet unsettling smile on her pretty heart-shaped face. “You have something I want.”

Without taking her eyes off the intruder, Pate fumbled behind her for Beetlejuice, to wake him, to warn him, but her hand found only empty air. Jolted by this realization, Pate turned to find his place in the bed vacant. Jerking back around to face the smiling woman with her strange eyes, panic surged through Pate’s chest and propelled her heart into her throat.

“Where is he?” she demanded, somehow knowing the woman was responsible for her vanished demon lover.

“Where he belongs,” the woman responded, her smile widening into a predatory grin that froze Pate’s blood in her veins. The terrible foreboding she felt quickly grew into abject terror that she would never see him again.

Then, blessedly, her eyes snapped open to find herself wrapped in Beetlejuice’s arms as he cooed and whispered into her hair that everything was okay, she was just dreaming. Shaking, she clung to him to assure herself that he really was there, feeling the wetness of tears on her cheeks.

“You were gone!” she croaked against him. “There was this woman, her eyes were wrong and she took you!”

She said this with the certainty that comes with dreams, where you simply know something to be true. That certainty told her that something, be it the strange red-haired woman with the glowing eyes or the unknowable presence that stalked ever nearer in her nightmares, was going to try and take him from her. She couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let it happen.

⁂

His lover’s abrupt startle awake after twisting and turning and being unable to be roused made him feel worse. What use was he if he couldn’t help her? During her struggles he held her as best he could and soothed her, even though he wasn’t sure Pate even heard him. The tears weren’t uncommon, but specifics about what her mind conjured up were. Beej brushed it off as simple lingering fear, and assured her he wasn’t going anywhere and there was no woman. A weak joke that if she wanted to invite another woman in he wouldn’t object was summarily chewed up and spit out by the rational portion of his brain, the one that had a slightly better understanding of what may and may not be appropriate. It was small, but getting larger. It also nixed allowing him to say, “I guess Nic Cage isn’t the answer.” So he continued to whisper to her and let her cling to him, and because she’d requested it before, asked open-ended questions to help her try and recall as much of the dream as possible. He didn’t understand why that seemed to be important to her mentor, but it was easy and maybe if Pate talked through it, she’d be less frightened.

Mostly he hoped she would just be able to go back to sleep, and vowed to let her stay in bed as long as she would like the next morning.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Ties that Bind

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angstysebfan · 4 years

Text

Not Good Enough

Pairing: Bucky x Plus Size Reader

I usually don’t describe the reader, but for this one I will be. Sorry if it’s hard for anyone to relate, but I really am just feeling a certain way right now and needed to get this out.

You weren’t like the other agents on the team. Where most women in S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers are tall, skinny and beautiful. You were short, overweight, and in your opinion “ehh” in the looks department. You always felt like you didn’t belong, but the team always told you did.

When Bucky Barnes admitted his feelings for you, you had a hard time believing him. But after dating for 3 months, you didn’t doubt his feelings for you anymore. You have never been so happy in your entire life. You know all the other female agents question how this happened, but you were too busy enjoying your relationship.

One day a new female agent, Stacy, joined. She was gorgeous! Beautiful light brown hair that looked so soft, blue eyes that drew you in, and a body you would die for. When you and Bucky walked in hand-in-hand to meet her, you couldn’t help but notice Bucky’s reaction to her. You shook it off because you couldn’t deny her beauty either.

When she was introduced to the team, you automatically notice her eyes lingered on Bucky a lot longer than anyone else. When she walked up to you you extended your hand, “Nice to meet you Stacy. Looking forward to working with you.” She looked at your hand for a moment and then said to Steve, “I thought I was meeting agents.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up and nodded, “Yes, Y/N here is one of our best. She is one mission away from take the vacant Avenger spot.” You smiled at him as she looked back at you, an unreadable expression on her face. “Huh, well, nice to meet you.” She walked past you to Bucky without shaking your hand. You were honestly shocked by her rudeness. You watch her interact with Bucky and see the flirty fluttering of her eyelashes.

Bucky turned on the charm, which you had to admit, hurt you. “Sergeant Barnes, I am looking forward to learning a lot from you.” she said in a sultry voice. Bucky flushed, understanding her meaning. “Uh, yea anytime doll.” he said. Your eyes shot to his face. “Doll” was your nickname. You looked from him to Steve, who gave you a sympathetic smile.

When intros were done, it was time for dinner. Stacy made sure she sat right next to Bucky, which drove you nuts. Bucky didn’t even spare you a glance when you were forced to sit on the other end of the table. It was like he didn’t notice you. Not that you blamed him, Stacy did take all the attention in the room.

You started feeling very low and self conscious, excusing yourself from the table. You entered your room and quickly went into the shower. You couldn’t help but let some tears fall, thinking you were not good enough for Bucky. Stacy was the type of woman he should be with, not you.

While lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice Bucky entering the shower with you, until you feel his arms around you. You immediately tense when you feel him, feeling the tears fall harder. “Doll? You okay?” he asked concerned. You cried harder, holding your face in your hands. Bucky turned around and held you close, kissing the top of your head.

When you finally calmed down and looked up at Bucky, who had a concerned and sad expression on his face. You step away from him and leave the shower. “Y/N?” he called after you. When he made it out to the room in a towel, you were changing into sweats and one of his hoodies. “Baby, please tell me whats wrong?” he pleads.

You look at him with a mix of sadness and anger. “I’m shocked you even noticed I left the table.” you spat. Bucky is shocked by your words, “What do you mean?” he whispers. You scoff, “Once a beautiful woman shows up, you suddenly forget that you have a girlfriend. Not that I blame you! She is gorgeous, and I’m...” you stop yourself before you sob.

“Doll, -” “Don’t! Obviously I am not your “Doll” if you are so okay with calling her that!” you screamed. Bucky shakes his head, putting his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand what is wrong! I was just being nice. I am sorry I called her “Doll”. Honestly, it meant nothing!” he yelled getting frustrated. You ignore him and walk to your bed, pulling the covers up to your neck.

“Fine, talk to me when you’re not acting like this.” You hear Bucky mumble, before you hear the door to your room close. You lie there for a moment, before you decide that you needed to fix this. You get up and open your door, walking next door to Bucky’s room. When you open the door you gasp.

Stacy is in Bucky’s room, sliding her hands up his bare chest and reaching up to kiss him, and whats worse is he is standing there holding her hips in only his towel. Tears completely flood your eyes and you leave the room without you noticing.

When Bucky returned to him room after your outburst he opened his door and saw Stacy standing there. “What are you doing in here?” he asked, annoyed. Stacy looks at him with innocent eyes, “I just wanted to thank you for being so nice tonight. I know I was asking a lot of questions during dinner.” He gives her a small smile, “No problem, but if you don’t mind, I want to be alone.” he said.

“Where are you coming from in only a towel anyway,” she asked, ignoring his last comment, and stepping closer to him. “uh... my girlfriend’s room.” he stuttered, feeling uncomfortable. “You have a girlfriend? Who?” she asked in surprise. “Y-Y/N, my girlfriend is Y/N.” he says feeling nervous.

Stacy laughed for a moment, confusing Bucky, “You’re kidding right?” she asked. “No, I am dating Y/N. Have been for over three months, though she is not happy with me right now.” he said, taking a step back. “Oh? Well, I can make you feel better,” she said stepping closer, sliding her hands up his bare chest.

Bucky froze for a moment, holding onto Stacy’s waist to stop her coming closer. He felt very uncomfortable since he was only in a towel. She started to lean in toward his face. Finally he came to his senses and pushed her away. “Agent, this is unacceptable behavior. Get out of my room, now” Bucky barked at Stacy.

Stacy was shocked, but didn’t want to push him any further and ran out of the room. Bucky closed the door behind her wiping his face with his flesh hand. He quickly got dressed and went back to your room, wanting to apologize for everything. When he knocked there was no answer. He opened your door and came in.

“Baby?” he called walking further into the room. He checked the walk in closet and then the bathroom, nothing. When he came back into the room, he saw a piece of paper on the bed. He opened it and his heart immediately dropped.

Bucky,

I guess based on what I saw, I am not as crazy as I thought. Though I must be crazy to think someone who looks like me, would be loved by someone who looks like you. I hope you both are very happy together.

Your Y/N

Bucky quickly ran out of the room and went to Steve’s. He explained everything that happened, which caused some scolding from Steve. “I mean I can’t believe you were nice to her after the comment she made about Y/N when she met her.” Steve said. Bucky shook his head, “I know. I’m a fucking moron, okay? But please you have to help me find my girl. I need her to know that I...” he stopped.

“You love her.” Steve said smirking. Bucky nodded and blew out a breath. “Please, Steve. I can’t let her think that I don’t love her. I knew she was self conscious, I should have made sure she was alright.” Bucky said kicking himself. “Okay, pal. Relax, we will find her. Let’s ask the girls first.” Steve said leading Bucky out of his room.

“You’re an asshole, Barnes!” Nat yelled at Bucky. “Yea, I know that already. Please Nat, I need to find her.” Bucky pleaded. “I don’t know where she is. But, if you got your head out of your asses and think you will find her faster.” she snapped.

Both men looked confused, causing her to roll her eyes. “Men are morons! FRIDAY please track Y/N and send her coordinates to Barnes and Rogers STAT!” she yelled to the AI. “Coordinates will be sent to their phones in approximately 2 minutes, Agent Romanoff.” FRIDAY said.

The men nodded their thanks and headed out. Nat watched them leave and then cracked her knuckles. “FRIDAY where is Stacy?”

You sat on a bench in Battery Park, staring out into the water. You honestly weren’t sure where you were going to go from here. A part of you wanted to go back to the Tower, but didn’t want to see Bucky or Stacy. You figured by now they were lying naked in his bed together. The image making you want to puke.

“Y/N” the whispered voice making you jump. You turn and see Bucky standing there, relief evident in his face. “Baby, I have been looking everywhere for you.” he said, sitting down on the bench. You immediately tensed, something he noticed.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, “Y/N, I swear, whatever you saw, was not what you think. Stacy... she... she tried to kiss me and I froze. I-I didn’t know what to do, until I finally snapped out of it and threw her out of my room. You have to believe me.” he said grabbing your hand. You don’t look at him, knowing that if you did, you would crack.

“Why would you want to throw her out? She is perfect for you Bucky. You’re perfect for each other. She knows it, I know it, you must know it.” you say quietly, your voice threatening to crack. Bucky kneels in front of you, holding your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“Doll, she is not perfect for me? Is she beautiful? Sure, but you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. I know you are self conscious about your weight and your body, but baby I love your body and I couldn’t care less about your weight. I...”

Bucky takes a breath and calm his nerves. “Y/N, I love you.” he says with confidence. You look at him for a moment and then shake your head. “How can you love someone like me?” you whisper as tears flow down your face. Bucky stands up and pulls you into his arms. “You are an amazing and beautiful woman. You don’t care about my past. You only care about who I am now. And as far as how you look, you’re so fucking sexy to me baby! I grew up in a time where out woman had meat on their bones, and that is what I prefer.” he said causing you to laugh.

“Buck, I love you. I love you so much! You mean the world to me, and that is why I was so upset you ignored me tonight when you met her. I thought that you finally found someone else that you wouldn’t be embarrassed with.” you said.

“I’m an idiot for tonight. I didn’t realize that I was ignoring you, and I’m so sorry. I should have defended you when she was rude to you, and ignored her. I promise I will be cold to her from now on, especially after the shit she pulled tonight.” he said kissing the top of your head. “And you, my love, will never embarrass me.”

You looked up at him, your heart racing in your chest. He leaned down and captured your lips with his. You stepped as close as you could, wrapping your arms tightly around him. When the kiss ended you whispered against his lips, “I love you.” He smiled and pecked your lips again, “I love you too.”

Permanent Taglist: @hailmary-yramliah @tuiccim @comedictragedy @cap-n-stuff

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky angst #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #plus size #bucky x reader

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wixelt · 3 years

Text

Sand (Hermitverse AU)

The first thing False Symmetry really noticed, beyond the splitting headache pounding unrelentingly at her skull, was the heat.

It bore down on her with an unrelenting fury that little else save for fire and lava could match. Before she'd even opened her eyes, she knew she had to be in a desert.

As if the sand shifting beneath her hands and the blazing sunlight piercing her eyelids wouldn't have told her that already.

Prone on her back, False groaned, doing her best to push through the painful miasma clouding her thoughts. She cracked one eye open slowly, then the other, wincing only slightly as the sun’s glare brightened in her gaze.

“Owww...” she shook her head weakly, staring up at the cloudless sky above. Steeling herself, she gritted her teeth. “O-Okay, let's try...”

Then, with another groan of aching effort, she drew her legs inward, pivoting upward and forward into a sitting position as best she could. Joints still protesting, she slumped, catching her breath as her body decided exactly how messed up it was.

False would normally have said she'd been through worse and would be fine, but as much as that might have been true for the pain itself, she really had no precedent for, well, any of this, really.

“What was it...?” she muttered wearily to herself, still a small part delirious as she glanced about, searching for any notable landmarks as she sought to get her bearings on exactly how she’d wound up in this situation. But…

Nope. Just sand, sand, more sand and— oh look, even more sand over there, too. Joy.

It probably didn't help that she was surrounded on all sides by tall, imposing dunes and sand cliffs. That kind of thing really limited how far someone could see.

Which meant there was probably some climbing in her near future.

False’s headache – though slowly fading – pulsed again, reminding her that she was in no fit state to even stand properly, let alone make that sort of ascent.

Normally, she’d listen to common sense. In the face of… whatever was going on, though...

False managed to begin only barely standing before she visibly winced, immediately dropping and clutching her head with a barely restrained cry of pain, sand displacing slightly beneath her as she abruptly fell, feet sliding out from beneath her.

Okay, so… Maybe not just yet.

“Damn.” The blonde warrior sighed to herself, running her hands down her face in an effort to centre herself, wiping the perspiration from her eyes. She really wasn’t liking being a sitting duck like this. It didn’t suit her at all.

Especially given what was happening.

…

…come to think of it, what was happening?

False’s brow furrowed, doing her best to draw together scattered fragments of recent memory floating about amidst her disarray. They were… less than cooperative, but slowly a picture she could recognize began to form, to her slight relief.

She remembered… panic. That, at least, had been pretty consistent.

In fact, she was fairly sure that once the shock of suddenly waking up in a blisteringly hot desert wore off and she was able to overcome her mild concussion to get her whereabouts, some manner of nervous breakdown would be due.

That wasn’t going to be very constructive at the moment, though, so as for now…

There’d been a light, of some kind, False recalled. This unnatural, all-consuming glow that had descended from the heavens above, washing over the island and all its surroundings in twisted, impossible waves. The land itself had almost felt as if it were unravelling beneath her feet, the air permeated by this inescapable sense of… wrongness.

Though she was wary to admit it, it recalled the unease she sometimes felt around one of Impulse’s void holes, cracked in the bedrock to appease whatever new manner of joking pseudo deity a ‘Boatem’ was meant to be. This time, however, the feeling had been multiplied a thousand-fold, instincts screaming at her to run in the other direction.

The pieces beginning to slot back into place, she remembered that as the broken light had subsumed all before them, she and Jevin had stepped between it and the other two in the group, Stress and Gem both caught in the moment, neither a pushover but both frozen in the suddenness of the situation, unsure what to do.

Against such a large wave of force, however, such an act – though one False hoped would be seen as courageous rather than stupid in hindsight – had been pointless, and she had whited out, only to wake amidst burning sands with – unless her senses were deceiving her – a completely drained internal inventory.

Alone.

In a creepy desert that was – the longer she paid attention it – seeming more and more unsettlingly quiet, even lacking much wind in its stillness.

Which meant… Wait.

“Oh no…” Eyes bulging in alarm, False shot to her feet to with practised but haphazardly frantic speed, “Oh no, no, no… No!” Her skull pulsed again, but it was weak enough now that she could ignore it. With nothing more than a brief, dizzied stumble, she was moving.

Suddenly, the glaring and alarmingly absolute absence of three others was the only thing on her mind.

“JEVIN!” False’s booted feet scrabbled wildly against the unhelpfully loose sand, the soft and uneven ground easily giving way with every step as she desperately scrambled up the side of one of the dunes, seeking higher ground. Her voice echoed for a moment amidst the dunes and cliffs with a call for the friend within the trio that she’d known the longest, but it was quickly swallowed up by the desert’s oppressive emptiness.

No answer.

“GEM?!” Her tone was more fear-tinged, now, sights darting back and forth searchingly as she rose faster, now, finally finding some more solid footing beneath the top layer. Quickly, she surged forward, one foot in front of the other as she called out for a more recent friendship a second time, “GEM!”

Still no answer.

Please, come on…

“…STRESS…?” False tried, a little weaker but no less vocal, for the ray of unyielding positivity she hoped would uncloud this mess, trailing off a little as hopelessness clawed at her, no response once again leading to an eerie, uncomfortable silence. She did her best to brush it aside, however. She was stronger than that. She had to be, for them.

They’d… They’d probably just been scattered. That had to be it. They were almost certainly around here somewhere. All she needed to do was find them, and they could make their way back to the island – though only the gods knew just how they’d ended up in such a distant and unfamiliar desert biome, far beyond the limits of their new world’s current resource gathering borders – and Xisuma could clear up this whole mess.

It’d just be another weird happening that the Hermits could all look back on years from now and laugh about… right?

Even as the thought crossed her mind, something in the pit of False’s stomach – some long-refined warrior’s instinct – told her that wasn’t going to happen.

The others were all resourceful when push came to shove, though. They… They’d be fine until they could group up.

“Ungh…” False grunted, staggering slightly and almost losing her footing on the unstable ground. She scowled to herself, pressing ever onward to the potential vantage point up above, only steps away from her, now. To a place where she could work out where the others were, and equally as much where she was. “Come on…” With one final push, accompanied by a grunt of effort, she finally crested the top of the vast dune.

“Good… Right!” she wiped the sweat from her brow. “Now where… am… I…?”

False slowed to a stop atop the dune, trailing off into the overbearing silence. She fell slack jawed, struck dumb as the gravity of her situation set in from the sight before her alone.

In the days and weeks to come – and even beyond that – this feeling of being completely and dangerously out of her depth would be propagated by how this terrible, lonely eldritch desert seemed to span infinitely in every direction, no trace or slightest notation of healthy green visible on the horizon no matter which way she looked. The true sign of a dying world.

The lack of any doorways, hidden as they were, out of this realm and into others – the kind that usually appeared in every world, be they natural or admin placed – would only further exacerbate that feeling once the initial wave of helplessness passed.

Right now, however, there was one thing and one thing alone that drew her attention. That caused her skin to crawl at its very sight, though she did not yet entirely know why.

And it filled her entire vision like a looming titan, still a good distance away but a vast and unignorable dark, mechanical blotch on the hellish sands around, nonetheless.

False stared at the giant, rusting mechanical hand, half-submerged in the yellow surface, reaching for the heavens, fingers outstretched in an unmoving, statue-like impression of life. A moment frozen in time and yet telling of a long spanning, lost history that was best left unknown.

And though it lacked eyes with which to stare out at her, False knew it saw her too.

“Oh… Crap.”

----

Ages ago, I had an idea. An idea that featured the MCYTverse suffering a massive metaphysical event that severs/destabilizes connections between most worlds, energetic events befalling the worlds closest to the epicenter.

In this AU, the Hermits’ world would be one of the closest, causing it to be scrambled and the Hermits to be scattered to the winds, thrown to the great beyond and spat out elsewhere, washing up across the multiverse, alone where they don’t belong. Some would arrive in worlds with friends, some in worlds with faces familiar to you or me but lesser known to them, and some in worlds long forgotten.

The ways between worlds would be unstable, making hopping through a portal to reunite with friends near-impossible.This would be a challenge to be tackled alone. And with such diverse situations - and crossover potential - each Hermit would have their own difficulties.

At the time, I didn’t go ahead with the AU because I was told someone else was already planning an near-identical AU, but I've seen little signs of it since, and have concluded that there’s also no reason two AUs with similar premises can’t coexist anyway.

So while I don’t know if i’ll carry on from this, I had a fic snippet idea I wanted to get out for this Hermitverse AU, so feel free to let me know what you think, and if I got False’s “voice” right. Also, I haven’t stated the world she’s ended up in, but I feel like it’s a relatively easy guess contextually, and I may add it to the tags once someone picks up on it. :P

Enjoy!

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft au #hermitverse au #falsesymmetry #ijevin #stressmonster101 #geminitay

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