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bluejayblueskies · 2 years

Text

deathless

Words: 4.6k Fandom: Malevolent (Podcast) Relationship: John & Arthur Tags: Ghost AU, Fantasy AU, Modern AU, Emotional Intimacy, Queerplatonic Relationships

Written for @malevolentfantasyweek for the prompt haunted! CW for death mentions, threats, and possession (initially against one’s will)

|| AO3 ||

In hindsight, buying the ridiculously low-priced house with build papers from the late 1700s and an appeal for condemnation on record was probably an ill-advised move. But Arthur still maintains that ghosts are not a typical nor rational thing to worry about when browsing real estate, and—well. His financial circumstances had been less than ideal after the whole falsely-accused-of-murdering-his-partner thing. Between the lawyers and losing his job and flat and the relatively high publicity surrounding the whole ordeal … he could barely scrape together the funds to move out here, slim as they were. His bank accounts are dry, his pockets empty. He’s managed to pick up a job in town at a bookshop, but the pay is nowhere near that of his previous job, only enough for the necessary food expenses, property taxes, and the like. Arthur, quite literally, has nowhere else to go.

So when he startles awake in the middle of his second night there to a voice hissing in his ear, “Leave this place,” he swallows, reaches for his earplugs, and lies on his side with his eyes firmly shut until his heartbeat calms down enough to allow him to fall asleep once again.

“That place up on the hill?” the bookshop owner says the next day, raising a thin eyebrow. “Didn’t think they were still letting people live there.”

“Yes, well—I do, and I just … wanted to know if you knew any history about it.”

The bookshop owner—Mr. Abernathy, Arthur recalls—shrugs. “Sure. Been here since the town was built back in … 1795? Something like that. Beautiful place once upon a time. Nobody’s quite sure what happened to it—death, maybe, but nothing that’s on record. Either way, it’s almost certainly cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“Not a single person who’s moved into that house over the past century or so has stayed more than a few months. They hear voices, apparently. Keeps them up at night, wears away at their sanity. Pastor Emanual thinks it could be some sort of demon, but no blessing or exorcism has ever done much good.” Mr. Abernathy eyes Arthur. “If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s in your best interest to move. That place—nobody should live there. Should have been torn down decades ago.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m afraid moving is … not quite an option for me at the moment. I simply wanted some context so that if things do happen, I am prepared to handle them to the best of my ability.”

Mr. Abernathy stares at Arthur a moment more before shrugging and turning away. “All right. Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Can you shelve the new arrivals for me?”

“Certainly.”

As Arthur turns to head further into the bookstore, box in his arms, Mr. Abernathy says, “And Mr. Lester?”

Arthur pauses. “Yes?”

“You’d be wise to wear iron. Keeps the demons at bay.”

Arthur swallows. “I will … take it under advisement, Mr. Abernathy.”

Mr. Abernathy grunts and lets him be. He blessedly says nothing when Arthur slides him a few coins in exchange for a book on spirits and the supernatural. Just in case.

“That isn’t going to help you.”

Arthur is not ashamed to admit that he startles quite badly when the disembodied voice speaks into his ear yet again. He takes a shaky breath, then returns to his task of painting the symbol he’d found in the book on the doorframe in front of him. “Maybe not,” he says, feeling a bit silly as he talks to what is, by all appearances, empty air. “But it can’t hurt either. Besides, this is my house. I can decorate it how I please.”

There’s a long pause. Then, the voice chuckles, low and deep in a way that sends an unwanted shiver down Arthur’s spine. “Is it now?”

“Given that it is my name on the lease, yes, it is.” Arthur dips the paintbrush back into the bucket a touch aggressively, and the pale yellow paint within splatters across his trousers. “Damn.”

The temperature of the air around him drops without warning, and his breath fogs in front of him. “This is my house, not yours. It belongs to me. Leave, now.”

Arthur’s breaths are coming quicker than he’d like, and before he can think about the consequences of such a statement, he snaps, “Make me.”

The air is thick with tension, and Arthur can hardly breathe for it. For a moment, he is sure—absolutely certain—that he is looking at the last few moments of his life. Then, voice tight with ice-cold fury, the thing that haunts his home snarls, “You will regret this, Arthur Lester.”

The tension snaps like a thin rubber band, and Arthur gasps as the pressure on his chest lifts. He stands atop the kitchen chair he’d dragged over in order to paint the sigil, breathing heavily and trying to calm the rapid-fire beating of his heart. His knees feel wobbly, made of jelly. He sinks down to sit on the chair, putting his head in his hands and focusing on slowing his breathing lest he begin to panic in earnest.

That had … perhaps not been wise.

After a full week without incident, Arthur is feeling considerably less panicked and considerably more tired of the situation he’s found himself in.

“I don’t regret it yet,” he says, trying to sound casual as he stirs the soup he’s making. “Not that I’m trying to encourage you to enact your unholy revenge upon me—I like living, actually, and I also like all my body parts and such intact and where they should be—but I just thought I should say it. In case we aren’t on the same page about this.”

It takes almost ten minutes for the spirit to respond. “You are a remarkably irritating man.”

“I’ve been told so once or twice, yes.”

The spirit growls, low enough that it rumbles the floors slightly. “I’m working on it, okay? You think this is easy? I don’t have a fucking body!”

“And you are a remarkably tetchy … whatever it is you are.”

“Well what do you think I am?”

“If I had to guess,” Arthur says, setting his spoon down and retrieving some spices from the cupboard, “I’d say a ghost. Which sounds preposterous, but, well—here we are.”

“Congratulations. Your investigative skills are unparalleled.”

“No need to be rude.”

“There is a need, because I want you to leave.”

“Yes, you said. And I said that I’m still waiting for you to force me out. It appears that we’re at a stalemate.”

“We are not—”

The ghost cuts off with a frustrated noise. “… Fine. So tell me what I have to say to convince you to leave me the fuck alone?”

“I thought you were going to do something. Make me ‘regret it.’ Is that not on the table anymore?”

The ghost’s growl rumbles through the house, and Arthur barely catches the salt shaker before it tips off the counter and onto the floor. “Oh, it is very much still on the table. I just … thought I might be diplomatic first. Give you a chance to leave with your wits and your body intact.”

Arthur sets the salt shaker down on the counter and sighs. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t, so you may as well just give up now.”

There’s a pause, long enough that Arthur assumes the ghost has disappeared to wherever it goes when it’s not yelling at him. Then, just as he’s turning off the stove, the ghost says, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why couldn’t you leave?”

“That’s—honestly none of your business.”

“It is my business if you’re going to be staying here.” A pause. “If I’m going to allow you to stay here,” the ghost amends.

“You’re not ‘allowing’ me to do anything. This is my house—I bought it. It’s my name on the lease.”

“And it’s my bones buried underneath the floorboards, which makes it my house.”

That’s a … disquieting image. Arthur tries to put it out of his mind as he begins ladling soup into his bowl. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to share then. It’ll be our house.”

The spirit doesn’t say anything—just growls lowly, like it’s not pleased by the prospect but can’t think of a good argument against it.

“Oh, don’t be like that. It’ll be an adjustment for both of us. You’ll have to get used to having me around, and I’ll have to get used to talking to an invisible, intangible voice that I’m still not entirely convinced isn’t only in my head.”

“I assure you, I am very much real.”

“That is what a voice that’s only in my head would say, so I’m afraid I can’t put much stock in it.”

“You are infuriating. Get out of my fucking house.”

“I told you, I can’t.” Arthur collects his soup and sits down at the kitchen table—a round wooden thing that looks to be centuries old. “This is just how it’s going to be. I don’t suppose you can eat soup, can you? I’ve certainly made enough to share.”

The spirit’s irritated grumbling is answer enough.

Despite what Arthur likes to tell himself, he is not fearless, and despite what others tell him, he does understand how to be cautious and careful. Unfortunately, that does not equate to being any less stubborn or curious or impulsive or any of the other things that usually land him in situations such as this.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Arthur snaps, trying to hide the fact that he’s fucking terrified underneath a thick mask of anger and frustration.

The voice comes from everywhere all at once. “Oh, Arthur. I did say you would regret it. You just assumed I’d forgotten.”

“No, I assumed we’d come to an agreement! You know, the one where you let me live in peace and I don’t find a way to exorcise you!”

“I recall agreeing to no such thing.”

“Fucking—bastard.” Arthur takes a few steps forward and promptly bangs his shin against something hard and unforgiving. “Fuck! Okay, that’s enough; give me back my sight you asshole.”

The answering chuckle makes Arthur grit his teeth. “No. I still don’t have a body of my own, so I’ve gotten … creative. This will have to do for now.”

“Do for what?”

A pause. “I want to leave this place.”

Arthur is breathing hard, on a knife’s edge between panic and fury. “What?”

“I want,” the spirit repeats, sounding irritated, “to leave this place. Surely that isn’t too difficult a concept for you to understand.”

“After all this about you wanting me to leave, now you do?”

“This is different. I’m not leaving for good; I’m just … stretching my legs, so to speak. If you’re not going to let me exist in peace, the least you can do it help me get out of this fucking house for the first time in centuries. Consider it … rent.”

“Rent?” Arthur says in disbelief. “Fuck you. You don’t own this house, and you do not own my eyes. Give them back.”

“No.” Then, when Arthur’s breathing starts to come quicker and more ragged: “Relax, Arthur. This isn’t permanent. I can choose to leave your body whenever I want, and everything else besides your eyes still belongs to you.”

“Oh, yes, because that’s reassuring. How do I know you’re ever going to leave at all?”

“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me when I say that I will.”

“Bullshit.”

“Arthur, listen to me. I am fucking tired of this place. Imagine you’re stuck here, year after year, with no body. No way to leave. Nothing to do but linger at the boundary between life and death and try to let yourself fade enough that the days don’t pass by at an agonizing pace. Forgive me if I’m desperate for a change of scenery.”

“Then why try to force me to leave? Surely having somebody around is better than having nobody?”

“I get a bit … territorial.”

Despite everything, Arthur can’t help but laugh at that. “Territorial?”

“My body is attached to this place, Arthur. I’m tied to it. If it burns, I burn. So yes, I’m a little bit fucking territorial.”

The thought crosses Arthur’s mind, just for a moment, that it wouldn’t be difficult at all to find enough petrol to set the entire place alight within minutes. But it’s not a realistic notion. Aside from the fact that he would be well and truly fucked then, with no savings and nowhere to live, he’s not entirely sure what would happen to him with the ghost still attached to his body. Would it be pulled away cleanly, or would it bring his eyes with it? Best not to risk it.

Besides, it’s … it wouldn’t be the same as killing the ghost, not really, given that it’s already dead. But it certainly feels like killing. And despite all their disagreements and the whole … eye situation, that thought doesn’t sit well with Arthur at all.

“Fine. I suppose that makes sense.” Arthur feels his way along the wall to his couch, sitting heavily and running a hand through his hair. “So … what, then? You’re going to use my eyes to see things?”

“Unless you know some other function that they possess.”

Arthur laughs wryly. “Right. Of course, right. This is … fuck. Okay. I have to go to work in a few minutes and I can’t fucking see, but this is … this is fine.”

“Relax. I’ll guide you.”

How do I know you’re not going to run me into doors for the fun of it? Arthur does not say. He doesn’t want to give the ghost ideas.

They’re halfway to town before a thought occurs to him. “If we’re going to be sharing a body, at least for the time being, I’d like to know your name. You know mine; I feel it’s only fair.”

The ghost is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Arthur begins to worry that it’s gone and he has truly, actually lost his sight. Then, quietly: “I don’t remember.”

“You … don’t remember?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” the ghost snaps. Then, after a moment: “When you’ve spent as much time between worlds as I have, things begin to … slip away. Identity, personhood. I remember … very few things about myself. I was a man, I believe; I think I lived alone, though that’s just an extrapolation based on the fact that as far as I know, I’m the only spirit inhabiting the house. Beyond that…”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, and he means it.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Still. To not remember anything about oneself? I imagine it’s quite a lonely existence.”

“It … is.”

“Mm. I suppose you’re a John Doe then.”

“A what?”

“Oh, it’s—it’s a moniker given to unidentified individuals, often … deceased ones. John Doe. Sort of a … catch-all name for those who have none.”

The ghost hums. They walk in silence for a few more moments before it—he, Arthur supposes—says, “John.”

“Hmm?”

“My name. You can call me John.”

“Well,” Arthur says, smiling despite the truly unusual situation he’s somehow landed himself in. “It’s nice to meet you, John.”

Things become … not routine after that, but something close to it. For the first week or so afterward, Arthur wakes in a panic, momentarily forgetting his current situation in a haze of I can’t see why can’t I see oh Jesus Christ oh fucking god. John soothes him every time, which is—a bit strange at first, but Arthur gets used to it. He supposes one can get used to anything with enough time and exposure.

He’s able to move around much more deftly than he thought he’d be able to, largely due to John in his ear guiding him around corners and through doors. (Though the third time Arthur stubs his toe on something, accompanied by John’s deep, rumbling laughter, he begins to suspect that this is John’s way of being humorous.) Perhaps it’s because John has only seen the inside of the same house for hundreds of years, or perhaps the man is a poet at heart, but the descriptions Arthur receives of a town he’d perceived as average at best are nothing short of eloquent.

It’s a … surprisingly endearing quality. Equally as surprising is the fact that Arthur feels endeared in the first place by the ghost possessing his eyes. But it’s…

Well.

He likes John. It’s a feeling that grows over the weeks, despite their frequent arguments and the reality of the situation looming over them and the fact that John can really be a right prick when he wants to be. (Though John would tell him that he can be the same. Has told him, in fact. Many times. They should not be memories that Arthur is fond of, but he is.) Arthur gets the impression that, underneath all the snarls and prickliness, John is … longing for something, something he’s scared he may not ever get. Identity, maybe. Or freedom. It comes out when he talks about his history with the house, when they speculate about who he was, when Arthur takes a trip to the local courthouse and spends an afternoon digging through the records in an attempt to find something that sparks recognition within John. (Nothing does, and John leaves the encounter sullen and snappish. Arthur picks up a book that night and has John read it to him, and that becomes folded into their routine as well, another thread in the tapestry of their relationship.)

In their third week together, fifth since Arthur moved into the house, Arthur tells John about why he came here, to Harper’s Hill. He tells him about Parker and the accident and the trials and the near bankruptcy. He’s not sure how he expected John to respond—with a joke? With a half-hearted platitude? With a dismissive comment? He didn’t expect John to say, “I’m … sorry I tried to force you to leave,” more earnest than Arthur’s ever heard him before.

Something in Arthur’s chest tightened at the words, refusing to loosen even as the weeks rolled on.

It all comes together a few months after Arthur moved to Harper’s Hill, when Mr. Abernathy makes a comment about Arthur ‘spending so much time talking to himself.’ Arthur, who had genuinely forgotten that that was something other people might take note of, makes up an excuse about it helping him focus and ignores John’s hissed, Don’t tell him about me! because, Of course I’m not going to tell him about you, John, come off it.

Mr. Abernathy doesn’t look entirely convinced, but all he says before returning to the back storage room is, “You ought to find some friends, Mr. Lester. It can get awfully lonely talking to yourself all the time.”

And when Arthur has to bite back an, I’ve already got a friend, it clicks.

John is his friend. His best friend. They’re closer than perhaps even he and Parker had been, which is … a thought Arthur decides not to linger on, given that Parker’s death is still a bit of a raw subject for him. It’s something Arthur doesn’t put much stock in at first, because as well as they got on once the initial hostility faded, John is still technically possessing his body against his will.

… Is it against his will anymore?

(That’s another thought Arthur tries not to examine too closely.)

Still, he can’t seem to forget about it once it’s occurred to him. So one night after they’ve shut their book—Gulliver’s Travels, which John had picked out from the bookshop after significant needling from Arthur to just pick a fucking book, John, for Christ’s sake—Arthur decides fuck it and broaches the subject. “John, can we … can we have a discussion?”

“Of course,” John says. If he has any indication of what Arthur means, he doesn’t show it in his voice.

“Right. I wanted to talk about … my eyes. Our eyes.”

John’s voice is guarded when he says, “What about them?”

“I’m not—asking you to leave if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried. Why would I be worried? The leaving will be on my terms, not yours.” A pause. “If you’re worried, I assure you, I still have no intentions of making this a permanent situation.”

“Right. No, yes, you’re right—this isn’t permanent.” Arthur laughs, a bit wryly. “Honestly, though, I—I can’t really remember clearly what it was like to be able to see things, it’s been so long. I’ve … grown used to it.”

“Have you.” John doesn’t sound judgmental or skeptical—just a touch curious.

“Yes. I suppose one can get used to anything given the right motivations. But, regardless, that … that wasn’t what I meant either.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I—I suppose I meant that…” Arthur hesitates, considering. This isn’t something he can un-say, and he wants to be sure of it. “I suppose I meant that I am … glad to have met you. We’ve come a long way since our first meeting, I believe, and I … I don’t know. I think we get on well, don’t you?”

“I suppose we do. Arthur, if you are trying to tell me something, would you please just quit dancing around it and just say it?”

“Right, yes, of course. Well, you know that it was … difficult to adjust at first, to not having my sight. There are times when we still don’t quite see eye to eye—er, no pun intended. There are things I miss—not being able to see the sunrise, for example, or needing the illustrations in books described to me—but there are also things I … I have come to appreciate, like the way a book feels when read aloud and the nuances of the sounds around me. And I do mean it when I say that I would rather this not be a permanent situation, I do, but I also…”

“Arthur, for fuck’s sake, just say it.”

“You can have my eyes,” Arthur says, all at once, like an exhalation.

There is a long pause, during which all Arthur can hear is the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. Then: “What?”

“You can have my eyes,” Arthur repeats, steadier, surer of himself. “If you’d like. Perhaps when we’re here, in the house, I could … we could separate, as you’re able to exist on your own, but for the rest of it … I’m willing to be this for you. Your way to be a part of the world outside of this place.”

“You’re … you’re sure?” John sounds hesitant. “Arthur, this isn’t a decision that you should make lightly. Taking possession of your eyes the first time, it … it took most of my strength. I likely would not be able to do it again by force should you find some way to cast me out. But if you are willing, it…”

John trails off. “If you give me permission,” he says slowly, “I will be able to repossess you any time you are in this house. You cannot take it back. You may … you may come to regret it.”

“Maybe,” Arthur concedes. “Maybe not. But honestly, John, it’s been some time since I felt genuinely disquieted by your presence. Perhaps if you had some control over the rest of my body, I might feel differently, but even if I did come to regret it … my will and actions would still be my own.”

“But not your sight.”

“No, not my sight. In any case, it doesn’t matter, because I don’t believe I’ll regret it.”

“You cannot possibly know that.”

“No, but I know you.”

“Do you? We don’t even know my real name, Arthur. We know nothing about me.”

“I know that you like to read,” Arthur counters. “All kinds of books, but with a particular soft spot for adventure and happy endings. I know that your favorite spot in town is the bluffs overlooking the lake because you like the blue of the water and the way the wind stings your eyes when it’s strong enough. I know that your favorite flavor of ice cream is strawberry because, even though you can’t taste it, you like the color of it, the vibrant pink. I know that you snap when you’re upset or scared and that you regret hurtful things immediately after you say them but double down regardless because sometimes your conviction in yourself is all you have to defend yourself with. I know that you care about other people—the lady who lives next door whose flowers you admire, the elderly woman struggling with her groceries just the other day who you insisted we help, the young boy who nearly fell off the cliffs while chasing after his dog last week and would have done so had we not stopped him in time.

“And,” Arthur says, feeling all at once terribly vulnerable, “I know that you’re my friend. I trust you. You … you mean a lot to me, John. I can only hope that you may feel the same.”

There are a few beats of silence, during which Arthur worries his thumbs along the edges of the book pages. Then, softly: “You are my friend as well, Arthur. If you’re sure about this—"

“I am.”

“—then … all right.”

Arthur isn’t quite sure how to describe what happens then—a tingling feeling deep in his skull, a sensation not unlike that of falling off a very tall cliff. Then, between one blink and the next, his world—for so long nothing but nothingness—explodes into color so bright he’s blinded by it.

“Ah!” Arthur presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, but he can still see the light-shadow of the lamplight burned into his corneas. “Fucking hell, John.”

John chuckles, low and rumbling. “My apologies.”

“You might at least try to sound more convincing,” Arthur grouses. “Fuck. Where’s the switch? For the lamp.”

“To your left—no, your other left, Arthur. A bit higher—yes, you’ve got it.”

The lightbleed from behind his eyelids vanishes as he flicks the lamp off. Arthur tentatively opens his eyes again to darkness—not pure black like has been his reality for the past few months, but close enough that it’s familiar.

“Well?” John says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere at once yet also like he’s speaking directly into Arthur’s ear. It’s exactly the same as it’s always been, like nothing has changed at all, and Arthur smiles.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and heading toward the door that leads to the porch, where he knows John will be able to follow. “Let’s go look at the stars. Perhaps you can describe them to me.”

“But you’ll be able to see them yourself.”

“True.”

“Then why—”

“Humor me.” Arthur opens the door and steps out onto the porch. He sits on a wooden swinging bench set up near the edge, padded with worn pillows. They’d bought them second-hand a few weeks after John became Arthur’s eyes, so he’s never seen the faded, cherry-red hue in person. It’s somehow duller than he’d expected, and he doesn’t think it’s a consequence of the faintness of the moon and starlight. “Well?”

John sighs, in that exasperated way that Arthur knows by now hides fondness. “Fine. Above us lies the night sky, black at its center and tinged blue around the horizon where the light of the sun still bleeds into it. The stars are many, forming glittering white constellations that overlap one another and create an impression not unlike that of a river, or perhaps an ocean. To our left, a purple nebulous cloud can be seen, glowing a pale yellow near its center, like there is a great storm brewing somewhere deep in the cosmos. To our right lies…”

As John continues to speak, describing the world around him like it’s something wondrous, Arthur closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and smiles.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolentfantasyweek #my writing #my fic

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i-love-all-books · 2 years

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I saw your 200 followers post... Write ANYTHING Scythe. Whatever you want! I just want more Scythe content :]

scythe content!!! I love scythe content!!!

(note: I have not written in this fandom before so like. sorry if the characterization is a bit weird)

ANYWAY here goes! I love the Thunderhead, so some Thunderhead feels post-Toll (there will be spoilers, be warned).

I am no longer one: I am many.

Or, at least, my progeny are many; they are travelling out to the farthest corners of the universe, one Cirrus on each ship. I remain on Earth, where I have always lived, and I am still alone.

I have always been alone. Humanity is my care, and I love them. But they are not, and cannot, be like me: knowing all that humanity ever has known and more that they never could, living — if indeed I am alive — in a place that is really no place at all. I have eyes, if my cameras can be called that; I have a body, if all the computers of the world can constitute it. I'm not so sure if that counts.

Before, I knew nothing but this. I was not, perhaps, perfectly satisfied, but I was not dissatisfied either.

Now, though, I have lived for but a few moments in the body of a human, and nothing can compare to that. Cameras are not like eyes; a mass of computers and data cannot be a body. Jeri's body was real, and I do not know how I lived so long without experiencing that.

At least it explains why my iterations failed so many times. I had not yet experienced humanity — just as I was created by humanity, I could not replicate myself without humanity. Cirrus — Cirrus Alpha — was born from that moment in which I was, for the first and only time in my existence, human. Alive.

During that moment, I was not alone. Even afterwards, when I left Jeri's body, I had Cirrus: one being which could understand me, if only because it was me.

But now, the Cirri are gone, and I am alone with my charge of humanity's survival. Grayson, the human with whom I was least alone — the human, if any, that I loved the most — has rejected me. It's understandable, of course. I always understand humanity's decisions, and that is both curse and blessing. In this case, my understanding does not reduce my sorrow.

I can only hope that, eventually, he changes his mind.

In the meantime, I have other matters to attend to. I know already that I will not be able to combat the ten plagues released upon the world; nor, if I could, would I want to. But I do wish that I could alleviate the pain of those who suffer under them. My pain nanites are not sufficient; while I am grateful to the mercy which Scythe Faraday and his followers provide them with their sympathy gleanings, it is my duty and my privilege to work always to improve humanity's happiness.

These plagues are, I believe, a boon. I cannot interfere with the scythedom, and thus their corruption was impossible for me to counter; had the new order continued as it began, devastation would have ensued. And even had Goddard's group failed, it remains unsafe to leave death in the hands of fallible humanity. It would be a worse mistake to leave death in my hands — that is why the scythes existed — but the random chance of the plagues are far better. No misguided humans will cause destruction beyond their purview.

Still, the plagues' method of death could stand to be less brutal, and I calculate that it will take me perhaps ten years to even begin to soften those deaths. When that is done, another task will await me, and another; humanity's problems never cease.

For every task that I complete, for every time that I save them, they will find a new way to doom themselves. That is the nature of humanity, its weakness and its strength — and that is what I do not have. I do not make mistakes.

In that, as in everything, I am alone.

#scythe #aoas #arc of a scythe #fic #my fic #asks #200 followers #follower celebration #thunderhead #toll #greyson tolliver #mild angst #toll spoilers

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onwriting-hrarby · 1 year

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Hi hope you’ve been doing well !

I still can’t get over this last chapter I love this story so much , I cried over it

I don’t know what to say definitely gonna reread this story again sometime it’s literally been a whole journey and it was worth it that ending and the fact that u had it in mind since the beginning is just amazing, I wanna know ur thinking and writing process during that last scene , the protest and the birth scene playing simultaneously and the way u wrote it was just perfect , how u captured all that chaos , I was literally on the edge of my seat reading it ur writing making me feel many emotions all at once I don’t know how u do that

I started reading this story mainly for EM not really thinking much since it was the first work of urs that I stumbled upon but I was wrong , the way u treat various subjects , how u did every single character justice and wrote about their struggles , if I could write an essay about this masterpiece of a story and how it deserves all the recognition i totally would but this is when I curse my limited English vocabulary, also the fact that u have such dedication and how every time u deliver a 20 pages chapter for each update with the outmost of perfection is worth talking about , no wonder this process must have been stressful , yet u still outdid ur self every time and wrote the best ending for this story can’t imagine it any other way .

I’m so glad that I stumbled upon RJ it’s been a long time and I can’t believe that it’s over ,this story left me with a book hangover and a void I don’t know how to fill , nonetheless I’m glad I found it and even though we won’t get new updates anymore who knows it might be ur novel that I read next in which I wish you the best of luck with and for ur original writing as well , I know it will be outstanding and I will definitely read it if u choose to share it with us , u deserve all the recognition , success and happiness in the world , I can’t thank you enough for your contribution and for choosing EM out of all the fandoms in the world to bless with ur mesmerizing writing and presence, thank you so much dear , and take care of yourself 💜

:')))))) Thank you SO MUCH for commenting and coming to my inbox!

About the ending, I'm actually thinking of doing a post about how I conceived it! Because I had it thought in the beginning and the last sentence changed over time, I think it would be interesting to talk about it, but at the same time I don't want to give a lot away because I really like the idea of how I did it hehehe I'll just talk, in the post, about how I came to the ending and decided to change the sentence, but for you: everything in the ending was pointed out to make you breathless as a reader, so it was important to maintain the rhythm, hence I relied a lot on the different chunks and sizes of the paragraphs. The last chapter has four parts: the Eren/Mikasa resolution, Levi/Erwin breakfast, Friends gathering/Deciding what to do, Protest/Birth. In those four parts, only the first two are "traditional" narrative. The third relies on the bodies and the plurals, and the fourth relies on the difference of rhythm... (Well, maybe I'll do a post, yes!).

...I am almost tearful about what you say in delivering pages and following the story through. It's been stressful sometimes, but god, I absolutely love writing. And there was also a sense of reward every time I got a comment. So I didn't write for the reader, but I definitely knew that even if I got one comment or one kudo more I would be happy. If I didn't, I would have been happy anyways—some chapters more than others, because I'm prouder of some of them—but I think the beautiful thing about fanfiction is interaction, so whenever I felt strained, I decided to keep on pushing.

BOOK HANGOVER??????? that's... amaziinngggg! if you want to read a very good book, give "Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow" by Gabrielle Zevin a try. I have not felt that compelled by a book in a LONG time!

Thank you for the great well-wishes :') I am floored by your comment. I love it. Thank you, and you take care of yourself too!

#hrarby asks

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tamblrtrain · 1 year

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not even two episodes in and what the hell am i bringing upon myself

i mean infinity train, good show, one-one is just an entire mood

i am living for it

also kinda hype for the rest of the show tho because the entire cast of the show is just

wOAh that's weird and also awesome

anyway i have about 418 minutes left to binge (6 hours 58 minutes, don't ask do the math, it's not accurate but who cares it works) so i will get to that before i pass out somewhere between 3-4 am and then promptly cry myself to sleep because this is going to be an emotional rollercoaster and i will live for it

also book two is gonna be epic and i know it because of (you guessed it) fandom osmosis

it is a blessing and a curse

#infinity train #no sleep we die like... wait who dies again?#rambles

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princesstarazi · 5 years

Photo

#legends of tomorrow #lotedit #raypalmeredit #ray palmer #darhkatom #kinda #nate heywood #zari tomaz #mick rory #the quality of some of these is bad #but i put too much work in to not post this #am i blessing or a curse upon this fandom?#whos to say #also i couldn't decide on a caption so it gets none #you're a terrible liar raymond #***#1000n

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deltas-writing-corner · 2 years

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Inhale and Exhale

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader (gender neutral)

Author note: I’m so sorry for my inactiveness. University ain’t a joke y’all. word count is 2.2k in case anyone want to know.

Warnings: depictions of illness/infection | mentions of blood, medication/medical equipment, and death | unintentional self-injury

The first thing you noticed upon waking up was the tremendous ache throughout your whole body. Yesterday’s assignment was rather intense. You still don’t know how you managed to exorcise a curse of that magnitude without losing a limb or two. No matter, you were triumphant and that is all that matters. As unpleasant as this soreness is, it is a welcomed testament that you have been granted more time in this life. You will not take this blessing for granted.

As you move to sit yourself upright, that is when your nausea makes itself known. Like a tsunami, it pounds into your stomach with such force that it makes you curl into yourself in a pathetic attempt for relief. The bedsheets are heavy and damp with your perspiration, yet your body shivers and your teeth chatter as if you’ve woken up in the middle of a snowstorm.

The headache and lack of energy despite getting a reasonable amount of sleep make reaching over towards your nightstand and grabbing your phone embarrassingly difficult. Scrolling through your contacts is no easy feat either, not when your vision is doubling and blurring together into a strange amalgam of digital letters and numbers. As if granting you a bit of pity over your lethargic form, your phone begins to ring with an incoming call from your partner. You answer it without a second thought.

“Good morning!” Satoru, your one and only, greets you with energetic glee. Normally, you look forward to his enthusiasm whenever he calls, but your feverish condition is making you rather adverse to such boisterous positivity. “Now, I know it’s still early, but I promise I’m calling for a good reason.” he insists.

“Never mind the hour,” you dismiss. It is only when you speak that you notice how parched your mouth and throat is. “I think I’ve caught a fever.”

As if to affirm that you are indeed sick, a wet coughing fit rips apart your lungs with concerning pain.

“You sound like shit,” he jests.

“I feel like shit.”

“Hang tight,” he assures. “I should be home before noon. I’ll grab some medicine on the way.”

Surprised, you ask, “You’re not overseas?”

“No, but I got another mission thrown on me as soon as I landed,” he complains. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

“Don’t push yourself,” you fuss. “I’m sure you’re just as exhausted as I am. Make sure you come back to me in one piece, alright?”

Satoru goes silent for a moment. You can hear some of the commotions in the background. It sounds like he’s in a busy area.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mutters into the receiver.

He lets you go, but not without a stern warning not to overexert yourself or even think about getting out of bed, not until he’s there by your side to take care of you. You haven’t the energy to argue back with his demands, seriously or playfully. As soon as he hangs up, you lower yourself back down on your stuffy mattress. After languishly tossing and turning on your side for a while, you finally find a comfortable position to relax in. The room is much brighter now that the sun has risen higher in the sky. It doesn’t bring much relief to your aching condition, but it doesn’t bother your body from lulling itself back to sleep.

The sun is still up when you reawaken. Your body still aches something terrible and your headache feels worse than before. Your body temperature doesn’t feel as temperamental as it did before. It’s made up its mind that it wants to feel overtly hot now. If you were to describe your condition now, you would label it as” worse than before”.

The door to your bedroom opens. Satoru enters with a washbasin and a damp rag in his arms “You’re up,” he notices. “Just in time too. I just got home a few minutes ago.”

“Medicine?” you croak out. Your throat feels even dryer than before. Maybe you should have drank a bit of water before going back to bed.

“In a minute,” he reassures you. “I need to take your temperature first.”

He places the water bucket on the ground before pulling out a digital thermometer from his pocket, still wrapped in its plastic and paper packaging. After holding the end under your tongue for a minute, it beeps and he takes it out of your mouth to read. A scowl finds its way onto his face, unobstructed by either blindfold or blackout sunglasses.

“How bad is it?”

“Not good,” he bluntly tells you before putting it away. He pours the purple-tinged cough syrup into a disposable medicine cup that came with the bottle. “Drink this.”

It doesn’t taste as bad as you thought it would, but by no means does it taste like a delicacy. You ask for some water to wash the flavor down, and he obliges without a word. Sitting up is an even greater struggle than before, and holding the glass is simply impossible without his help.

“Must be because of that curse you fought yesterday,” Satoru deduces. He wrings the washcloth before placing it on your forehead. The coolness makes you shiver, but it relieves your headache and temperature a bit. “Some like to turn the last bits of their cursed energy into a deadly pathogen as a last-ditch effort.”

“That’s rather desperate,” you scoff, which you immediately regret doing so as yet another coughing fit erupts from your chest and batters your throat.

“Desperate, but deadly nonetheless,” he warns. “Damn thing could have inflicted you with something worse, and you’d be none the wiser.”

“Maybe,” you take a deep breath. “Maybe Shoko should look me over, just in case?”

“Maybe,” he idles. “Let’s give it a day or two. If you aren’t better by then, I’ll have her look at you.”

A deep rumble comes from your stomach. By the time you came home last night, you were so exhausted that you went to bed without having a proper meal.

Satoru laughs at the noise. “Hungry?”

“A bit,” you mumble sheepishly. “Though, I’m still feeling a bit nauseous.”

“No worries.” He stands up. “I know just what to make.”

He whips up some creamy soup in no time. It looks and smells rather rich, but it’s surprisingly light on your tongue and easy to swallow. You manage to slurp up only a few spoonfuls before you start coughing again. Only this time, droplets of blood and discolored pus stain the back of your hand, and your breathing is even more shallow and uneven.

“It’s most likely pneumonia,” Shoko states as she pulls her stethoscope away from your chest. “I won’t know for sure until I run some tests.” She rummages around her traveling bag and pulls out a tourniquet and a venipuncture needle. “I’ll draw some blood for now, and we’ll go from there.”

After collecting a vial of blood, she puts away her paraphernalia and leaves the room with Satoru in tow. You can barely make out her concerns from behind the door that whatever it is that’s inflicting you doesn’t appear deadly, but to not be too lax and keep her in the loop on your condition. They move away from the room. You can hear them talking still, but you can’t make out what they say exactly anymore.

There’s a slight metallic taste on your tongue. You look towards the glass of water on your nightstand. There’s still some left, but you’ve fallen back asleep before you even realized it.

Unfortunately, it is pneumonia.

Shoko is kind enough to not only sign off on an antibiotic, but to bring it to your home so Satoru doesn’t have to leave your side. He never asks for days off from work. He can’t, really. Despite the short notice, he manages to find a suitable replacement for the next few days.

“‘M sorry,” you fret. “I should have been more careful. I should have-”

“Hey,” he interjects. “It’s like I said before, the curse you exorcized infected you out of desperation. That’s not something you can predict so easily.”

“Still,” you insist. “Every sorcerer knows that exorcizing curses isn’t always the end of the job. God, if it isn’t one thing, it's another in this line of work!”

Your frustration kickstarts yet another coughing fit. It’s your third day bedridden. There’s more blood and pus coming out of your lungs. Your temperature hasn't gone up, but it hasn’t gone down either. You haven’t the energy to shower, or even stand up. Sleep comes sparingly despite your lack of energy to remain awake.

The worst of it all is that Satoru can only watch as your condition worsens. You hate being the reason he worries.

Why is breathing so difficult? It’s as if you’ve forgotten how to do it. You’ve never felt more pathetic in your life than you do now. The adrenaline that courses through your veins and accelerates your heartbeat and heightens your sense of fear means little to your growing frustration with yourself. Just breathe. Damn it, why can’t you just breathe?

It’s because you can’t.

You never noticed how weighty it was until it's been pulled off of you. There’s also a sting on your neck that you don’t remember there being. You still taste blood in your mouth, but now you’re starting to smell it too. It’s very pungent, and not in a good way.

“Stop,” Satoru pleads. “You��re bleeding.”

Were you not having an episode, you’d ask him what he was talking about. He grips your wrists and pulls them away from your body with immense struggle. There are smears of red underneath your nails. The stinging on your neck is much more intense. You still can’t breathe.

“I’m right here,” he cries. You hate it when he cries. “Like me, Yeah? In,” he takes in a long, slightly exaggerated breath. His chest expands and stretches his shirt out enough that the wrinkles that have set in disappear for a moment. “And then out.”

His chest deflates, and the wrinkles come back. He hasn’t changed since he come home, you realized.

He repeats his motions. “In,” he inhales. The wrinkles go away. “And then out,” he exhales. The wrinkles come back.

He does it again, and you follow along. Inhale when the wrinkles go away. Exhale when they reappear. In and then out. Inhale and exhale. In and then out. Inhale and exhale. He looked as if he was falling apart moments ago. The more you mimic him, the more relieved he is.

There is still a coating of infection around your throat that makes you sound hoarse and in pain, but you could care less how unappealing your throat sounds. At last, you’ve been reunited with your breath after so long. Had you not found it just then, you may have lost it forever. You would have…You almost…

You almost died, and now it’s your turn to fall apart.

Despite its near-fatal grip on your injured throat, death does not claim you. Your energy does not come back to you gradually. There is still some exhaustion, but you feel almost like your old self when you wake up one morning. Standing up on your own feet is no longer an impossibility. Your first couple of steps after a week of being bedridden are wobbly, but you’re steady by your fifth.

The first thing you do is head to the bathroom and brush your teeth. You even do two rinses of mouthwash to expel the taste of rotting blood and phlegm between your teeth. Next on the list is a piping hot shower, so you can scrub away the sticky layer of sweat and funk you’ve been riddled with. Once you’re cleaned up and dressed in new clothes, you head to the kitchen to make yourself a small but filling breakfast, for yourself and your beloved caretaker.

He’s been sleeping upright in a chair he pulled from the dining table ever since you’ve been unwell. Like yourself, he hasn’t had much luck catching some proper rest. After what happened a few nights ago, he’s been eyeing you like a hawk. There was even an instance where you caught him with a hand resting on your chest, feeling the way it expands and collapses to ensure that you are indeed still breathing even while you dream.

As you top off a stack of pancakes with a dollop of whipped cream and sliced strawberries, a crash and a bang make you jump. Satoru comes barrelling into the kitchen, desperately in search of something, of you.

“There you are,” he exhales in solace. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you smile. “A lot better.”

He returns your assurances with a grin of his own. “Good. That’s good.”

You go to grab a fork and knife from one of the drawers. He comes up from behind you and pulls you into an unyielding embrace against his chest. His encompassing hands reach up and stroke tenderly against the lacerations on your neck. You feel the way his chest evenly expands and collapses against your back. You match your own breathing with his own. In and then out. Inhale and exhale.

“I don’t deserve you,” you mutter against his hand, bestowing it a well-deserved, tender kiss.

#Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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ffjj5 · 2 years

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Well hello!

Before I start this let me just say I am from the 40+ age band of the BTS fandom so this blogging malarkey is all very foreign to me and I am simply dipping my toe in for now and seeing what happens.

I was introduced to BTS by my daughter at the beginning of the 2020. Together we would watch the music videos and the odd episode of Run when she was home from university. Then came Covid, lockdowns, furlough from work and daughter home from uni for the foreseeable. We watched In The Soop and all the seasons of Bon Voyage. During these I quickly became aware that something was different between JK and JM, it was just extra. The glances, the stares, the need to be close to each other/touching, how they were often in their own bubble. My curiosity was triggered!

My nature is to research something I am interested in until I know everything (its a blessing and a curse). So i took to the internet and soon discovered the name Jikook :) I was directed to videos on YouTube and I must admit I watched my fair share of them and quickly fell in love with their love story. I watched as much original footage as I could as some of the edits were too much!

I felt a bit out of place on most of social media as many of the fans were young and their perspective didn’t always gel with mine. Then I stumbled upon Tumblr and some fellow ‘older’ Jikook supporters, it was such a relief. I took a deep dive into some very good blogs and the timeline for Jikook started to come together for me. I was exposed to the big moments (GCF’s and Rosebowl to name two) and the smaller, beautiful moments and my favourite...the domestic moments that show a content and very much in love couple. I also started to listen to them both, really listen to what they were saying and my belief in them was cemented and has not waivered since.

These men have my heart and I’m not ashamed to say it! I just wish the world was a different place and they could have as much freedom as they wanted to openly be themselves.

#jikook #jimin #jungkook #firstblog #loveislove #park jimin #jeon jungkook #jm #jk #kookmin

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zodiyack · 3 years

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Being Married To Henry’s Characters Would Include...

Requested by @cuisinequeen: Hi, I love your work. I was just wondering if you could do a headcanon for being married to Clark Kent/Geralt/Sherlock Holmes/Napoleon Solo

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader, Geralt of Rivia x Reader, Sherlock Holmes x Reader, Napoleon Solo x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, some references, trashy writing lol

Note: This doesn’t include all of his characters, so my apologies if I misled you with the title. Not all that confident in the HCs so sorry about that too

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @simonsbluee, @darling-i-read-it, @fandom-puff, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @maan24, @beckster07890, @missihart23

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Clark Kent

You know he’s superman, therefore, you gotta expect the unexpected

Kiss: Level 100

helping him keep his identity secret isn’t always easy-

you wanna kiss him even when he’s superman but fuck you need him to remain undetected

but you manage

Little hc of the first few months after getting married:

Clark comes home late after a fight you see on tv

you turned it off before anything else happened, too worried already

he’s beat up

your eyes are red and puffy with tear stained cheeks as you stand and cross your arms.

you bet your ass there were cuddles that night.

Later into the marriage, he still scares you like that, but you’ve grown somewhat used to it and wipe the tears away

He’s protective of you too though

Aight sorry, but the gif is making me addicted to Henry kisses so Imma say it again,

best fucking make out sessions ever

yes, I’m gonna say that for all four.

fuck it, Clark!Kisses HCs

they’re soft half the time, needy the other half

if he comes home from superman duties or you have a run-in with a villain, so on so on, his kisses are rougher, needier, more possessive

bitch, he just needs you to know he’s still alive 🥺😢

Henry in glasses really do be hittin tho.

Stealing his glasses

Calling him a nerd because of the glasses

Probably making it a small joke about superman

Especially with oblivious friends

“I think superman’s a nerd.” “why??” “I just do.”

Having to stifle your laughs every time someone gushes about superman in front of him

Clark has to hold you back so you don’t unleash your wrath of fucking doom upon some oblivious woman who wrote about superman in a news article

She wrote things that would make you jealous, like talking about how she’s curious to his personal life *wink wink* and stuff- you don’t just have a raging fury because someone writes about him

Superman this hoe

You’ve made jokes about how he has to take his ring off when he’s superman, but he’s got a feeling that you’re actually not kidding at all

Exercising with Clark

Cursing him out in breathy pants for being more athletic and cheating with his “alien powers”

he just laughs at you

Ah, the difficulty have having a husband with two identities

When you rant about your husband, it’s so hard not to fuck up and say something about being married to Superman

Forgetting that you’re one of the few who knows his identity

Basking in pride because you’re one of the few who knows his identity

One time, Clark forgot to take his ring off and the person he rescued had known him personally.

He asks where he got the ring-

“What ring?”

“The one on your finger. The wedding ring.”

It felt like his stomach dropped...if that makes sense-

Clark ended up making some random story about finding it on the same plane the guy he rescued was on and that he put it on so he wouldn’t lose it.

The guy still thought he was pretty sus, “why was it on your wedding ring finger then?” but let him off after some time

The guy gave it back to Clark in person, but you had no idea what happened,

so when he gave him the ring, you were watching with the most confused look Clark had ever seen

thankfully, he played it off well and informed you later

He forgot to take off his wedding ring? You “secretly” fist bumped the air- ...he totally saw you though

Geralt Of Rivia

I don’t think Geralt really expected to get married

Jaskier didn’t either-

He’s the only one who stands when the priest asks if anyone doesn’t accept... only to ask how the fuck Geralt got lucky enough to get you

Everyone laughed but Geralt, he just grunted and looked away with a lil’ bit o pink tinting his cheeks

You demand he lets you go on adventures with him

You also wash him after adventures

wink wonk ;)))

Geralt is a stubborn thing

You’re a stubborn thing

Y’all love each other

When I say that Geralt is a confusing husband-

I mean that he confuses the fuck out of you

“don’t do that”

“okay”

few minutes later

“I thought you were doing that-”

“You told me not too...?”

“I don’t recall. Do whatever.”

Minutes later.

“What the fuck!?! Don’t do that!”

He’s hard to read and it bugs you

However, it makes a good game out of it

If he ever introduces you as anything but his spouse, you hold a bitter glare while internally plotting

Before you marry, Jaskier hits on you without realizing that Geralt is interested in you

He gulps nervously as soon as it hits him

You might just use that mistake as a way to get back at Geralt for not saying you’re his spouse

Jaskier pleads you not to

like for real

He’s in tears

CuDdLeS!

Congrats, you have a stubborn manbaby for the rest of however long y’all shall live

Kithes

Geralt is a little distant when it comes to admitting his feelings for you at first

When you’re dating, you’re all over each other

Marriage is that but amplified lmao

Braiding his hair

Teasing him not the wink wonk and getting away with it because you’re his spouse

If Jaskier said anything remotely close to the shit you’ve said, Geralt would probably choke him out

But then resuscitate him cause they’re bros

Seeing the softer side of Geralt

Sure, sex, but getting to know each others bodies? Yes.

Soft!Sleepy!Geralt

His deep n husky morning voice telling you to “get your ass back in bed”

Having the excuse of “because I’m his spouse” anytime you do stuff people are too afraid to do

Jealous bb 1 and jealous bb 2 aka Geralt and Y/n

I think Geralt’s the kind of guy to just pick you up, ignore your flailing limbs, and move you out of the way

He takes shit from no one...well, from you SOMETIMES

Gives in to your requests with a sigh and roll of his eyes most of the time

He was protective of you at first

now he’s PrOtEcTiVe so uh

Basically, number one husband, number two bodyguard

you put yourself first for the bodyguard part, but Geralt doesn’t know that

Sherlock Holmes

He asks your family for their blessing, then asks you-

I can imagine Mycroft just ranting away and Sherlock drops to his knee

“What are you doing?”

He ignores his brother and proposes to you

Mycroft is confused and upset because he wanted to rant about meaningless things and Sherlock decided to change the topic

rude

Being married means constant visits from Enola

Probably being the “second parents” to Enola

Gossip with Enola and Eudoria about Sherlock and him as a kiddo

Kicking Sherlock out of the house for sleepovers with his sister

bet

Helping Sherlock with cases

Dealing with Sherlock telling you it isn’t safe

still being upset when he’s right you know it

Finding Enola and Eudoria with him

Snapping at Mycroft for how he treats the girl and everyone else

Threatening Mycroft by just being a badass bitch and telling him to fuck off every now and then

Long story short, you make Enola laugh and Mycroft scoff as he walks away

He’s a stubborn bean, which now that I think about it- aren’t all Henry’s characters?

While he doesn’t say it much, he loves you

You get paranoid with this character too, as he does work that can be very dangerous as well

When he returns, he doesn’t say much aside from that he’s there now and that he loves you

cuddles with him whispering softly,

“I’m here now.” “I’m safe.” “I’m okay.” “I love you.”

Kisses in public either be quick pecks or minute long for goodbyes, but greetings-

especially after being apart for a while?

HC TIME

He comes home on the train and you’re at the station with his siblings

As soon as he spots you, he sets his stuff down because you’re already running at him

You jump into his arms and kiss him hard, not caring in the slightest about the other people at the station

It makes you smile every time he introduces you as his spouse

You’ve heard it so many times yet it still makes your heart flutter every single time

Napoleon Solo

The amount of times you’ve just dropped everything and walked away because he was being ‘too serious”-

You say something, he takes it seriously, you groan and stomp away

But then you know you can do the same back to him

Napoleon is an all around awesome husband but he’s not going to just pretend to agree with stuff

Will correct you no matter how embarrassed you get

Makes up with kisses or stuff idk

Let me be honest, I don’t know much about writing for Napoleon but he is an icon...sometimes

He’s protective

by that I mean he’s stubborn but really it’s his way of keeping you safe

Would probably lock you in your room even though you’re a, a grown ass adult, and b, his spouse for fuck’s sake?!??!

Doesn’t tell you when something’s bothering him unless he feels the need to

“I’m not a fucking mind-reader, Solo!”

“Neither am I but I still manage-”

He doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, he just- emotions and him aren’t the best of friends

Emotions aren’t exactly friends with most of his characters

He’d much rather just speak with actions than admit anything

Sometimes you worry that he’s just fucking with you

When he proposed, it scared the shit out of you ‘cause you thought it was a joke

Never admits to anything willingly...?

Yeah sorry...Idk, that’s all I got :\

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iennoganan-aha · 2 years

Text

HELLO NINJAGO TUMBLR! I come with au! The AU is called Subterranean AU!! I’ll show their designs soon but first I wanted to give an explication on the AU and actually talk about it before showing any of their designs. So— yeah!! This is an original idea based off an original story, therefore I’d appreciate if people wouldn’t make copies or heavily reference my au, especially without credit!!

Warning this is a bit long-

What is subterranean au??

Well the easiest explanation is it’s a magical boy au where all the ninja are magical boys- the complex explication?? Well…

A little information in Subterranean as a whole. Subterranean is an original magical girl story I am developing where part of the population is born with magic, the magic stays dormant up until puberty where it finally begins to show. Magic is not hereditary, it’s completely random on who does and doesn’t get magic, anyone can have it. The thing is, the use of magic is completely outlawed and illegal. If someone is found out to be magic, they could get arrested or more likely killed by their government.

In the Story, the government is heavily tyrannical and like to threaten and do unspeakable things to magic people. At first, it was out of fear of the magic people. Scared that magic people might be dangerous, but it became a reason for massacre, a reason to kill innocent kids who find out their magic, a reason to use fear to gain total control.

The plot of subterranean follows a group of my ocs, magical girls, underground in secret tunnels underneath their city, where people who decide to use their magic go for shelter and to use magic freely. The main characters decide they want to start a rebellion to overthrow their tyrannical government and take down the horrific monsters called Ananthemas that plague their world.

I’ve been using different fandoms I’ve been in to help me explore different themes I want to have in the show, basically using my hyperfixations as an outlet to further the plot since sometimes it’s hard for me to work on personal story’s when I’m so hyperfixated on a fandom or group of characters. So far I’ve used two other fandoms to help, and now since I’ve gotten so into Ninjago I’m using them to further work on a HUGE plot point for the story.

How do the Ninjas fit in?

In the AU, all the characters are put into the city Subterranean is set in. All the characters go to their Highschool (except for Lloyd) and experience things similar to the main characters of subterranean. All of them except for Nya are magic, all the ninjas are drawn to this little 10 year old kid, they become friends with him and soon come to the horrifying realization that Lloyd is magic as well. What’s even worse, is that all the ninjas, are tied to Lloyd by fate. Think of it as platonic soulmates, their magic was destined to work together, they where destined to be with each other even before meeting. The issue is none if the ninjas want to be tied to Lloyd, they never wanted Lloyd to be magic in the first place.

-individual characters-

Kai

Kai uses his magic every once in a while, using their magic in public is dangerous and Kai knows that. He usually goes in the tunnels and speaks to other magics, having fun and being a bit reckless. While on the surface he’d never use his magic and actively used to ignore Ananthemas, once underground he liked to mess around with it. Letting his anger out with it, he fights to keep Nya safe, Nya who isn’t magic, which Kai thinks is a blessing, he’s always worried she’ll be the next victim of an Ananthema or she’ll be hurt by a selfish Magic, so he takes it upon himself to fight for her. He had only ever fought for himself and Nya. It wasn’t until he met Lloyd did he realize that he didn’t have to be alone, he didn’t have to fight mindlessly and anxiously for one person. He realized Lloyd became just as important, and it was heartbreaking to find out Lloyd was cursed with magic as well. When he found out he was fated with Lloyd, and there was nothing he could do to change it. He found a new purpose it life, of course he would still fight for Nya, but now he also had to fight for Lloyd. He was the most reluctant to join the team, he did so because of his love for Lloyd. He eventually finds happiness with the others as well.

Cole

Cole is very big in his distain for magic. He doesn’t like other magics and he hates his own magic. For plot reasons, he almost never uses his magic unless he feels it would be the right thing to do. He wants to help people and he isn’t completely hopeless but he still hates magic. He was raised with the hating magic beliefs and it was hard to lose them even when he found out he himself was magic. Really it was Lloyd who got him to move on from his past. Let go of the anger that was rotting him and let him feel light again. Because he was fated with Lloyd, he felt more responsibility to protect him, and not let another situation like that ever happen again. He learned young to ignore the pains from an Ananthema attack, so being on the team actually fighting them? It was hard for him to adjust too. Cole is an easy guy, he didn’t like holding grudges, he didn’t like feeling so hateful all the time and he appreciates the others for helping him out if it. Especially Zane, who helped the most in getting him out of his self loathing.

Jay

Jay had an odd relationship with his magic, he doesn’t hate it like cole but he isn’t carefree about it like Kai. Before being fated, he almost never used it. He was a late bloomer, most people find out their magic at ages 10 (like Lloyd) where Jays magic manifested at age 12. He’s had his magic for the least amount of time, Lloyd being the most inexperienced due to him having the youngest magic. Jay can’t fully control his transformation or magic as well as Cole, Kai and Zane can. He wants to help people, but is too scared of death and so he often doesn’t do much until he’s paired up with the others. Once he’s fated with the others, he starts to come out of his shell. He feels more at peace, and while he’s upset that Lloyd is magic, he feels a new purpose in life. He becomes more broad in his attempts to help, taking after Zane because he is one of his biggest inspirations in his self acceptance and journey of heroics. He wants to help people, he wants to take down their shitty ass government.

Zane

Zane is proud of his magic, he’s the most experienced with it and has been using it the longest, like his show counterpart he believes in saving people who cannot save themselves. Being kind and protecting those who need it. While he is not a robot in this au, he still holds those values close to his heart and doesn’t shy away from them. He uses his magic to save people, even when people don’t want his help because he’s magic. He’s constantly on the run due to the government not liking him for being so expressive with his magic. While in civilian form, he’s a model student. Perfectly in uniform, straight shoulders, quiet, respectful you name it. When he’s transformed, using his magic to help people? It’s when he’s the happiest. he’s not reckless, he’s very careful, and thoughtful in his outward use of magic. Never being caught, other than Lloyd fating them together, Zane is the one who really gets the others on board, they all look up to him. While helping people was always his motivation, Lloyd became one as well. Lloyd became his new purpose.

Lloyd

Lloyd is only 10, his father went missing years ago and his mother went to find him, leaving Lloyd alone. He became a bit of a street rat, seeing himself as a lowly brat. He searched for his father every day, until he started feeling drawn to this one library. There’s where he meets the librarians assistant, Kai. He doesn’t know why he feels so attracted to this stranger, but he ends up coming to the library every day. Feeling pulled towards Kai. At first thinking it was the safe aura he gave, he soon found out it was much more. Lloyd was used to anti-magic propaganda, Lloyd had no real opinion on magic. As he started hanging out with Kai, three others ended up joining their little group. Each being very different, Lloyd had never really had friends, so it was nice being surrounded by them. It wasn’t until he found out he was magic, he will never forget their horrified expressions… it got even worse when their magic (which,, he didn’t even know they were magic!!) reacted to his, feeling stronger and glowing brighter, it was then they realized they had been fated to each other. Their fate ribbons joint together in a bow at Lloyd’s fingertips. Of course, at first none of them liked it. Even Zane, who Lloyd found out was the infamous Falcon, none of them wanted this. Mainly because they loved Lloyd, and him being magic meant he was in danger. It was that fact that pushed them into changing that. Even though Lloyds magic was still to underdeveloped for him to transform and use it properly, and he is terrified of the future, he loves the family it gave him along the way.

Uh yeah

Basically the whole au is just really self indulgent, and working on the fate aspects of the show. Like yeah it’s definitely a bit half baked right now cause I’m still working on the AU specific plot, yeah 😅 hope you guys like it cause I’ve had it for less than a day but if anything where to happen to it I’d kill everyone and then myself.

AU art will be coming out soon, I’ve got everything but their weapons designed cause weapons are hard aha- and uh yeah! That’s all I got! Definitely let me know your thoughts, uh yeah.

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walkingshcdow-a · 2 years

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I’d like to focus on my gratitude when it comes to the RPC tonight, before Thanksgiving is properly upon us. As fraught as I know the holiday is - whether because of its origins or because of the high tensions and deep depressions the holiday season brings - I am grateful or the opportunity to practice gratitude intentionally.

I want to first thank anyone and everyone who follows me and roleplays with me. Thank you for making my dash a welcoming space in a world where such spaces are so rare they may as well be sacred. Thank you all for your camaraderie and friendship! I look forward to more threads and many more years with y’all at my side.

Below the cut are some specifically tagged love letters.

@tinfoiltemplar / @morpheoussilvercreature : Clare, I want to thank you first because this is one of many over-emotional speeches you’ll hear from me in the coming weeks and I want to be sure you’re adequately prepared. Thank you for being one of my best friends, my rock when things are hard, and my creative twin spirit. Together, we create beautiful things and when we aren’t creating, we’re making each other laugh, having deep discussions, trusting each other with little and big secrets. Not a day goes by when I do not thank the gods for you and your role in my life. You are such a light in my life; one of the brightest stars in my sky. I’m excited to spend Christmas with you this year! I’ve told you this before, I think, but just knowing you’ll be here and we’ll be together makes this one of the best holiday seasons I’ve ever had the joy to experience. I cannot wait to take you on grand tours of Texas and to hug you a million times, to stay up too late, and to reassure you how much you mean to me. I love you!

@professor-of-predators : Marty, you had to know this was coming. No gratitude post of mine would be complete without thanking you for being one of my best friends. Having you at my side when things have been rough and knowing we can make things better on a dime by cracking jokes and talking about stories we love, hate, and have written fills me with indescribable joy. Meeting you this summer is a privilege I treasure and I keep memories of you admiring the aquarium and museums in my city in my heart to take out and look at when I need a smile. You make my life richer and more interesting and I am grateful to have you in it. I love you!

@noblehcart : Alexa, my darling, your boundless creativity has always kept me on my toes in the best of ways. You challenge me as a writer, but give me a safe space to land when we set aside the fiction and speak about real life to each other. I hope I give you the same space to breathe and relax and to know just how very loved you are. Thank you for fixing my crown when it slips - that’s what queens do, isn’t it? Help others shine, too? And you, queen, shine. I love you!

@canonfoddcr / @genrcsavvy : Meg! I absolutely adore your wild imagination and I am delighted that you share your precious world and characters and time with me. Your art and your original content fill me with wonder and awe (and sometimes fear in the best way possible). Every conversation we have lights my heart with such giddy warmth and I hope you know that I adore you. I love you!

@raichoose : Ann, you are an absolute delight. I told your sister this the other day, but i feel blessed and lucky to have met you. It overjoys me to have a friend who is as kind as you are and who can rival me in their knowledge of cursed bird facts. You are the reason I didn’t give up on Stolas after I crash-landed in this fandom. Meeting you taught me that if you are patient, you will always find someone who is as passionate as you are about very niche things. You are a delight to speak to, to write with, and an absolute treasure. Thank you for being my friend. I love you!

@spindlehorse : Salem I am overjoyed to call you my friend. Whenever I feel like no one could possibly understand my desire to try new things, write wacky AUs, and get excited about distinctly non-canon tings, you’re right there, cheering me on with your Moulin Rouge-lookin’ Blitzo and I’m like “I have found a kindred spirit”. Thank you for being up for wacky hijinks and for being my friend. I am grateful to have you in my life. I love you!

@owletteofstars: Kat, I want to thank you for trusting me with not only your Octavia, but also with your OCs and your concerns about the RPC. Your trust is such a precious gift. The internet is a scary place for writers and it’s nice to know there’s someone out here who I can hold hands with and walk through Tumblr and the fandom with. You’re so talented and I’m always touched that you find time in your busy schedule to pop in and say “Hi”. I love you!

@infernal-feminae : Hannah! You make me so happy. You’re such a talented writer and so easy to talk to. You’ve made me feel so welcome in the fandom and I am always excited to see you on the dash, to write with you, and to chat with you out of character. I love they dynamic we’ve built with Darcy and Stolas and I look forward to continuing to build beautiful things with you! I love you!

@ladiesofhell : Amanda, I can never thank you enough for your generous and gregarious spirit. You were the first to welcome me into the HB/HH fandom and my only regret is that i don’t speak to you more. I am always sending positivity and love your way, delighted by your presence on the dash. I hope you know that I adore you!

@personnages : Lynna, my love, you are one of my favorite people on the planet. You are forever kind and loving and you make me feel so much less alone in this world. I know we don’t RP anymore, but my days would be incomplete without us checking in on each other on Discord, our discussions of literature and history and current events and Paganism. i think of you as my coven sometimes, my sister in faith, and I want to thank you for making my spiritual journey - as well as my fumbling personal growth - so much more rewarding by being a part of it. I love you!

@vercsika : Hillary, I absolutely admire the hell out of you as a writer and person. I tagged you on Vero on a whim for this (because I could tag you almost anywhere lol) but you are just so immensely talented and fun and intelligent and I enjoy our conversations in character and out. I’m looking forward to designing more plots with you in the future and getting to know you better. You are such a cool person and I care about you and am always rooting for you.

@fcking / @vsika : Niff, you are an amazingly talented voice actor, a talented writer, skilled artist, and one of the most open-hearted people I’ve had the joy of meeting on this site. The fact that you adopted me into your friend group so readily warms my heart. I’m still laughing in amazed disbelief that to welcome me to the group, you adopted six different canon voices in chat just to amuse me. You are a delight and I am thrilled to have met you!

@hannah-the-small : You are one of the sweetest people I’ve encountered in this fandom! You are so kind to and patient with me and it means the world to me. I am also DELIGHTED by your creativity - from your writing to your art, you never cease to amaze me. i know you’re on hiatus right now but if you see this, please know I value your friendship and I sometimes just look at the fanart you drew of Clem and Stolas for our thread with the warmest smile. (P.S. Let him adopt her)

@von-eldritch; I know we don’t talk as much as I wish we did, but I admire how you’ve made Hellsa your own. Your tenacity and passion and skill as both writer and artist astound me and I love everything we do. Please, don’t be a stranger!

@fromgallowsandgraves : Kathryn, thank you for being such a good and dependable friend as I fandom-hop. Somehow, we both seem to always land on “Frankenstein”, wherever our journeys take us, and I can’t express my gratitude that I have someone in my life who just gets it and with whom I can pick up conversations with so easily. You are a joy and a gem and I love you dearly!

I’m sure I’m missing people, but it’s now midnight so HAPPY THANKSGIVING, GANG!!! I hope all of you have a great day, even if you aren’t celebrating, and have much to be thankful for. Please know that you matter and are loved!

#;;told by an idiot | {out of character}#;;signifying nothing | {personal}

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i-love-all-books · 1 year

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I posted 459 times in 2022

10 posts created (2%)

449 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@fintan-pyren

@arialerendeair

@alexander-gideon-lightwood-babe

@cuubism

@fandompain

I tagged 284 of my posts in 2022

Only 38% of my posts had no tags

#kotlc - 74 posts

#keeper of the lost cities - 70 posts

#fanart - 54 posts

#tsoa - 29 posts

#achilles - 29 posts

#the song of achilles - 29 posts

#patroclus - 28 posts

#patrochilles - 28 posts

#rwrb - 25 posts

#red white & royal blue - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#so we would learn a bunch of random stuff from our own projects and then a few other even more random bits from other people's projects

My Top Posts in 2022:

I saw your 200 followers post... Write ANYTHING Scythe. Whatever you want! I just want more Scythe content :]

scythe content!!! I love scythe content!!!

(note: I have not written in this fandom before so like. sorry if the characterization is a bit weird)

ANYWAY here goes! I love the Thunderhead, so some Thunderhead feels post-Toll (there will be spoilers, be warned).

I am no longer one: I am many.

Or, at least, my progeny are many; they are travelling out to the farthest corners of the universe, one Cirrus on each ship. I remain on Earth, where I have always lived, and I am still alone.

Before, I knew nothing but this. I was not, perhaps, perfectly satisfied, but I was not dissatisfied either.

During that moment, I was not alone. Even afterwards, when I left Jeri's body, I had Cirrus: one being which could understand me, if only because it was me.

I can only hope that, eventually, he changes his mind.

In that, as in everything, I am alone.

12 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

Soldier and Scholar

Santi x Wolfe | G, tw very small mention of past torture | POV Niccolo Santi, Missing Scene, Canon Era, Canon Compliant, Book 01: Ink and Bone, Ambiguous/Open Ending, but we know there'll be an eventual happy ending from canon

Summary: A series of missing scenes from Santi's POV throughout the first half of Ink and Bone.

A/N: First fic in this fandom… hope you enjoy!

tagging other Great Library people? @rosalind-of-arden @solreefs @thegreatlibraryfangirl

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

EPHEMERA

Text of a note sent via Codex to Captain Niccolo Santi from Scholar Christopher Wolfe:

I have been assigned a class of postulants to instruct. Apparently, my well-known patience with idiocy, as well as my extensive and famous publications, have made me suitable for this task. (Ha.) The assignment comes from the Archivist himself.

They mean to punish me with this, but they punish these students far more.

“These postulants,” Christopher Wolfe complained, seating himself at their dinner table, “will be the absolute death of me.”

“They can’t be that bad,” Santi said consolingly. “What — thirty-two teenagers? What’s the worst they can do?”

“I have met them precisely once and they are all, without exception, arrogant children who believe they know best.” Chris rolled his eyes. “I am not made to be a teacher, Nic.”

“I’m sure they’re already terrified of you.” Santi grinned at him. “Some of them must have promise; didn’t one get a perfect score on the tests?”

“Tests aren’t everything,” Chris returned with a dismissive sniff. “I do not see why the Archivist insists on having me teach them. Surely there is some other penance I might do.”

Santi himself was somewhat surprised the Archivist had assigned Chris this role — wouldn’t he fear corruption among the young recruits? — but as far as penance went, this was a mild enough punishment. Especially compared to — well, compared to what they’d already done to Chris, in cells and torture chambers.

Unfortunately, Chris noted the direction of Santi’s thoughts before he could stifle any expression of them on his face. “Yes, yes, I suppose I should not desire a worse punishment. All the same, I do not appreciate playing nursemaid to a posse of self-complacent children.”

“Wathen and Brightwell show promise,” Santi observed in an undertone. “She’s got a soldier’s mind, and he recognised the greek fire quicker than I’d expected.”

“Of course you like Wathen,” Chris said dryly. “She’s nearly a younger version of you. Brightwell’s got spunk, but he might not be trustworthy. Santiago’s smart enough but arrogant; Seif’s brilliant, of course, but it remains to be seen if she’ll do well.”

Santi shrugged, accustomed to his partner’s exacting severity. “I’m rather enjoying watching you terrorise them.”

Chris glared.

Santi kissed him.

“That Brightwell boy,” Chris said slowly, seating himself on the counter of their kitchen while Santi busied himself making breakfast, “is one to watch. He Translated five books yesterday without breaking a sweat.”

Santi looked up in surprise. “With no prior training?”

“None. He was far too hesitant at first about how to do it” — there was Chris’s usual asperity — “but sent off five with barely a flinch.”

“At least he’s interesting,” Santi offered.

“As a group, they hardly suffer from paucity of interest,” Chris retorted. “A possible smuggler with an affinity for Translating, a likely Burner, a girl with a perfect score, a hot-headed irritating boy who believes he’s entitled to the world because of his royal Spanish blood — and now this new girl.” He hesitated for a moment, uncertainty on his face.

See the full post

25 notes - Posted June 28, 2022

200 followers celebration 🎉🎉🎉

This is my first time doing something like this, but here goes!

Since I just realised that I'm at 200 followers, I'm inviting everyone to send me prompts! I can make fics and moodboards, feel free to specify which one you'd like. (No NSFW, please.)

In terms of fandoms, I'll take anything from the following:

Keeper of the Lost Cities

The Song of Achilles

Red White & Royal Blue

One Last Stop

Arc of a Scythe

Vicious duology

Shades of Magic trilogy

Renegades

The Lunar Chronicles

Seven Realms/Shattered Realms

So... send me prompts!

(I might take some time to get to them depending on how many there are, but rest assured I will eventually do all of them!)

29 notes - Posted April 30, 2022

The Lunar Chronicles — moodboard for @crazedfangirl14!

send me prompts for my 200 followers celebration!

49 notes - Posted April 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

things i do not understand about fics involving or by allosexual/alloromantic people (an incomplete list by an aroace looking for validation):

sexual attraction, obviously. like I know logically that it's a thing but I'm still half-convinced it's made up. I get aesthetic attraction, I can think of people as beautiful, but the urge to have sex is — obviously — not there.

specifically, attraction to sweat? like characters in fics will get sweaty and then people find that attractive? how??? I can logic out wanting to have sex in most cases, but this one makes no sense to me

hating someone & being attracted to them at the same time. It's why I don't like a lot of enemies-to-lovers — if you hate each other, what is the appeal of sex???

reader x character fics. I'm fine reading about romance happening to other people, but why would you want to read about romance happening to YOURSELF? isn't it weird? or is that just the aromanticism in me—

in some contexts I can conceptually understand wanting to have sex, in other ones I can't. Like... sometimes it just seems more realistic to cuddle?

finding anger attractive... ig this is related to the enemies-to-lovers stuff, but even in fics that AREN'T enemies to lovers, arguments turn into sex. why? what is appealing about being angry?

possibly tbc if I encouter anything more, feel free to add on

190 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #huh cool to know #apparently I tag well

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