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#everyday i am disappointed that if you do ally with him

chaniiverse · 24 days

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any good chanhee fics that you recommend? there isnt a lot of new biased peopel

Oh my. I love this ask so much! As a channie girlie there really is so less fics of my man 😭. It physically hurts but I re-read so manyyyy of the ones which are out there.

Simple gifts: by @sungbeam

This is like the first ever fluff (?) I read of Chanhee which stuck to me. I literally went to Beam’s DMs crying to her about this fic because I just love this so much 😭. I did not stop thinking about this fic for WEEKS especially the line “I am lonely but not when you’re here” it’s just so Chanhee coded!

That’s him, that’s just who he is: by @from-izzy

The first ever fic Izz wrote and that also for ME! Yes people, it’s for me 🥺🫶🏻. When I was reading this I literally started balling my eyes out because of how sad it was. I even sent a pic of me crying too Izz 😭💀. It’s not everyday you’d find a fic about the struggles my man went through and Izz literally depicted it all so well :)

The warmest winter: by @from-izzy

The roller coasters of ride izz went through when riding this fic was so 😭🥲. She really gave it her all when writing this sweet thing and she did not disappoint us Chanhee lovers because she ate AND served 💪. Tbh this fic is just so pure 🥺 the way chani gets jealous of Juyo (I love jealous men and I kid you not I am a possessive chani believer) made me want to bang my head against the wall SHSHSHSHSHS

Redemption of love: by @winterchimez

You guys don’t know how much I love this series 😔. I have never watched any musicals (NOT MY FAULT NOTHING LIKE THAT IS IN MUMBAI OKAY??) but I genuinely saw this one clip (it was in the first chapter of this fic) of the chandelier falling and oh my the way I was like “I NEED TO WATCH THIS MUSICAL!?” But not only do I love this fic because it’s Chanhee but also because ik how much this means to Als 🥺🫶🏻.

Even if the world caves,: by @kimsohn

Yall shru wrote this fic for me and me only and I will die while holding this fic close to my heart because it means a lot to me and I love this very much just the way I love my shru. The way I went through so many different emotions while reading this fic 😭. Like omg I get enemies2lovers AND a cameo of Vernon?? It’s a good day to die yeah? You guys have to read this fic written by shru ASAP!

# ur such an emo!: by @cloverdaisies

I will never shut up about the fic written by clo because they’re just so magical and makes me want Chanhee more than ever. Tbh this was such a surprise for me when clo said she wrote a fic for me 🥺. I already knew that she was busy with her work and all and then she just goes “Sana I wrote a Chanhee fic for your birthday.” Out of nowhere and me just sitting there balling my eyes out because 🥺🫶🏻. And then again we love enemies2lovers in this household especially when it comes to Chanhee so yes. We love this fic dearly.

Black hearts: by @cloverdaisies

The way clo depicted all the prompts given by me and @winterchimez in this fic has me on chokehold ngl 😭. I went to sleep after talking with ally and clo and then when I woke up BOOM BAM POW Clo had posted it already. I lowkey screamed when I saw this and the way it literally has all of our biases in this fic 🥺😭. Side note: I miss our lil trio yall 😭🥺. Late night chats again when 😭.

Valentines win: by @strayed-quokka

Omg my lenlen 🥺🫶🏻. She dedicated this one for me. Ha! *flips hair* be jealous 😍🫵. I was smiling like crazy when reading this fic of hers tho, the way Chanhee was like “no I am going to win this for you. I am not gonna back out” made my heart melt 🥺. Because we all know Chanhee is not a sporty type of person so him trying to win this just made me want to bash my head against the wall 😭🤧. And the fact that it was a POKÉMON SOFT TOY MADE IT MORE BETTER SISJDJDJ.

Chanhee with a girly gf: by @astrae4

If I don’t mention this one it’d be a serious crime and I do not want to go in jail 😭😢. This is the first ever work i read of Gill (that’s a lie. The first one was the channie smau) and this literally made me giggle so much 😭🥺. It has been a while since I read this again but we love this fic a lot 💪

Lipstick stains: by @slytherinshua

This very fic of Chanhee made me fall in love with him even more. Like you don’t get this fic the way I do. It literally took me out of my writers slump 😭🤧. It literally made me want to read other fics again because it reminded me that there are still good writers out there who write for my man 😭🥺. And u get husband channie. What else do you want? Be fr 😭

Something blue: by @deobienthusiast

I was beta reading this fic for K and I divorced Sangyeon and married Chanhee instead. End of the story. I was literally balling my eyes out because no way in hell would I treat my best friend (why be a best friend when you can be my best boyfriend tho?) Chanhee the way the reader did 🙄. Like?? But I love how Chanhee still showed up to her wedding (wanna make it our wedding instead?) despite everything the reader said to him 😭.

I think if you guys want a part two of this plz let me know 🥺🫶🏻. I would have added some smuts but idk if you’re a minor or an adult so 😭. In the part two (if you guys ever want it) imma add the ones I read on Wattpad too! (There’s only two but whatever)

Here’s some Chanhee for a good day ahead!

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okieize · 10 months

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( felix lee, demi man, he + they ) — look what the werecat’s dragged in! if you take a look at our records, you’ll find that RION KWON is a/n TWENTY THREE year old PÂTISSIER that’s been in cromerth woods for TWO YEARS. according to this file, they’re a DHAMPIR hailing all the way from MACKAY. that must be why they’re ALLURING and INTOLERANT. if you ask me, they remind me of stars that couldn’t quite fit into his eyes, so they splattered across his cheeks + dancing queen by ABBA playing in the distance while someone bleeds out on the bathroom floor from 17 stab wounds + the sexual tension between a healthy portrayal of emotions vs saying, “ i think i am going to die ”. they are allied with THE DIAMONDS.

YOU’RE THEIR FIRST LOVE, DON’T BREAK THEIR HEART. all they ask is for love & care. THEY DON’T GET TO CHOOSE from where it comes. close your eyes. go ahead, do it. imagine ━━ imagine, disappointment lurking at every corner, always standing PROUD and at the READY. you’re their first love. DON’T BREAK THEIR HEART. their parents don’t follow this rule. he’s a shiny new toy ….. something to dress up & flaunt. they don’t get to choose from WHO it comes from. why’s it his responsibility to be so exceptional?

OUTLINE. past.

born 19/12/00 in mackay australia.

would visit his dad’s hometown of sujeong-dong, busan, during holidays & such. for this reason, he grew up speaking both korean AND english.

has a twin sister ( ryhan ) who is precisely thirteen minutes older than him.

always was a bit of an oddball. liked jabbing his fingers into the eyes of any & all plushies he could get his hands on.

which steadily turned into making makeshift executions for all of his sister's toys. ( his favorite being the decapitation of her dolls )

both his parents are human BUT they both also have ( had ) mutants in their family ancestry.

rion took an early interest in sparring and weapons which led to his parents enrolling him in taekwondo.

started out in introductory gymnastics at three & then moved into taking taekwondo once he turned six.

once earning their 9th belt, rion was able to fine-tune his dual specialties.

it was originally thought that ize was a quick learner ( which he actually IS ) but, it’d later be revealed it was an added perk of his mutation ability.

OUTLINE. psychological mastery & doppelgänger physiology.

isn’t sure when his mutations truly manifested themselves.

it’d be chalked up to him being either incredibly good at reading others or him being a swift learner.

rion himself became self-aware of the mutation at around eleven.

due specifically to their psychological mastery, rion tends to be overly paranoid & suspicious of others. leading him to develop some pretty gnarly social anxiety in his teens ( that they're still trying to overcome fully) and to become overly picky about the intake of his foods.

in short: he picked up cooking as a means to appease this paranoia.

also uses it on an everyday basis because it’s constantly active.

the doppelgänger physiology is believed to have actually been caused by his sister, who has the same power. instead of being a true clone/copy of ryhan though, he came out more so flawed ( if you would ). he is taking on more of the mythological route & truly being the evil twin.

having developed psychological mastery, they use it on an everyday basis. it comes in handy when having to put the schmooze on those unlucky enough to warrant a visit from him.

OUTLINE. vessel.

around 16 or 17, he figures “fuck it” & ventures out on his own. if he isn’t acceptable enough to his family, then they can kick rocks.

his relocation takes him to sydney to stay with a close ( i.e. ONLY ) friend, that he’d met through various competitions.

myles ( the friend ) is the son of the founder / president of vessel & is the one to recruit rion into the organization.

not truly understanding the severity of agreeing, they do it anyways.

just as with taekwondo, rion quickly moves his way up through the ranks & becomes the most sought-after employee, for clients & members alike.

by november of ‘22, rion ( at the request/demand of the founder ) tags along to chicago, to the newest location of vessel.

when not on a call, their time is spent working as a patissier @ self care. not that the money is really needed, considering where he stands with the big boss. BUT. it keeps them occupied.

#intro ♡#quick fact: they go by rion on the usual BUT.#uses his alias ( IZE ) when dealing with anyone/thing affiliated with the diamonds !#or if they're just being a troll & doesn't want to release the government name ♡#i will re-edit the background check EVENTUALLY

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sleuthy-scientist · 1 year

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Dead Men Don't Talk

*Just a quick, random one shot I wrote about a letter Douglas Bailey leaves for Emily.

Hope it's not too out of character I have only watched the first 2 episodes of this season.

Enjoy🙃*

Emily,

I am such an idiot and I know you will never forgive me when you find out the truth. That someone like you would ever be able to trust me again. I hate knowing I will disappoint you and cause you pain.

You were right, you have been right every step of the way. The things your theorized, the decisions you profiled. You Emily Prentiss are amazing.

I wish I had been brave enough to go against my orders from above. That I had listened to your insight instead of believe my own inexperienced opinions.

Obviously if you are reading this I am dead. I can guarantee you its through no fault of your own. I've seen firsthand how much you care and empathize, the dedication and effort you put forth.

You gave me the benefit of the doubt, you kept giving me chances to listen to you and make the right choices, follow the proper strategies to end this.

I thought I knew better, that I could handle it, that I had everything under control. I thought I saw the big picture and all the little details needed to make the FBI more efficient. But I was wrong, I got trying to translate my knowledge and skills where they didn't belong. I focused on the stupid details, listened to the wrong people, instead of who and what really mattered.

I know how this story ends for me, and I don't want you to feel guilty or place blame on yourself. I know without a doubt in my mind you did everything you possibly could to save me. That when people are in danger, you try and save everyone, even those not worth saving.

You will beat Sicarius, bring down his network and allies. I know because that's who are. You are a good person Emily, you will outwit him. You truly encompass and surpass the qualities the FBI stands for. I have never met anyone like you. Anyone so selfless, loyal, brave, strong, smart, gorgeous, and funny.

I get it now, why the rest of the BAU admires you so much. The are lucky to have you, you are a credit to your profession. You deserve to be the director of the FBI, to be running the show. Because you know how who people are and what they need. You don't put your ego and opinions above what is right or just.

You never wanted the accolades, attention, or applause and appreciation. You just wanted to make the world a better and safer place. I hate that you didn't get the credit you deserved and were used as a scape goat for the things you had no hand in. You should never have been used like that, by anyone. I know you don't want or need it, but I hope you get the credit and recognition you've more than earned.

Knowing you was everything. I can't believe what a dick I was to you. The political bullshit I used to believe was right and necessary. The way I tried to strong arm you without giving you the resources you needed and deserved to do your job.

I learned my lesson the hard way, I hope the Attorney General and other higher ups don't have to. I hope they finally listen to what you have to say and can take their own biases, egos, and selfishness out of the equation. You and your team are the ones with the knowledge and experience needed most now.

I didn't understand before what you and your people do. What your jobs entail, how you all manage to handle the ugly violence you deal with everyday. To be strong and brave enough to look evil in the eye and stop it. To try and get something resembling justice for those left behind.

I'm sorry Emily for this, for that, for everything I can't explain to you. I'm glad atleast if I'm dead I won't be there to see you lose you faith in me. You believed in me, and saw me in a way no body ever has before. You thought I was a better man than I gave myself credit for.

I hope my death isn't in vain, that it makes amends for my actions and helps you end this madness. That you get the bad guy. My greatest desire is that you find love and happiness for yourself. You deserve the world Emily, I wish I had been a better man to be able to give it to you.

Sincerely,

Douglas

P.S. For what it's worth, I stand with you Emily and the decisions you make going forward. I know they will be the right ones.

#spoilers #criminal minds #emily prentiss #douglas bailey

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randomness-it-is · 2 years

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Ranking of Tamora Pierce books in the Tortall Universe (fight me).

Hello There! Tamora Pierce if my favourite author, and I have been obsessed with her books for years. I love all of her books so much, so it was impossibly hard for me to rank them. Often the ranking changes everyday, so this isn’t definite - I don’t think it’s possible for there to be a definite hierarchy for Tammy’s books, as they are all so good! For the sake of simplicity I won’t include Tortall: A spy’s guide or Tortall and other lands: A collection of tales. Please feel free to tell me your opinion in the comments below, and beware of major spoilers. 18. Wolf SpeakerI first read Wolf Speaker when I was still quite new to the Tortall universe. I believe it was the second book I read in Tortall, and the seventh Tamora Pierce book I had read. I don’t know what it was, but reading this book was a bit of an effort. I have only reread a few times since then, and although I love Maura’s character and am really excited for a potential book series set in Dunlath, I never really got into the book. That being said, it is still wonderful and an important part of the Immortal’s Quartet. 17. TerrierTo be really honest, Beka Cooper’s Trilogy is probably my least favourite Tamora Pierce series. I loved seeing Tortall as it was a few centuries before Alanna came along, but I have never been one to enjoy police thrillers. There is nothing wrong with Terrier, and the plot is exciting, but I prefer fast paced books as opposed to ones that are more slow paced. 16. BloodhoundAgain with Terrier, I never really found Beka’s Trilogy to be all that interesting. I have ranked Bloodhound over Terrier, however, because I really enjoyed the change of location. It was interesting getting to know a city different from Corus, and I hope we get to see Port Caynn more often in upcoming books. 15. MastiffI feel like we need to address the fact that Beka got engaged without us. And then her fiancé died without us, and we never got to meet him. I am really sad that we never got to meet Holborn. Although he sounds like a jerk, I would still have liked to see Beka’s relationship with him build up and then crumble. I still believe that this is the best book in the Beka Cooper Trilogy. Farmer is a likeable character, although his name is unusual. The plot is alright, but I am disappointed by Tunstall’s betrayal. A good book, just not my go to, pretty much. 14. The Realms of the GodsI love this book, just not as much as I love Tammy’s other books. The quest format is different from what she usually does, and reminded me of Lioness Rampant in a way. It was certainly an exciting conclusion to The Immortals quartet, and I definitely enjoyed it - even if Numair is the love interest. I was personally rooting for Kaddar in Emperor Mage, but I suppose you can’t have everything in life - and I doubt Daine would be very happy as Empress of Carthak. 13. Trickster’s ChoiceI certainly enjoy this book, although it lacks when it comes to my favourite trope - a group of friends who just do fun stuff together. Kyprioth is an amazing character, that’s undeniable, and I built up a healthy hate towards Bronau. The only problem is that I found many of the scenes to be boring, and like the plot was going nowhere. It was only when Trickster’s Queen came around that the plot came into action. Although I suppose that the Raka rebellion did need time to get to know Aly as an ally - I don’t really know, to be honest12. Wild MagicWild Magic is one of my favourite books in the Immortals Quartet. It is paced exactly how I like my books paced, and I remember reading this as a 10 year old and wishing really badly that Daine could be my friend. I love the scene where Daine meet Thayet, and I think it proves that Thayet is one of the best book characters of all time. If I ever have a daughter there is a high likelihood that her name will be Thayet. The reason this is only my twelfth favourite book is only because there are so many other books that I enjoy. 11. The Woman Who Rides Like a ManLet me just get this out of the way, Song of the Lioness is an amazing book series. This book is very detailed, and I loved meeting Bazhir. This is also the book where I started to dislike Jon. He was redeemed a little in Lioness Rampant, but I went back to disliking him in First Test. I don’t have much to say about this book, it’s eleventh because although it’s an amazing book it’s just not as amazing as any others. Also Kara and Kourrem have an amazing friendship dynamic, in my humble opinion. 10. First TestProtector of the Small is my favourite of Tammy’s series. When I read the book series I remember finding Kel really relatable, as back in the day I was a shy girl who towered above her friends. The only reason I’m so obsessed with Protector of The Small is because of Kel’s friendship group. I love, love, love it when there is just a group of friends in a book series who just have fun together. I also love how supportive Kel’s parents are, as oftentimes in Y/A books the parents are either dead, abusive or just not there at all. 9. Trickster’s QueenI love books about citizens rebelling against their government. I just think it is so fascinating, all of the planning that these characters go through just to carve out a better future for their world. A part of me is always still crying about Elsren’s death. I think that the last few chapters were so epic, and they let me breathless with excitement. Aly is not the most relatable protagonist, but I admire her ability to make mistakes like the normal human being she is. 8. Lioness RampantThe finale! I totally understand why Alanna and Liam didn’t work out, and I’m so glad that its George that Alanna ended up with. I am still disappointed over Liam’s death, and I feel like he would have been a valuable ally to the court of Tortall. He also would’ve supported Keladry in the court, which is definitely a plus! He didn’t accept all of Alanna, and I feel like that is highlighted really well in the book. You can clearly see how hurt Alanna is when Liam doesn’t seem too understand that Alanna can both be strong and like womanly things - it definitely shows young readers that you can never be happy with someone if they don’t love all of you. Also Thayet was introduced in this book, and I adore Thayet. She is such a strong character, and although I know she could have done better then Jon, she is an amazing queen. 7. In The Hand of the GoddessIt’s always nice to have a book character that you can hate, one that doesn’t have a redemption arc so you can feel satisfied that they are truly horrible. That’s why I love to hate Delia. She is such an unlikeable character, which somehow makes me love to read her. It’s strange but true. This book’s aura just radiates comfort, and I love books where the plot is just the passage of time with a few interesting events in between. 6. Alanna: The First AdventureAhh so nostalgic! My favourite scene is definitely when Alanna meets Jon for the first time, and Gary sponsors Alanna. I remember being so happy when Alanna got her period, because it was the first time I had ever seen periods be mentioned in a book. This is definitely a comfort book, and I think Alanna’s hard work to fight for a better future is so beautiful. One of the main reasons I love Tammy’s books is because her protagonists are not Mary Sues’, beautiful woman who are seductive and dangerous and have no faults. I love her heroines because although they mightn’t be incredibly seductive, or have ethereal beauty, they are still respected and they still do great things. 5. Lady KnightCleon made a big mistake, Kel is amazing. Although I would love for her to be with Dom, to be honest. Also Neal and Yuki have just got the cutest relationship dynamic, and I’m so glad things worked out for them. My favourite scene is where Dom makes fun of Kel’s carpentry, and also where Kel talks to the jerk Idrius - I just love his surprise when she informs him that she’s the head of Haven like yes ma’am tell the stupid idiot. 4. PageJust a bunch of kids being kids and having fun, while still training. I mean I suppose it’s a little more serious than just that, but this is still one of my comfort books. I first borrowed it out at my school’s small little library, after having already become obsessed with First Test. Also periods! I’m so glad that Kel had Lalasa to help her with ‘womanly stuff’, and I’m also really proud of how Kel stood up for Lalasa multiple times when she was being assaulted. Lalasa is one of the strongest characters in the series, and it is so admirable how she took what Kel told her and probably prevented many rapes and assaults by teaching other girls how to defend themselves. 3. Tempests and SlaughterOH MY GOD I’M SO EXCITED FOR THE EXILE’S GIFT! On Booktopia it says that it will be available 27th October, and I’ve already saved that date on my calendar. It was very interesting seeing a new perspective of Varice, as in Emperor Mage she comes off as quite shallow, but in Tempests and Slaughter she is a very likeable, ambitious person. You also see a mixture of traits with Ozorne, such as how you get to know him as a valuable friend, but also a person with numerous red flags. 2. SquireNeal is a daffodil. 1. Emperor Mage I love books about politics and international relations, and I feel like it’s even more compelling when in a fantasy universe. I think we can all agree that Daine beating Kaddar’s friends in archery was amazing, as well as Daine kicking Numair in the neck. I could go on forever about Emperor Mage, but it’s late and it’s already taken me forever to write this! I originally wrote this on my website but like no living soul has ever ventured onto my website so like here, I’m writing stuff here instead now,

#ya book #tamora #tamorapierce #tamora pierce #books & libraries #reading #ranking #tier #list

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viridwns · 3 years

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Chuuya x GN! Reader

Time: present

Paring: Chuuya nakahara x GN!reader

Characters: Chuuya nakahara from BSD

Warnings: angst to fluff, slight metion of rape, almost being abused, mentions of death, mentions of divorce.

It was 2 AM and he still wasn't home.

He promised he would be home early this time and you were foolish to believe him. How many times had he made that promise? And how many times did he broke that promise?

The door to the fancy apartment opened. A man with a fedora on his head walked in. His shoulders slumped forward and his eyes almost shutting close.

"Where were you?"

A voice that came from the couch asked him.

"I cannot do this right now y/n. Just let me rest." A tired frown settled upon the man's face as he threw his coat over a kitchen chair.

"Oh you can't do this right now? I've been waiting for 4 hours for you to come home."

The voice wasn't angry. It sounded disappointed and tired.

"I know and i'm sorry okay. The mission didn't go as planned and we had to-." Before he could finish his sentence the figure that was once in the couch now stood before him. A disappointed and angry scowl on their face.

"Let me guess you had to put yourself in danger to finish that damn mission."

A frustrated sigh left the man's lips. He knew exactly where this conversation would lead too.

"Y/n please. I'm fine and tired. Let's go to bed and talk about this tomorrow."

He tried reaching for the persons hands, but they took a step back.

"For how long are you going to postpone this conversation?! I can't do this anymore! Waiting for you to come home. Only to find out you are on the brink of death every time you're send on a mission Chuuya!"

Tears fell down y/n's cheeks. It's been to much for them. Everyday they had to wait in anticipation if their husband would come home that night.

"It's my job y/n, you know that. You chose to live with me knowing the dangers of my job."

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose. Being too drained and tired to even yell back.

Y/n just stood there staring at their husband with disbelief in their eyes.

"Well maybe we should get divorced then. I'm done waiting up late and worrying for you. I'm done arguing every week over the same goddamn thing."

Shock spread over the ginger man's face. He was annoyed, tired and in pain from all the blows he had taken. Maybe that's why he said things he didn't meant to say.

"If that's what you want fine. I don't care. I just wanna go to sleep. I'm tired of you acting like the victim here." He quickly realized what he said and guilt immediately took over him.

"Wait y/n that's not-."

"No it's okay. I was the one who proposed it. I'll call my lawer tomorrow. You can have the bed. I'm going for a walk." A dark expression was laced on y/n's face. Tears still streaming across their face. They grabbed their coat and shoes. Standing in the doorway they said: "Don't wait up for me."

And with that the door closed behind them.

Chuuya threw a mug that was standing on the counter against the wall. He really fucked up. Sitting on a kitchen chair with his face in his hands. Not knowing what to do he unconsciously called one of his closest friends.

"Hey chuuya. Why are you calling so late at night? Shouldn't you go to sleep?" A female voice sounded from the cellphone in his hands

His voice shaky and tears threatening to fall he answered. "I really fucked up this time Ane-san."

The wind howling around you, you hugged your coat closer to you. Wishing you had on something warmer. The streets of Yokohama were quiet. Only a few cars occasionally passing by. It wasn't surprising seeing how late it was and how most people would be sleeping right now. Replaying the argument in your head. You regretted every single thing you had said. Fresh tears started streaming over your cheeks again. The old tear staines not even being gone yet.

You told him not to wait up, but you secretly hoped that he would. That you could just run back and tell him you were sorry and hug him, but you didn't. It was always you who apologized first. It was always you who came back to him. You wanted him to feel as hurt as you were right now. It sounds cruel yes, but you just couldn't bare it anymore.

Another wind flag hit your face and you almost lost balance. The universe really had it out for you right now.

The wind was so loud that you couldn't even hear your own footsteps. Or even the extra pair of footsteps behind you.

"Damn who's calling me this late." You muttered at yourself as you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket.

Pulling out your phone you hoped deep down it was chuuya's contact name on the screen, but when you looked at your screen a person you didn't expect was calling you.

"Is there something wrong? Why are you calling me this late Kōyō."

"Chuuya told me what happend. He didn't tell me to call you. I just want to hear if you're okay."

You halted your steps as you let the words sink in. This was so typical of her. She always looked out for you and Chuuya. Adoring the relationship between the two of you. She was the person you would turn to if you had troubles or just needed some company.

"I'm....i'm not okay. I'm just so angry and..and-."

You started full on sobbing. Everything hitting you at once. A reassuring voice at the other side of the line calming you.

"Hey, hey it's okay. Calm down. I know chuuya can be a total ass. How about you come to my place and drink a cup of tea yeah? Tell me where you are."

Calming your breath and slowly speaking.

"I'm on (random street name). Just a few blocks away from your house-."

Before you could finish your sentence a pair of hands grabbed your mouth and you felt a cold metal thing against your head. You dropped your phone and struggled to get out of this strangers grip.

"Move one more muscel and i'll shoot you through that pretty little head of yours" a deep man's voice said. His breath smelled like sigarettes and you had to try your best to not gag. Stopping your movements, the man dragged you to a nearby ally. Tying your limbs together and propping you against the wall the man spoke again, eyeing your body. "Aren't you just a pretty little thing. Maybe we can have a little fun before i deliver you to my boss aye". He winked at you. Disgust being clear on your face. "Go die in a hole you bastard." You bit back at him.

The man's flirty look turned into a scowl. Standing up from his crouching position he dialed something on his phone. "I got them boss. Nakahara y/n, married too NakaharaChuuya. The port mafia executive."

Your eyes widened in shock. He was planning on using you as bait.

"I'm not married to anyone. I don't even know who this chuuya person is!" Giving the man a dead glare. Hoping he wouldn't see though your lie.

"Don't act dumb with me. We've been tailing you and your little husband for weeks now. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to kidnap you and use you as bait." A grin settled on his face as you looked away from him. "Go fuck yourself." You spat at him. He put his phone away. "Can you shut up!" The man raised his hand. You turned away from him ready to receive a smack, but the inpact never came. Looking at the man again tears brimmed at your eyes at the sight of your husband holding the mans hand. "That's no way to treat a person now is it." An angry scowl was present on his face. The man tried to shoot at him, but the bullet didn't even as much as graze him.

"You should learn to keep your hands of something that isn't yours." You closed your eyes knowing what was about to happen. Only hearing some gruesome sounds and your husband yelling.

You opened your eyes again when you felt a gloved hand untying your limbs. You couldn't help but smile and sob. Chuuya helped you stand up.

The first question already rising in your mind.

"How did you-."

"Ane-san called me that you were taken by someone. Your phone was still on even after you dropped it."

He avoided eye contact with you when he picked you up.

"I can perfectly walk on my own Chuuya." You said trying to look into his eyes.

"Shut up. This is faster."

He carried you to his pink motorcycle. How didn't you hear this monstrous thing?

He sat you down on the behind of the motorcycle and he took place infront of you. Instinctively putting you hands around him and resting your head on his back. You were so tired and you knew he was too.

"Look Chuuya i'm sorry. The things i s-."

Being cut off for the second time by him he said.

"No y/n i'm sorry. I know you're worried and i'm deeply sorry that you have to go through that everyday. I don't want a divorce. I want to grow old with you and spend every second of my life loving you."

His voice broke although he tried to hide it from you. You knew he was tearing up. Before he started his motorcycle you grabbed his face and kissed him.

"I missed you."

You whispered as you pulled back. His eyes finally meeting yours. "I love you so so much." You said while stroking his hair.

"I love you too y/n." He said before reuniting his lips with yours again and driving off to your shared home.

Your head buried in his back you closed your eyes and sighed.

No matter how many times you worried over him or argued with him would change the fact that your heart belonged to him and his heart belonged to you.

----

I'm so in love with this man help.

#chuuya fluff #chuuya headcanons #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya x y/n #x y/n #chuuya nakahara #bsd fluff #bsd headcanons #bsd x y/n #bsd x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara x you #bsd angst #chuuya angst #×fics

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hockeyboysimagines · 3 years

Text

All good boys go to Heaven, but bad boys bring Heaven to you.

Chapter 3

Warnings: swearing, angst, sexual innuendos and Matthew being Matthew.

Enjoy Chapter 3!

Who does this guy👇🏻 think he is?

“ I can’t take you anywhere.”

Hallie looked at him eyes squinted

“What?”

“I’ve watched at least 5 guys check you out since we walked in here.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m serious.”

“Well now you know what it’s like to go places with you.”

He opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again.

The incident at the bar had occurred just over a week ago and had been all but forgotten and they had returned to bickering good naturedly like nothing had happened at all. Though she spent an increasing amount of time at his apartment, even when Carly wasn’t there, Hallie still had her guard up. Matthew hadn’t won her trust yet and after the show in the bar with Allie she didn’t know if he would ever.

“Stop staring at me.” She said from behind her menu.

“I’m not.” She peeked over the top to find that he was in fact staring at her.

“What?”

“There’s too many guys looking at you. I would like to leave.”

“What are you going to do if I ever get a phone number?”

He clutched at his heart grimacing.

“Go on a date?”

He leaned back face screwed up in pain.

“Get a boyfriend?”

He glared at her and held up a hand to stop her “Whoa whoa. Let’s not get out of hand. I don’t even wanna think about it.”

“Anyway. What are you up to for the rest of the day?”

“Spending it with you of course.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I am!”

“It’s Friday it’s nice out, there’s no way your not going out tonight.”

“I mean-“

“Exactly.”

He sat awkwardly “ if you don’t want me to I won’t.”

She peered at him over the top her menu, before lowering it.

“What?”

“We can stay in and do something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t want to have sex with you stop asking geez.” He said loud enough that more than one person turned to look questioningly at them. She leaned forward and smacked his arm looking mildly offended for a minute before he back tracked.

“Okay that’s a lie. I do but I’m not going to. I like you too much.”

She gaped at him “You do?”

“Of course I do. Since the minute I met you, but that would change things between us and I don’t want that.”

A feeling of mixed disappointment and heat settled in her stomach making her nauseous.

“So....there’s something I kinda wanna talk to you about.”

He was serious now, but still smiling.

“My brother Brady plays in Ottawa, and we play them in 2 weeks and my parents will be in town for the game and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to meet them?”

“You-you want me to meet your parents?”

“Yeah. I mean we’re friends right? Plus I may have mentioned you a few times like...in passing and my sister wants to meet you too.”

“Yeah I mean. I guess.”

“You guess you’ll meet my family or you guess we’re friends?”

“I guess I’ll meet your family, I never said we were friends.”

“We hang out everyday. That makes us like..best friends.” she sighed and made a face but it dissolved into a smile when she saw him smiling widely, eyes scrunching up.

“If it means that much to you then of course I will meet your family.”

“Thanks Hal. Your really the best. If I ever act like an idiot ever again-“

“I’ll know things have gone back to normal.”

*******

“So mom I was thinking when you come and visit there’s-“

“Oh no.”

“Oh-what? What do you mean oh no? I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“I know where this is going.”

“Mom-“

“What’s her name?”

“How did you-“

She laughed on the other end of the phone “Matthew honey. I’m your mother, I know your not celibate out there.”

“Oh geez mom-“

“Matthew everyone has sex, how do you think you and Brady and Taryn got here?”

“Okay mom seriously stop. God.”

“ So? What’s her name?”

“Her name is Hallie and she’s just my friend. Not my girlfriend.”

“Uh huh. And you don’t want her to be more than just a friend?”

“Even if I did, she wants nothing to do with me like that.”

“ And why’s that?”

“ I don’t know. I’m kind of afraid to ask.”

It wasn’t often that Matthew opened up, even to his mom. His status and reputation in Calgary preceded him and while he stayed off the internet his mom did not.

Pregnancy. Scandal. Puck Bunny.

Words that swirled around the nhl and haunted his mother’s dreams, fueled by rumors and angry hookups on the internet was enough to give him anxiety.

“I think someone else might have ruined it for me. But mom she’s funny and smart and she’s...well she’s actually kind of mean but she doesn’t put up with any of my shi- nonsense, my nonsense. And she’s gorgeous.”

“Matthew. Do you like this girl?”

He huffed and adjusted the phone on his ear “ I think? It’s been a long time since I’ve...liked a girl.”

“Uh well ok we don’t have to talk about that. If you feel this way about her then you should tell her.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Either way I’d like for you to meet her.”

“Well. Then we’ll meet her.”

He chatted with his mom for a few more minutes, ironing out the details before hanging up with her and eyeing the calendar on his fridge. He had never been more excited for his parents to come visit.

*******

“A lake house?”

Noah nodded “ Yeah Carly’s uncle or cousin or something has one and he said it’s ours for the weekend whenever we want it. We have a break coming up and it’s still fairly nice out so I figure we could do it like next weekend or something. After we play Ottawa and your parents head back to St.Louis .”

Matthew nodded “ Yeah who’s going?”

“We figured you, Hal, Jay, see if Johnny wants to go. Maybe Sean and Abby? There’s like 10 bedrooms or something.”

He nodded and the thought of Hallie in a bikini crossed his mind before he shook it away. “Yeah sounds good.”

******

“Fucking camping? Like a tent?”

“In a Cabin Jay.”

“Is there water and power? Or do I have to wash my clothes in a fucking stream like a pilgrim?”

Hallie, who was laid across Carly’s sofa while Jay rubbed her legs through her joggers, snorted out a laugh. Matthews parents had landed earlier that day and she was set to meet them at the game tomorrow. She was nervous, but was doing her best to cover it up. A knock sounded loudly at her door and she jumped nearly into Jay’s lap. Startled, he too jumped and they tumbled off the sofa into a pile of limbs and pillows. Carly answered, accepting a box from a delivery man.

“Get off!” Hallie growled attempting to shove him off of her but shoving him into the side of the sofa instead.

“Bitch quit pushing me! I’m stuck!”

Carly who was laughing began opening the box, and pulled out a card.

“Stop opening my mail! Mail theft is a federal offense you know.”

Carly waved her off and pulled the card from the envelope.

“Wear me.” She read aloud, frowning. Hallie and Jay had untangled themselves and stood just as Carly pulled whatever was in the box out.

“Whoa.”

A brand new, red and white Flames Jersey with “TKACHUK 19“ across the back hung perfectly from Carlys hands. Hallie gulped and stared at it for a minute reaching a hand out to feel the fabric.

“You have to wear this.” Carly said quietly as she handed it to her. When Hallie didn’t answer she spoke again “Hallie. You HAVE to wear this.”

“ I heard you okay. I’ll wear it.”

So the next night, Hallie pulled on her favorite jeans, favorite shoes and slipped Matthews jersey over her head. It looked right, like it belonged there. Like she had worn it a million times.

“He’s gonna die when he sees you in this.” Jay said eyeing her up and down as they made their way inside the Saddledome.

Hallie rolled her eyes and scoffed. She felt awkward, in the jersey, meeting his parents all of it. But because he was important to her she was going to do it anyways.

The Saddledome was large and loud, and packed to the brim. Matthew had left tickets to the box at will call and a special pass in order for her to get down to the tunnel. Carly and Jay walked her as far as the first door the go down below the arena and then promised to meet her in the box. Taking a deep breath Hallie flashed the pass to the security and pushed the door open. She didn’t encounter too many people but she knew she was in the right place when she heard a very loud whistle and a familiar voice.

“That jersey would look so much better with a #13 on it.”

Johnny was grinning as he gave her a hug “Come on I’ll take you to him. He hasn’t shut up about you and this jersey all day.”

She followed him down the hall and to the left and heard voices that sounded unfamiliar.

Matthew was standing with, who based on the family resemblance she could only imagine was his dad and brother, and his mom and younger sister.

“Yo Chucky. Look who I found wandering around.”

He turned and smiled a real genuine Matthew smile.

“There’s my girl.” He swung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to them.

“Mom, Dad this is Hallie. My uh-friend.” Keith shook her hand but Chantal pulled her in for a hug.

“My son has said such nice things about you.”

Matthew chuckled nervously and avoided her eyes “Yeah we can uh-anyways moving on. This is Taryn. My sister and -“

“Brady Tkachuk. His younger better looking brother.” She giggled and shook Brady’s hand.

She talked with them for a few more minutes before some of Matthews teammates came over greeting Brady.

“How’s the scene in Ottawa man?”

“Oh it’s-its fine.” Brady gave Taryn the side eye, and then glanced at his mom who didn’t seem to be listening and then loosened up,

“Just you know, playing hockey getting ass-“

“Braeden Tkachuk!”

“Dates! I’m getting lots of dates in Ottawa!”

She could see where Matthews sense of humor and personality came from, but she liked them. A lot. As they all said their goodbyes and headed to the box Chantal commented on her jersey.

“This looks like it was made for you dear.”

“It did come from Matthew so, it could be.”

She laughed knowingly “ Well, Matthew never does anything halfway. He’s either all in or not at all. Ever since he was a kid.”

“I’ve noticed. He’s very...intense.”

“What you have to understand about Matthew is that he does everything with his whole being. And he can be a pain in the ass believe me, I raised him. But deep down he is a beautiful soul and has a big heart. Just takes a special kind of someone to see that. Maybe I’m biased though, as his mom.”

She smiled “ Matthews a great person and even though I give him a hard time, I don’t think your biased.”

“Just try not to give up on him. It’s a thing he does, he feels everything too deeply and sometimes he doesn’t handle it well. Just be patient with him.”

Hallie nodded “ I’ll remember that.”

The Flames won and everyone wanted to go out. Hallie had bid the other Tkachuk’s goodbye with the exception of Brady who came out with the team, and was now 5 shots in and wearing a sombrero.

She had lost Carly, Noah and Jay a while ago, and turned to say something to Johnny when she spotted Matthew across the room. He was leaning forward talking to some girl, with a low cut top and big white teeth. Hallie felt a cold stab of pain pierce her heart as she watched him smile that at her and laugh at something that probably wasn’t even funny, before he leaned down to kiss her. She threw her shot back and patted Johnny on the shoulder mumbling about leaving, not feeling quite in the party mood. He sighed sadly but caught her by the wrist stopping her from leaving.

“Don’t go. Let’s take a walk.”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” She felt her eyes burn and blinked. She didn’t want to cry over him, not in front of Johnny. But it was too late.

“Hallie please-“

“I’m fine. It’s okay.” She gave him a watery smile, and wiped under her eyes, before standing on tip toe to kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m just going to go home and go to bed I’m really tired.”

He looked unsure but nodded slowly “ Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I’ll talk to you later.” She turned from him, squeezing through people stealing one last glance at Matthew. He was gone from his spot, the brunette he had been kissing, gone as well and she squeezed her eyes shut willing away the nausea that rose in her throat. She cried the whole way home in the back of her Uber, until the middle aged man driving offered her tissues, and asked if she was alright. When he pulled up to her apartment, and he turned and told her that she was too pretty to be this sad, and that no one could make her feel less than she was except herself. He waited until he saw her walk inside before pulling away.

She kept her head down and took the stairs, hoping to avoid her neighbors, and finally reached her door. She ran a scalding shower and collapsed in bed, tears still flowing. She saw 6 texts and 5 missed calls, all of them from the team but none from Matty. She stuffed it in the drawer so she wouldn’t be tempted to check it and rolled over. Her eyes closed, heavy and burning but Matt kissing the brunette swam into her mind. She laid there for a while, until she cried herself to sleep. But she wasn’t asleep long when her phone rang, the vibration rattling loudly in her drawer till it woke her up.

“Hello?”

“Hallie? Did I wake you up?” Matthew was grumbling and slurring on the other end of the line.

“It’s 3 am of course you did.”

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I don’t-yeah. I am. I’m drunk.”

“Where are you?”

“The bar silly.”

“Which bar?”

“You know that bar with the sign in front by that place?”

She rolled her eyes and closed them trying not to lose her patience. He was clearly extremely inebriated, and had no idea how annoying he was being. She pulled it away from her ear and clicked his contact name, his location popping up immediately.

“Never mind. Wait for me there. I’ll come get you.”

She hung up, stuck her feet into boots and grabbed her keys and wallet.

Matthew was leaned forward on a bar stool, head on his forearm. She tapped his arm and he picked his head up blinking before he smiled brightly.

“Hallie! She’s here! Seeeee? Didn’t I tell you she was beautiful?” The bartender chuckled and shook her head.

“He did tell me that. At least 8 times.”

She helped him out of the barstool and into her car, and then heaved him into her apartment. He fell heavily on her sofa with a thud, as she pulled off his shoes and jacket.

“ If you want me to strip just ask.”

Using all her strength she sat him up, only for him to fall right back down taking her with him. She landed on his chest, faces only a few inches apart. He seized the opportunity and leaned up to kiss her but she pushed him away gently.

“Knock it off Matthew, sit up we need to take off your pants.”

“Now we’re talking!” He slurred. He tried to wink at her but his level of inebriation caused him to close both eyes. She pulled his jeans down his legs and threw a blanket over him after she forced water and Tylenol down his throat.

“Mmmm night. Love you Hallie.”

He was asleep almost instantly, curls everywhere cheeks flushed. She reached forward brushing a strand off his forehead, sighing.

“I hate you Matthew.”

#matthew tkachuk #noah hanifin #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl writing #calgary flames #johnny gaudreau #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey tumblr #nhl fic #nhl blurb

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pi-cat000 · 3 years

Text

BNHA: something sad (Resentment)

Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him. A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies.

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo

Fandom: My Hero Academia

WARNINGS! Major Character death, swearing, heavy angst, graphic descriptions of violence

Other parts in this AU: (Something Sad), (Anger), (Grief)

This is the direct sequel to (Implosion)

......

“Not many people get hit with a concussive blast of this strength and walk away will so few injuries.” Is what the paramedic that looks Katsuki over says, hand glowing a faint blue as he uses some sort of diagnostic quirk.

“It looks like you have a few cuts, bruising, strained muscles and sprained wrist from what I can see. I’d recommend getting a proper examination at the hospital but there’s nothing life-threatening here.” The medic continues.

The emergency doctor at the hospital confirms the diagnosis and shakes his head in disapproval, adding, “…bruising on your ribs and a fractured finger. No concussion, thankfully, but you’ll have a nasty bump on the back of your head. If your quirk didn’t make you naturally resistant to these sorts of shock-based blasts, you would be dead..”

…

After that, everyone is practically falling over each other to lecture him on how irresponsible and reckless he is.

His mum arrives and there is a lot of shouting which just pisses him off.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REACT WHEN I GET WOKEN UP AT ONE IN THE MORNING BY POLICE TELLING ME THAT MY IDIOT SON, WHO SHOULD BE ASLEEP, IS IN HOSPITAL!!”

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!

Then there is the quiet disappointment he gets from his father when his mum is done yelling which only fuels his resentment.

“I don’t understand why you did it son. Did you want to get into that fight? Or was it a mistake? Please. We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Eventually, he finally snaps, “I fucking felt like it! That’s why I did it! And you know what, I’d do it again.”

It wasn’t like he could or even wanted to explain that he’d jumped out his window to wander the streets at midnight because he had had a bad dream and his All Might poster had looked at him funny. That the rage and anger were preferable to that sinking empty feeling that had turned his every waking moment into a pointless repeat of everyday routines and useless interactions. That every time he let himself pause and reflect, Deku’s stupid smiling face was mocking him from the afterlife.

Next, he spends an hour with Senior Officer Watanabe recounting every possible detail from his stroll through the streets to his climactic fight with Lanky, Tiny and Grease-Hair.

“Well, you definitely don’t do things in half measures kid. So far we have private and public property damage, unlicensed quirk usage, quirk usage with the intent to harm, vigilantly activity, assault...”

“Assault! Why the hell is that on the list. Those bastards started it.”

“You can’t go around beating people up no matter how good your intentions are!”

“So, you wanted me to just watch!”

“Yes!” A long breath, “I know it can be hard but you need to wait for the pros. You got lucky this time but what if things had been different? You had misread the situation. What if you had been badly injured? What if you had accidentally injured the victim or killed someone? There is a reason we make people get a license for Hero work. Seison Masuyama is a B-rank villain.”

“B rank? He wasn’t that strong.”

“His quirk, Kinetic-Force, collects kinetic energy and releases it in one overpowered attack. It’s deadly to most people. You were lucky he had already used it once that day and that you were resilient enough to withstand it."

After multiple repeats of the ‘you’re lucky you’re not dead,’ with a side order of ‘it’s a good thing you’re still a minor because you could go to jail for this,’ he gets to go home.

It is three in the morning by the time he arrives back at the apartment, two exhausted parents in tow, having been issued an ‘official warning,’ an order to complete 100 hours of community service and instructions to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. He has never felt angrier or more resentful.

A days later and he is back at school, wasting his time watching clocks and avoiding classmates.

Nothing had changed.

…

The car screeches to a stop at the school gates, throwing Katsuki forward in his seat. His mum turns to fix him with a stern glare, eyes narrow.

“If you’re not waiting right here by the gate when I come to pick you up or so help me I’ll be escorting you to and from your classroom from the rest of your school life,” she threatens.

“Lay off you old bat,” Katsuki snaps as was becoming routine since his mum had started driving him the short distance to school, “I got it the first million times.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” A finger is pointed at his nose, waving in an almost menacing fashion. “Remember. Here. School Gates. 4:00pm. Don’t you dare think about ditching again.”

Katsuki sneers and kicks open the car door, turning to slams it shut with as much force as possible in retaliation. He stalks through the gates, shouldering his way through a group of loitering students. They all scatter when they recognise him. In some ways, he prefers dealing with the anger and yelling of his mum than his father’s quiet disappointment. That doesn’t stop it from being annoying as hell.

A spike of pain runs through his hand from where he must have used a little too much force on the door. Maybe he should take his father up on those kickboxing classes. Sure, he had practised punching after reading a bunch of online guides, but reading and solo practice were completely different when compared with real actual fighting. That was assuming he was going to be getting into more real fights. He opens and closes his bandaged fist, feeling a slight sting in his wrist and fingers. He glares. Four days on and he can still feel the echo of adrenalin. The thrill of righteous anger had been so much more satisfying than the directionless rage he was accustomed to. It had rekindled some of that fire that drove him to be the best, to win, chasing away the sickening emptiness which had been dogging his every waking step.

He wants to feel that again…He wants to do something other than listlessly go through the same daily motions as he drifts towards his now uncertain future.

“Hey Bakugō!”

He keeps walking, ignoring whatever loser classmates wanted to talk to him.

“HEY!”

A hand lands on his shoulder and Katsuki twitches, a hairs breath away from spinning and firing a blast point-blank into the pest’s face. Instead, he stops and deliberately turns to glower at the pathetic piece of trash behind him. Murata Taheiji from his homeroom is standing there, one hand on his hip, flanked by two other boys he doesn’t know the names of. Two more appear to stand in front of him, blocking his way. They are all puffed up like they think they’re hot shit. Katsuki scoffs. Are these failures really trying to bully him? HIM!?

“How about you get the fuck out of my way and go find a first year to pick on. You know, someone more on your level.”

That gets him an irritated scowl that transforms into a patronising grin, “You were always such a stuck up prick Bakago…Acting so high and mighty all the time. Not anymore, I know the truth. You’re just like the rest of us.”

“Huh?” he drawls, dragging out the sound, turning so he is facing the boy, “What the fuck are you on about.”

“My dad works for Musutafu police dispatch and he told me something real interesting yesterday.” A dramatic pause, “He said that you got arrested a few nights ago.” There is a laugh that is echoed by the four surrounding him. By now the confrontation has garnered the attention of several onlookers, who are slowly drifting closer.

“All that shit about being a Hero and you got arrested. What’d you do? Steal some candy from a convenience store? We all know you don’t have money.”

Around them, the growing audience is eyeing him with varying levels of eager anticipation like they think he’ll break down and start crying because of some dumb-ass insults. Damn, if that doesn’t just piss him off. How dare these losers think him that weak.

“Don’t compare me to your loser selves,” he dismisses aggressively, making to turn and forcefully elbow his way past. He is stopped by Murata’s hand which is still on this shoulder.

“You know what I think. I think you’re all talk.”

Katsuki stills, letting the words sink and curdle in his stomach. In one short move, he turns and steps in close to Murata so they are almost nose to nose.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he warns. The other boy tenses, looking like he wants to say something else equally stupid. If he remembers correctly Murata has some sort of muscle-enhancer, reflex quirk. One of the only worthwhile quirks in the school.

Katsuki jerks his elbow up and around in a quick jab. It smacks into the loser’s face. Crack. Guess having fast reflexes didn’t make a difference when you never saw the blow coming.

There is a cry of surprised pain and shouts of alarm from the peanut gallery. The other boy falls back, tripping over his own feet. It is ridiculously simple to lift a leg and deliver a kick to the stomach, not even a strong kick, so his failed bully thuds onto the ground, tossing up a small puff of sand. Unlike the fight in the ally, there is no rush of excitement, no spike of anger or adrenaline. No exhilaration. He is just irritated and maybe a bit disappointed. That’s what he gets for expecting anything out of the pathetic losers that went Aldera Middle School. They were more annoying than anything else.

Murata rolls around in the dirt, wheezing, trying to draw breath. He can almost imagine Deku running up to complain about his violent tendencies or sprout some shit about Hero’s needing to protect people like Murata didn’t ask for it when he decided to try his luck bullying someone obviously stronger than him.

The reminder of Deku sours his already shitty mood.

“Ah…you broke my nose. YOU BOKE IT…ah…it hurts. Do something!” The idiot calls to his equally idiotic friends as he tries to stop blood from pouring down his face.

Katsuki gazes coolly at the boy before directing his attention at the four other ‘bullies’ standing frozen around him.

“You extras got something else to add to that?” With Murata out of the game, the rest of the pathetic group shuffles about uncertainly.

“Ah…we’re good,” The tallest one says nervously, “Sorry about that Bakugō. No hard feelings right?”

He scoffs.

One of the boys moves forward to pull Murata upright, kneeling and pulling out a tissue to help stem the flow of blood. “Crap. I…I think Murata needs to go to the nurse. This looks serious.” There are a few more apprehensive glances in his direction like the other boys think he’ll insist on continuing the ‘fight’-ha! like this has been anything near a fight- until they are all bloody messes on the ground. Kaksuki rolls his eyes. As if he has the patience to deal with any more of these losers.

“Cowards,” he mutters, shoving past. The crowd of students who had gathered to watch the failed confrontation, scramble to get out of his way. A strong breeze rushes through the school’s courtyard, drawing attention to how quiet it has suddenly gotten. Barely audible whispers follow in his wake and he can feel many sets of eyes on his back, watching.

“He always did have a bad attitude.” They murmur.

“Guess he’s a real delinquent now.”

“…did you hear what Murata said. Do you think Bakugō actually got arrested?”

“That’s got to be fake right? Murata is full of hot air.”

“No way. I believe it. You don’t have to share a class with him, I’m telling you, Bakugō’s gone nuts.”

“Kind of scary when you think about it. With a quirk like that...”

He doesn’t know why they’re all so shocked. This isn’t the first fight he has gotten into on school grounds. Okay, so maybe he’d held off doing any real harm before now, well aware that U.A. would probably check his school record. It had never mattered to him because there was no point in beating up weaklings when he was obviously superior. Except for Deku…the only person he had ever really hurt, the only person he could get away with hurting without repercussions. And now he feels like extra shit. God, what a huge farce it had all been. Kaksuki clenches his fist and growls, wondering if it isn’t too late to ditch and go find somewhere secluded to blow off steam. Anything to escape this feeling of frustration.

He doesn’t have time to make a proper decision because news of his ‘fight’ had obviously spread to the staffroom. One of the second year homeroom teachers comes barrelling out of the school’s front entrance, eyes immediately landing on him.

“What happened!” Their eyes move past him to the bloody Murata, “Go wait in the principles office. Now.”

Well, he didn’t want to deal with his annoying classmates anyway. He stalks away, the sounds of the teacher fussing over Murata growing fainter behind him. When he arrives, the principal’s office is empty and he flings himself down into one of the comfy couches, irritated. The bell for homeroom goes off and Kaksuki remains sprawled across the couch, arm across his face to block out the light and his view of the clock slowly ticking away.

Just as he begins to contemplate leaving, Principle Fukuhara comes strolling into the room.

“ Bakugō,” the man lets out an exasperated sigh, “Sit up please.”

Katsuki moves his arm to peek out and glare at the man, deliberately ignoring the instruction.

“I just finished talking to Ms Yuki and the school’s nurse. You broke Murata Taheiji’s nose. I hope you realise how serious this situation is and that there will be major consequences. Aldera Middle School does not tolerate this sort of violence on its grounds.”

Silence. That was a fucking lie. Slowly, Katsuki pulls himself upright, meeting the man’s hard stare with his own.

“Well, do you have anything to say for yourself and your disgraceful behaviour..”

Katsuki narrows his eyes, “The idiot was asking for it.”

Obviously, it's the wrong response going by how the skin tightens around the man’s eyes, “I see...I’m sorry you feel that way. Up until now, our school has been more than lenient. We have overlooked your shameful behaviour these last few weeks because we wanted to give you time to settle after going through such as tragic incident. However, I am afraid that this time you have gone too far. Your parents will be notified. You’ll see the school councillor. You will be staying back for after school detention. Since this is your first major incident we…”

“First?” He cuts the man off. He is sick of hearing the moron’s voice. “Hahaha and people say you don’t have a sense of humour.” He laughs an unpleasant laugh which increases in volume until he is almost shouting.

“What sort of shit hole are you running? Three years I’ve been beating up the dumb idiots that come here and now you decide to care. Why is that huh? Is it because I’m no longer going to put this shitty place on the map and become a famous hero! HA!”

He lets his voice quieten, sneering “I’ll never be a hero so you’re shit out of luck.” Finally saying it out loud is like throwing a bucket of water over the embers of an already struggling fire. It hurts deep in his chest. The expression of shocked disbelief is almost worth it.

“Thanks for proving what a worthless profession it is,” he finishes with another hash laugh, rage simmering under his skin. When he tries to stand and leave a hand lands on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

The principal, who still looks somewhat stunned at his sudden outburst, orders, “Sit back down Bakugō! I am far from finished.”

Why do people always feel the need to grab him. He is so fucking sick of everyone pulling and tugging on him, trying to control him and hold him down. Katsuki turns slowly, that simmering rage pulsing, running down his limbs. Pop pop pop go his hands. He feels as explosive fire gathering in behind his eyes and in his shadowy stare. It is not the dramatic, adrenaline-induced anger he had felt when preparing for the ally fight. No, this is a dark burning rage, fuelled by his growing resentment.

“Touch me again,” he growls, low and intimidating, “and I’ll kill you.”

The principal snatches his hand back like he has just been burnt. A poignant silence follows in the wake of his threat.

“Suspension,” the man says, swallowing, “You’re suspended. I’m calling your parents right now.” And is it just him or does he look genuinely worried? There is even a hint of fear in his wrinkled face. Katsuki takes vindictive joy in the achievement. Finally…finally the worthless morons are seeing him, truly seeing him and not whatever Bakugō -delusion they’d all cooked up in their heads.

#bnha #mha #boku no academia #my hero academia #bnha fanfic #MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH #Katsuki Bakugō #‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies #graphic descriptions of violence #angst #bakugou swears and gets into fights #coarse language #fanfiction #fanfic #something sad au

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bubonickitten · 3 years

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Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: An examination of endings and how to realize them.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 24: brief claustrophobia; some RSD/fear of abandonment stuff; extensive discussion of death (this chapter’s all about Terminus, babey); allusions to past suicidal ideation on Jon’s part; mentions of eye gouging/blinding (not graphic); some internalized victim blaming; anxiety symptoms; spider mentions; swears. Let me know if I missed anything!

Chronic fear has been Jon’s baseline for so long, it’s difficult for him to conceptualize what he would be were it to abandon him. In some ways, he’s become acclimated to it. On the other hand, fear is a volatile, prolific thing, its many shades relentlessly coalescing and mutating to form new strains. It all but guarantees that the Eye will never truly be sated: there will always be some heretofore unknown species of terror to discover, experience, and add to its collection.

Sprinkled in amongst the more noteworthy moments of abject terror and the constant background pressure of existential dread, there are smaller fears: everyday anxieties; pervasive insecurities; acute spikes of panic and adrenaline. Each discrete instance may pale in comparison to life-threatening peril, but muddled together and given time to ferment, they compound. They feed into one another. Sometimes, they come to attract the attention of larger, far more forbidding monsters.

In this way, Jon is no different from the average person – and one of the oldest, most deep-rooted of those comparatively banal fears is his fear of rejection, of disappointing, of being seen and found lacking. It guided his path long before his first supernatural encounter, and in many ways, it still does. His self-awareness of that fact does little to dampen its influence.

So it’s vexing, but not surprising, that the foremost concern vying for his attention right now is whether this might be that final straw that chases Georgie away for good. She sits with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes closed and brow furrowed as she gathers her thoughts. The longer she remains silent, the more time Jon has to run through all the worst-case scenarios.

It’s already difficult for him to capture a full breath under the crushing weight of anticipation. It doesn’t help that his intermittent claustrophobia has decided that right now is the perfect time to manifest. A tunnel collapse would probably damage the Archives above it, though, and there’s no way Jon would be so lucky. He isn’t sure whether to consider that a consolation or not.

Finally, Georgie takes a breath, opens her eyes, and leans forward.

“Okay.” She tilts her folded hands towards him in an indicative gesture. “Explain, please.”

“Right,” Jon says, rubbing one arm nervously. “S-so, Oliver –”

“I knew his name wasn’t Antonio,” Georgie mutters.

“No. That was an alias he used when he first came to the Institute to give a statement, back in 2015.”

“The prediction about Gertrude’s death?” Martin asks.

“The same.”

“And what was a harbinger of death doing looming over you while you were in a coma?” Georgie presses.

“I don’t know that I’d call him a harbinger –” Jon’s mouth snaps shut immediately when Georgie shoots him an impatient glare. “He wasn’t – he wasn’t trying to – to reap my soul or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then why was he there?”

“He was called there,” Jon says. “By the Web, according to him.”

“Oh, and you don’t think that makes him dangerous?” Martin says, throwing one arm out in a surge of exasperation.

“He isn’t allied with the Web,” Jon replies, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. “It just… got into his head, and it was easier for him to go along with it, rather than fight it indefinitely. Oliver tends to have a fatalistic outlook. If he sees something as inevitable, he’s not inclined to try to stop it.”

“So, what – he’s serving an evil power not because he’s sadistic but because he’s just apathetic?” Georgie couldn’t sound any more unimpressed if she tried. “How is that any better?”

“It’s, ah… it’s really not that simplistic,” Jon says, adopting a delicate tone. “And I don’t think I’d call it apathy so much as…”

“Acceptance,” Georgie says stiffly. “Everything has an ending.”

“Yes. Oliver is an Avatar of the End, and the End is characterized by its certainty–” Jon pauses when he catches a glimpse of Georgie’s hands, fastened to her knees and trembling with tension. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, I –” Georgie sighs, relaxes her grip, and flexes her fingers. “Just – tell me why you invited him here.”

“It’s like I said upstairs – there were things I couldn’t tell him about outside of here.”

“Why do you feel the need to tell him anything?” Martin asks.

“I just thought… he might be able to help us.”

“Why would he,” Georgie asks, “if he’s so fatalistic?”

“Because, he…” Jon hesitates, biting his lip. “I suppose I thought that maybe – maybe he’s like me.”

“He’s nothing like you,” Martin says vehemently.

A flicker of a smile crosses Jon’s face. “You don’t even know him.”

“What, and you do?”

“Not well,” Jon admits. “But I do think I understand him.”

Martin crosses his arms, transparently miffed. In an attempt to suppress his amusement, Jon presses his lips tightly together. It doesn’t work, evidently.

“What?” There’s a flat, defensive edge to the demand, highlighted by a suspicious scowl. “What’s with the smirk?”

Jon already knows the answer to the question he wants to ask, but he can’t help himself: “Are you jealous?”

“No!” Martin yelps. “Why would I be jealous?”

Jon shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Well, you don’t need to be.”

“I’m not!”

“If you say so,” Jon says with a shrug and a sly grin.

“I am not jealous,” Martin insists – and now Georgie is snickering, one hand clamped over her mouth to (unsuccessfully) stifle the sound. Martin glowers at her, betrayed.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Just – didn’t realize you were quite so jealous.”

“I’m not,” Martin says for a third time. “But – but even if I was, I would be completely justified.”

“Because he woke me up,” Jon says, toning down the smugness now.

There is an uneasy boundary between affectionate teasing and perceived mockery, and here in the past, he hasn’t quite mapped the shape of that line. Between seeing one another in the Lonely and anchoring each other through the apocalypse, he and Martin had been forced to confront long-held insecurities about themselves, both as individuals and as a unit. That shared history no longer applies. While Jon has no desire to repeat that chain of events – there are happier, healthier pathways to a relationship than bonding via trauma, or so he’s heard – it does mean that this version of Martin hasn’t yet had the same epiphanies.

Much like Jon, Martin struggles to take a declaration of love at its word. People lie; they mislead; they say what they think others want to hear – whether out of self-interest, sympathy, or simple social ineptitude, the results are the same. Sometimes they start out sincere, but little by little, their tolerance dwindles and they recognize their mistake: what they thought was genuine affection was at best a passing fancy for someone who turned out to be far more trouble than they were ever worth. Or worse: a caring façade born of pity or guilt or obligation, only to turn rotten and toxic when the burden grows too tiresome.

Add all of those deep-seated convictions to the lasting influence of the Lonely, and Martin needed proof before he could entertain the possibility of being loved. Following him into and then leading him out of the Lonely was a fairly convincing statement. Absent another life-or-death gesture to act as a catalyst, Jon suspects that this time around, building that confidence will come down to time, practice, and repetition.

“Okay, yeah, about that – what does that – what does that mean, he woke you up?” Before Jon can get a word out, Martin barrels on: “I mean, what makes him so special? I spent weeks – weeks – begging you to come back, and nothing. He visits you once and suddenly you’re fine?”

“I really did try to come back on my own,” Jon says – not accusing, not pleading, not even self-flagellating. Just plain, sincere assuredness. “I heard you calling me. Not at first, but – the last time you visited. It was the first time I’d heard your voice in… in so long, I – I never thought I’d hear it again, and then you were there, and I was – I was so relieved, so… so elated.”

Martin sulks quietly, glaring at the floor, but there’s a noticeable flush staining his cheeks now.

“And then – and then I heard you on the phone with Peter, and…” Jon swallows hard, the despair he felt in that moment still stark in his mind. “I tried to call out to you, but you couldn’t hear me. The Lonely was drawing you in, just like before, and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to wake up more than anything, but I just… couldn’t figure out how. I still don’t know why – I don’t know the exact mechanics of it all – but for whatever reason, I wasn’t able to wake up until Oliver’s visit. Same as the first time.”

At that, Martin seems to deflate somewhat, finally looking up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“If I could have come back sooner,” Jon continues, smiling sadly, “I would have. In a heartbeat.”

Martin pouts for a moment longer before surrendering, his rigid posture slackening as the rancor drains out of him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“So you think you owe him,” Georgie guesses. “For waking you up.”

“Partially,” Jon admits. “But that’s not why I invited him, really. He just seems… I don’t know. Lonely, I guess?” Georgie rolls her eyes. “He never – he never asked to be a death prophet. No more than I wanted to be a – a trauma leech. And arguably – arguably he was even less to blame for what happened to him than I am for what I’ve become –”

“Jon,” Martin says warningly.

“No, just – just listen.” Jon takes a measured breath as he puts his thoughts in order. “Oliver started having prophetic dreams several years ago. Just – out of the blue. As far as I know, he did nothing to tempt fate. Eventually, those dreams carried over into the waking world. Everywhere he went, every single day, he could see the evidence of imminent death. There was no escaping it.

“In the beginning, he tried to help people. But it never worked. When he was unable to save his own father, he stopped trying to change fate, for the most part. I think the last time he tried was when he dreamed of Gertrude. He saw how far-reaching her death would ultimately be, and he tried to warn her, even though he didn’t have much hope that it would make a difference. And he was right, in the end. He couldn’t save her, and he couldn’t prevent what came after.”

“So he just… gave up,” Martin says flatly.

“When you fail over and over again to do good in the world, when you witness horror after horror with no recourse to stop it, when you try again and again and again to escape and never even come close… at some point, you burn out,” Jon murmurs. “Lose all hope. It becomes your new normal. Exist like that long enough and you start to become numb to it all.”

“You lived through an apocalypse and you didn’t give up,” Martin counters.

“I did, though,” Jon says quietly.

Martin frowns. “What?”

“After I lost you.” Jon averts his eyes and folds his arms tight against his middle, holding his elbows. “I was lost. I couldn’t save anyone, I couldn’t change anything, I couldn’t even look away. I wasn’t allowed to sleep. I wasn’t allowed to die. So I just… survived, even though I wanted anything but.” When he glances up, he sees that Martin’s expression has softened. “You were my reason. Then you were gone, and I was alone.”

Jon hadn’t known that the world could end a second time, but there it was. With Martin gone, what little that remained of Jon’s own microcosm shattered. Yet the Ceaseless Watcher’s world dared to continue turning, to go on churning out horror after horror as if nothing at all had changed. And Jon was just another cog in that machine, going through the motions and fulfilling the purpose for which he was cultivated.

It wasn’t truly ceaseless, of course. Everything has an ending. But it felt like an eternity – and for Jon, indefinite waiting has always been a special kind of torture.

“So what changed?” Georgie asks, her tone gentler than before.

“For a while, nothing,” Jon says. “I sort of… drifted. Wandered aimlessly through the domains for… I don’t really know. When nothing ever changes, keeping track of time becomes pointless. The Panopticon kept trying to draw me in, of course, but I – I suppose there was still enough spite left in me to make a show of ignoring it.

“At some point, I got lost in a Lonely domain. Which was fine, really. Or – it would have been fine, had I been allowed to succumb to it. I wanted to just – fade into it, let it in, but” – Jon breathes a bitter laugh – “it wouldn’t take me. Wouldn’t let me go numb, wouldn’t let me forget – didn’t have the decency to let me disappear, no matter how long I stayed.”

No one got what they deserved in that future, but this was a rare exception to that rule: to be allowed to simply forget his role in creating that nightmare world, to sink into blissful ignorance, would have been a miscarriage of justice. Not that the Eye cared about what was just or fair, of course. No, it simply would not – perhaps could not – deign to relinquish its hold on its Archive.

“But the longer I stayed,” he continues, looking at Martin now, “the more I thought about you. In retrospect, maybe that’s why I didn’t want to leave. And maybe that’s part of why it wouldn’t have me – I couldn’t let you go. But being there, it kept reminding me of the first Lonely domain we came across after the change. We were separated, and I was – I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back to me. But you did.” Jon smiles to himself, remembering the relief and gratitude and awe he felt in that moment. “You rejected the Lonely all on your own. Found your own way out – found me, and… every time I thought about that, I imagined your voice in my head. Telling me off for wallowing. For giving up.”

“Sounds like I would have been justified,” Martin says delicately.

“You would have,” Jon confesses with a contrite half-smile. “I was in peak brooding condition. Eventually I wore myself out wallowing there, though, so I left to go wallow somewhere else. I needed a change of scenery, and – well, I got one. Stumbled into a Spiral domain. Ran into Helen, and… funny enough, that was the last straw.”

Jon can still recall the encounter down to the smallest detail.

‘Still drifting aimless, are we?’ Helen bared an unsettling number of teeth as her grin stretched – literally – from ear to ear. ‘Exactly how long do you plan on moping about, Archivist?’

Jon did not answer; did not even meet her eyes, instead staring vacantly over her shoulder. The incessant reel of horror scenes playing in the back of his mind made it difficult to focus on any one thing at a time, and there was nothing he cared to see so much that it was worth the effort it would take to grant it his undivided attention.

‘You know,’ Helen said, tapping an elongated, crooked finger against her lips, ‘I wonder what he would say, if he could see you now.’

It didn’t matter. Martin was gone. Those parts of the world that hadn’t already been thoroughly razed were slowly but surely withering. There was nothing left to salvage.

‘Disappointed, I imagine,’ Helen continued, distant and muffled by the din of a splintering world. (Somewhere deep below their feet, a man was screaming himself hoarse in a labyrinth made of mirrors and fog.) ‘But not surprised. It’s not the first time you’ve let him down, is it?’

Jon gave a listless shrug. Her words stung, certainly, but they were a far cry from some of her more artful jabs. A pointed insinuation to send him spiraling into his own self-destructive conclusions would always be more corrosive than outright disparagement.

(The man in the maze gazed into mirror after mirror, hoping to find himself within. In every one, his reflection had no face.)

That said, Helen wasn’t wrong. Even as a child, Jon had always been a burden. He never did manage to prove himself worthy of all the many unwilling sacrifices made on his behalf. Never measured up; never put nearly enough good into the world to balance out the cost of having him in it.

(The man in the maze had misplaced his name. Did he drop it somewhere? He checked his pockets only to find holes. Yet another eyeless reflection stared back at him from beneath his feet.)

‘You were always headed here, weren’t you?’

Yes.

(The man in the maze tried to retrace his steps, but everything looked the same: an endless, recursive corridor of mirror images. He asked one of the doppelgängers for directions, only to realize that the man in the mirror had no mouth with which to answer.)

‘To think – all that time he spent coaxing you along, and you crumble the moment you don’t have a prop to coddle you.’ Helen cackles, high and cruel. ‘What a waste.’

She wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know.

(The man in the maze was scouring the mirrored ground, searching for… something he’d lost; he couldn’t quite remember, but he knew that it was important. He checked his pockets, only to discover that he had no pockets.)

‘Although, I guess the blame doesn’t fall squarely on your shoulders. He was naïve. It isn’t your fault he was foolish enough to hope for–’

The words jolted Jon back to the present like an electric shock. Whatever else Helen had to say, he’d never know. He tuned her out, and he started walking.

“She was having a go at me – nothing new there – but then she brought you into it, and…” Jon shrugs. “I don’t think it was her intention, but it nudged me back on track. You and I had a plan, before, and… honestly, I didn’t have much hope that it would work, but you had. That made it worth trying.”

It wasn’t like Jon could break the world more by parleying with the Eye. At worst, it made no difference, but at least Jon did something to honor Martin’s memory; at best, it put Jon out of his misery, one way or another.

“I’m glad I did, because… well, it changed things, obviously. You were right.”

“Sorry,” Martin says with unmistakable self-satisfaction, “could you say that again?”

��You were right, Martin.” Jon rolls his eyes, but the effect is undercut by an indulgent smile he can’t quite repress. “You often are. All of this is to say – I’m only here because you gave me a reason to be. If not for that, then… well, I meant what I’ve said before, about needing a lifeline in order to stand any chance against the Fears. I was – I am lucky enough to have one.”

More than one, he thinks with a sense of wonder. The support he has now is such a far cry from the ostracism he experienced the first time he was here. It still gives him pause every time he dwells on the contrast. Sometimes, it almost seems too good to be true.

“Oliver didn’t,” Jon continues. “It’s hard to begrudge him for resigning himself to fate, especially considering how the power that claimed him is defined by fatalism. He never asked to be chosen, he was given no hope of escape, and he had no one to reach out to, let alone anyone to reach back. It’s unsurprising that he would come to accept the inescapable when the only anchor he had was the certainty of oblivion.”

“‘The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one,’” Georgie says quietly.

Jon nods. “And without a dependable reason to see the moments in between as significant, it’s… well, it’s hard to see the point in anything. I’ve been there.”

As has Georgie, Jon knows. She exhales heavily, massaging her temples, visibly conflicted.

“I still don’t think you should trust him,” Martin says.

“I’m not suggesting we trust him wholesale,” Jon says, “but I’m certain that he isn’t an enemy. He might not resist the End, but he doesn’t work to end the world in its name, either. He’s… thoroughly neutral.”

“Then what makes you think he’ll lift a finger to help?” Martin asks.

“I doubt he’ll go out of his way to help,” Jon admits. “He might be willing to trade information, though. I just thought… Avatar of the End – he would have more insight into the limits of Jonah’s supposed ‘immortality’ than I do.”

“You think he can tell you something about the dead man’s switch,” Georgie guesses, rubbing at her forehead.

“That’s my hope, yes. He can see the route that a person will take to their end. Or, he can when their death is imminent, at least – I’m not sure how far into the future his foresight stretches these days.”

In the hospital, Oliver implied that he could see something in Jon’s vicinity. Whether that suggests Jon’s own end is near enough for Oliver to foresee it, Jon does not Know. Given his proven resilience, he suspects it’s just as likely to be a quirk of his strange existence. There’s no shortage of idiosyncrasies that may mark Jon as an outlier: he’s the Archivist; he’s traveled through a rift in time; he’s the primed and practiced focal point of the Watcher’s Crown, and the fate of the world hinges on his ability to keep that potential in check.

And if his situation is an exception to the rule, perhaps Jonah’s is as well.

“Maybe he’ll be able to see whether our routes flow into Jonah’s, so to speak,” Jon says. “When Oliver dreamed of Gertrude’s impending death, he saw how much of the world’s fate was intertwined with hers –”

“– the veins, whose domination of the dreamscape had only ever been partial before, had thickened and now seemed to cover almost the whole space of every street – the destination – into which all the veins flowed – The Magnus Institute – choked with that shadowed flesh – following that red light that would now pulse so bright that I knew were I to see it awake it would have blinded me – and every one of those veins – where they ended – a person sitting at that desk and it was them that all of this scarlet light was flowing into.”

“Gertrude,” Martin says.

Jon nods, then holds up one finger: Wait. The Archive has more to say; Jon can practically feel the words bubbling up his throat and crowding behind his teeth. As discomfiting as it is to have it hijack his voice, sometimes it’s easier to ride out that compulsion than to tamp it down.

“I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you – such a thing is likely impossible – but after what I saw I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try – there is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.”

Statement ends, Jon thinks, working his jaw to soothe the unnatural tension that has taken root there. Happy now? Anything else to add?

As expected, it doesn’t answer. He’s well aware that addressing the Archive essentially amounts to talking to himself, but carrying on an internal dialogue with the more frustrating aspects of himself was a habit long before he took on the mantle of Archivist.

After a few seconds, he feels the Archive’s imposing presence start to recede, releasing him from the compulsion. It’s still there, of course – it’s always there, looming over him like a vulture, as impossible to ignore as a knife to the throat – but for now it seems content to fall back and observe once more.

Georgie sighs. “That’s why you’re sympathetic to him.”

“He tried.” Jon shrugs. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

“That still doesn’t mean he’s going to help this time,” Martin says.

“No, but he has no incentive to hurt us, either. There’s no harm in asking him questions. He’s not going to run to Jonah to inform on us. The worst that happens is he says ‘no’ and goes back to minding his own business. But if he agrees to talk… well, it might be our best chance to determine how much of what Jonah says is true.”

Georgie chews on her thumbnail for a few seconds before looking back up at Jon, a pensive frown on her face. “Why’d he go out of his way to come here at all, if he has no motivation one way or the other?”

“Honestly? Curiosity, I think. But… I suppose I’m also hoping that there’s a part of him that might sympathize.”

“Do you really think there is?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know. In my future, probably not. He wasn’t enjoying himself like some of the other Avatars – I mean, he was feeding on the fear produced by his domain, but even then, he didn’t strike me as cruel. It was just… acceptance in the face of a conclusion at ultimately stayed the same regardless of the path leading up to it, and…”

And maybe it speaks to Jon’s mental state at the time, but there were a few points in Oliver’s statement that struck him as almost merciful. After all, in the face of seemingly endless torment, death was a covetable escape.

“I have no power to stop it,” the Archive recites, “and even if I did, I would not do so. For to rob a soul of death is as torturous as its inevitable coming – I fear the annihilation you would gift me as little as I desire it – perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned – I am now, as the thing I feed, a fixed point, that has neither the longing nor ability to change its state of existence – even you, with all your power, cannot keep the world alive forever. All things end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose, only brings you closer to it.”

“That Oliver again?” Martin mutters tetchily. “Doesn’t sound to me like he’ll be particularly inclined to help.”

“Well–” The word comes out as a rasp, and Jon has to pause to clear his throat before continuing. “That was – that was the Oliver of the future. After the change, he was too much of the End not to live its truth, just as I was too much of the Eye not to walk its path and archive its world. We were both conduits, inseparable from the powers that laid claim to us. Here and now, though, I’m hoping he might still be…”

“What, benevolent?” Martin says incredulously.

Jon is quiet for a long moment, trying to find the right words to explain.

“At my most hopeless,” he says slowly, “I still cared, even though there was no meaningful way for me to put it into practice. I don’t think I ever managed to reach the level of acceptance that Oliver did – and sometimes I envied him for that. But embracing the End as a foregone conclusion doesn’t necessarily mean he’s completely unmoved by what happens in the interim. Not yet, anyway. And as of right now, whether it’s out of curiosity or compassion, obviously he still interacts with the world from time to time, even if he prefers to exist in the background for the most part.”

Martin and Georgie both look unconvinced.

“I’m not asking him to help us change fate,” Jon goes on. “In his view, there is no obstructing fate – not in any way that genuinely matters to his patron. Oliver isn’t particularly concerned about when the End will come – he’s just secure in the knowledge that it will happen eventually, with or without the interference of any mortal actor. Passive or active, nothing he does or doesn’t do will change that. But I’m thinking it’s been a long time since someone has asked him for help that he actually has the power to provide, and… I know what that’s like.”

Despite the immense power that Jon could exercise after the culmination of the Watcher’s Crown, he was ultimately powerless to change things for the better. It’s why he leapt at the chance to help Naomi in her nightmare: even a small, low-effort act of kindness after so long without the opportunity was overwhelmingly liberating.

It was insignificant against the vast backdrop of the universe, perhaps, but it still left a mark. It prompted a cascade of little changes that completely rewrote their dynamic; it curtailed some of the suffering in which Jon had previously been so unwillingly complicit; it's even acted as an inoculation against the loneliness that had permeated both of their lives during this stretch of time when Jon was last here. Those little changes mattered to him, and they mattered to Naomi – not only in that first moment, but in all the time since.

All of that had to count for something, right? It took fourteen ill-fated marks to end the world, after all. With any one of them missing, the Ritual wouldn’t have worked and the world at large would never have noticed. But that didn’t make any one of those marks wholly insignificant on its own. They scarred him and the people around him; every encounter changed him, whittled away at his sense of self, left him progressively vulnerable and set him up for successive marks.

The repercussions still linger. They probably always will.

In his sporadic moments of cautious optimism, Jon cannot help but wonder: If a series of little cruelties can create such a perfect and terrible storm, is it really inconceivable that a pattern of little rebellions could keep it at bay? And Jon has long since come to the conclusion that compassion in the face of unimaginable cruelty is its own form of rebellion.

“As much as Oliver talks about fate and inevitability,” Jon says, “he still seems to believe in free will to an extent. That we all make choices. When he last spoke to me, he offered me a choice. Now I’m offering one to him.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” Georgie releases a weary exhale and tosses her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You’re sure this won’t come back to bite you?”

“We have nothing to lose by asking,” Jon says. “And he has nothing to lose regardless of what choice he makes, but… it feels right to at least give him the option. Whatever he decides, I won’t begrudge him for it.”

“Fine,” she says tersely. “Do what you want.”

Jon just barely suppresses a wince. “Georgie?”

“Sorry, that came off as –” Georgie heaves another sigh. “I’m not angry with you. I get it. It makes sense. I just don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“Just… be mindful, alright? You don’t owe him any answers you don’t want to give. And he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt just because you relate to him.”

“I know,” Jon says again.

“I mean it, Jon,” she says sharply. She takes a steadying breath before continuing, more diplomatically this time. “It’s… sweet, I guess, that you want to empathize with him, but you have a tendency to…” Georgie pauses, weighing her words. “I mean, I’ve seen you compare yourself to Helen, too. And Jonah.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone would deny that there are certain… similarities,” Jon says, not quite under his breath.

“Yeah, you’re always going to have something in common with other people if you look hard enough. But sometimes you see the worst in people and you fold it into how you see yourself. Like you’re looking into a funhouse mirror, but you can’t see how the reflection is distorted.” Jon avoids meeting her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have a history of comparing yourself to your abusers. Sorry,” she adds when he flinches, “but it’s the truth, and you need to hear it. Just… think about it, okay? Ask yourself whether this is compassion or if it’s just another way to dehumanize yourself.”

“I –” Jon swallows around the lump in his throat, his mouth gone dry. “Okay, I – I get your point, but – I swear that’s not what this is. With Helen, and – and – and Jonah, it’s – they’ve actually gone out of their way to – to manipulate, to cause real harm. Oliver is different.”

“You were marked by the End,” Georgie says pointedly.

“Yes, but that wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He didn’t hurt me, never tried to trap me or trick me – never pressured me into making one choice over another, even at the end of the world. I really don’t think he’s evil, or sadistic, or – or scheming, weaving some grand web. He’s just watching things unfold, because he had a crash course in the stages of grief forced onto him and the end result was… well, acceptance. He doesn’t fear the End, but he doesn’t worship it, either. He just embodies it, openly and authentically.”

Georgie is silent for nearly a full minute, scrutinizing Jon intently, before she capitulates.

“Alright. I’ll… trust your judgment, I guess,” she says, but she shares a knowing glance with Martin – who looks just as leery as she does – when she says it. “Still, be careful.”

“I, uh… I imagine you don’t want to be here when I talk to him?” Jon ventures, though he’s certain he already knows the answer.

“No,” Georgie says summarily.

Jon releases a breathless chuckle. “Fair enough.”

“I really should be getting home to Melanie, anyway. It’s stay-home date night. Pizza and a movie.” Georgie offers a tentative grin, her shoulders relaxing minutely. “She hasn’t seen the new Ghostbusters yet, somehow – something about having been preoccupied with real paranormal bullshit for the last few years – but I checked and the DVD version has audio description, so I bought a copy. She’d be cross with me if I stood her up for the grim reaper.”

“I imagine so.” Jon tilts his head. “Although, Oliver isn’t actually the–”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs, “I was being facetious.”

When the three of them leave the tunnels, they find Oliver still waiting awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs out of the Archives, Basira standing sentinel nearby. Daisy leans against a far wall, eyeing him from a distance.

Georgie gives a long, doubtful look at Oliver before turning to Jon and offering a hug that he gladly accepts.

“Text me later tonight?” Georgie says. “And keep me updated on your travel plans.”

“Will do. Tell Melanie I said hello. And tell the Admiral he’s a national treasure.”

Georgie snorts at that, shaking her head in amusement before turning towards the stairs. Oliver nearly jumps out of the way as she strides in his direction, but she doesn’t stop to confront him beyond a glare as she passes. A prolonged, awkward minute of silence passes after she leaves, charged with suspicion and tension.

“Tunnels,” Basira says eventually, her tone and expression giving nothing away. She doesn’t wait for a response before stalking off down the hall, Daisy falling in line behind her.

Basira barely waits for the others to take their seats before she launches into her interrogation. Although her eyes remain fixed on Oliver, her first question isn’t directed at him.

“Why is he here, Jon?”

“Like I said, I invited him.” Jon glances at Oliver, apologetic. It feels odd to talk about him as if he isn’t present.

“Why?”

“Mutual curiosity, I expect,” Oliver cuts in, inclining his head towards Jon. “You have questions for me.”

Jon returns a nod. He has ulterior motives, and Oliver knows it. To pretend otherwise would be pointless, not to mention insulting.

“Oliver is an Avatar of the End,” Jon tells the others. “There might be a chance he could tell us how much of what Elias says is true.”

“And what’s the price tag?” Basira asks.

“He has questions of his own. He could tell in the hospital that there’s something… wrong about me. Obviously, I couldn’t talk about it where Elias could hear.”

“You shouldn’t disclose it at all,” Basira says. “If any of it gets back to him –”

“Oliver has no reason to betray our confidence.” Jon’s gaze flicks to Oliver. “Right?”

“Consider me a neutral party,” Oliver replies.

“You’re going to just… take him at his word,” Basira scoffs.

“The End has no Ritual,” Jon says, “and it has no reason to prevent any of the other Entities from successfully pulling off their own Rituals. No matter what happens to this world, the End will claim everything eventually. The when and how are irrelevant to it. In the meantime, the world as-is suits it just fine. It has no desire to postpone or hasten the end of all things.”

“Terminus is what it is,” Oliver agrees. “I have neither the power nor the desire to contradict it.”

“Then why would you help us?” Basira asks.

“I never said that I would.”

“I’m not asking you to actively intervene,” Jon says before Basira can offer a retort. “I just want to talk. That… is why you came here, isn’t it?”

Oliver hesitates for a moment before answering. “Your curiosity must have rubbed off on me.”

Unbidden, Oliver’s statement rushes to the forefront of Jon’s mind: I still remember the first time I tried to touch one…. I don’t know why I did it; I knew it was a stupid thing to do. But I just… maybe I wanted it this way.

“Don’t know about that,” Jon says quietly. “Curiosity is only human.”

And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it, the statement plays on. Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home.

“Perhaps,” Oliver says, noncommittal.

“So you’ll tell us what we want to know,” Daisy finally speaks up. Despite her veneer of calm – leaning back in her chair, arms crossed – her bouncing leg belies her agitation.

“It makes no difference to me.” Oliver shrugs. “Though I can’t promise my answers will be satisfying.”

“I still don’t like this,” Basira says, glaring askance at Oliver.

“Look,” Jon says, “this is the only way I can think of to figure out what stakes we’re working with. Jonah has been cheating death for centuries–”

“Jon!” Basira hisses.

“It’s important context,” Jon argues back. “And anyway, it’s going to come up when I tell him my story. It’s not exactly a detail I can gloss over; it’s central to the plot.” He sighs and looks at Oliver. “Elias is Jonah Magnus, the original founder of the Institute.”

Basira throws her hands up with a frustrated snarl. She turns to Daisy for support, but Daisy only offers a sympathetic grimace and a half-shrug.

“I thought there was something odd about him,” Oliver says blandly. “He’s long past his expiration date.”

Daisy snorts at that. Judging from the bemused, almost startled expression on Oliver’s face, he hadn’t expected to garner anything other than aggression from her.

“Whenever one of his vessels is… compromised,” Jon elaborates, “or nearing the end of its usefulness, he takes a new one.”

Recovering from his fleeting bewilderment, Oliver turns his attention back to Jon. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

“Maxwell Rayner and Simon Fairchild,” Basira says.

Oliver nods. “Among others.”

“Does that… I don’t know – offend the End?” Martin asks.

“No,” Oliver says. “They can’t outrun it forever, as so many have discovered firsthand.”

“Like Rayner,” Daisy says.

Once again, Oliver looks thrown off-kilter by Daisy’s diminishing hostility, but he does offer a wary nod in response to her contribution to the conversation. “And in the meantime, their fear of their own mortality ages like a fine wine.”

“Is an unnaturally long life somehow tastier for the End, then?” Martin asks. “I think most of the statements I’ve read about it involved somehow cheating death.”

“Perhaps. If my patron has a conscious mind, it has never spoken to me directly. Everything I know to be true is just… feeling.”

“So it’s as cagey as the other Powers, then,” Daisy says with a derisive chuckle. “Good to know.”

Oliver smooths his hands across his coat, draped across his lap, before glancing at Jon for guidance.

“I gave you a story,” he says reticently. “I would like to hear yours. Then I will answer your questions.”

“Fair enough,” Jon says – and abruptly realizes that he has no idea where to start. “You, uh… you don’t need to hear my whole life story, do you?”

“I did give you an outline of mine,” Oliver says with just a hint of amusement. “I admit I’m curious as to what led you here, but I imagine if you went into detail, we would be here for hours.”

“Much of it doesn’t bear repeating, anyway,” Jon says. “Just the highlights, then?”

“If you please.”

“Right,” Jon mumbles. He takes a deep breath. “Had my first supernatural encounter when I was eight, never got over it, and a combination of lifelong obsession and unchecked curiosity brought me to the Institute. After Gertrude died, Jonah chose me as her replacement because he knew I would be easily molded into the catalyst for his Ritual, and I was.” He looks up. “Is that enough?”

“Which of the Powers marked you first? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Web.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you seemed… entangled.”

There’s something… off about you, Oliver had told him when they last spoke. The roots, they look… sick. Wrong. And the threads are – tangled.

It’s possible that Oliver was speaking in metaphor – alluding to the threads of fate, so to speak – but the question has been simmering in the back of Jon’s mind for months…

“When you visited me before,” he blurts out. “You said the Web sent you.”

“Yes,” Oliver says candidly. “Not an explicit command, of course. It was more a… well, a feeling. A tug. The Web usually prefers subtlety, but there are times when it wants its marks to know the hand that moves them.”

“S-so, when you said the threads around me were tangled, was that figurative, or could you… see the Web’s influence?”

“The Spider might make its presence known sometimes, but Terminus doesn’t give me the ability to see the shape of its web any more than the Eye does you.”

“Not unless the Web allows itself to be Seen,” Jon says absently.

Despite how much he could See in his future, the Web always remained something of an enigma. It wasn’t until after his standoff with the Eye that he was able to follow the Spider’s threads.

But then, the Eye hadn’t been the only watcher lurking in the Panopticon. The Web had woven itself into the foundation of that place from its conception, and the Spider made no effort to hide. More than once, it stationed itself where he was sure to notice it. The more he thinks on it, the more he suspects that the ensuing ability to See its threads, to Know where they converged, was as much an allowance by the Web as it was due to his communion with the Ceaseless Watcher.

“When I spoke of threads, I meant more…” Oliver opens and closes his mouth a few times as he struggles with his phrasing. “Well, I’ve not yet found a perfect description for it. Think of a life and fate as… a jumble of intersections. Some people feel like thread-and-nail art. Others feel like a snarled ball of yarn. You,” he adds, looking at Jon appraisingly, “are something of a Gordian knot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Martin demands, a protective edge in his voice.

“It’s not a compliment or an insult,” Oliver says mildly. “Only an observation. Come to think of it, Gertrude was much the same way. The fates of many hinged on the routes she took. Less of a butterfly effect and more of a hurricane.”

“So you can see fate?” Basira asks. A genuine question, but the flat skepticism in her tone makes it sound rhetorical.

“To a limited extent,” Oliver says haltingly. “I see the near-future as it relates to death specifically. When people near the ends of their routes, I can make out the details of their–”

“Seeing those awful veins crawling into them, into wounds not yet open, or skulls not yet split – they sneak up and into throats about to choke on blood, or lurch into hearts about to convulse – webbed over the face of a drunk old man stumbling into his car – one snaking along the road, over towards the railing – I’ll never forget seeing a field of cows the week before they were sent to the abattoir…”

Jon trails off with a tired groan, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“You have a good memory,” Oliver says.

“Sorry,” Jon mumbles. “Archivist thing. Can’t always control it.”

“S-so,” Martin redirects, “if any of us were about to die, you would be able to see it, right?”

“Yes. But I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes,” Oliver clarifies before Martin can ask. “Knowing your end is coming does nothing to prevent it. It only ensures that you will live your final days in fear.”

“Wouldn’t your patron like that?” Daisy asks.

Basira immediately latches onto that thought. “We have a statement here about a book that tells you how and when you’ll die.”

“Case number 0030912,” Jon cites. “Statement of Masato Murray, regarding his inheritance of an untitled book with supernatural properties. Each time the reader rereads their entry, they’ll find that the recorded date of their future death draws closer and the cause more gruesome.”

“Thanks, spooky Google,” Basira says sardonically. “Who needs an indexing system when we have a walking, talking card catalogue on staff?”

“One of my predecessors in ancient times once filed a complaint with the Eye, aggrieved by all the terrible powers it foisted upon him,” Jon says matter-of-factly, not missing a beat. “Being a benevolent patron, it granted him and all future generations of Archivists a convenience feature as compensation.”

“Smartass,” Basira says, but it sounds almost amiable, and Jon allows himself a tentative smile.

His tolerance for making light of this part of himself tends to be variable. Unpredictable, even. On good days, shared gallows humor is a balm, bringing with it a sense of solidarity and camaraderie; on bad days, even the gentlest dig feels like a barb.

He also tends to be selective about whose teasing he can weather. Martin and Georgie are safe more often than not. Daisy can usually get away with it; she’s prompt to let him in on the joke whenever he doesn’t pick up on her sarcasm. Given how blunt Melanie can be, it at least tends to be obvious when her pointed comments are meant in jest or in umbrage; and anyway, he hasn’t yet spoken to her directly since she quit.

Basira, though – she’s always been difficult to read. They have a similar sense of humor, but part of his brain is still living in a time when she saw the worst in him. No matter how many times he tells himself that things are different now, he can’t quite shake that feeling of being on indefinite probation. Hostile attribution bias, he recognizes, but having a label for it doesn’t make it any easier to silence those perennial fears. It’s only recently that he’s been able to take such joking from her in stride. Not always, but sometimes.

“Anyway,” Basira says, looking back to Oliver, “I take it that book is affiliated with the End. It feeds on the reader’s fear of knowing the details of their death.”

“Almost everyone has some degree of fear regarding mortality – their own or that of others,” Oliver says. “For some, that primal fear permeates their entire lives. Others only spare it any thought when it closes in on them. Terminus feeds on all of it equally. I suspect that active encounters with it are more about…”

“Flavor?” Basira suggests.

“So to speak,” Oliver says. “Welcome variety in its diet, but not necessary to sate it.”

“Which is why its Avatars have such wildly different methodologies,” Jon says, nodding to himself. “Justin Gough was allowed to survive a near-death experience, but acquired a debt that had to be paid in the lives of others, killing them in their dreams. Tova McHugh was granted the ability to prolong her own life by passing each of her intended deaths onto others, adding their remaining lifespans to her own. Nathaniel Thorpe was cursed with immortality after trying to cheat his way out of death. He was only one of many gamblers who played such games of chance–”

“Jon,” Basira sighs, “you don’t have to go through the whole roster of personified death omens.”

“Sorry.”

“So what kind of Avatar are you?” Basira asks, looking Oliver up and down. “How do you feed your patron?”

“For me, Terminus has not been particularly demanding. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I never attempted to cheat my way out of death. It simply… chose me – or I wandered across its path – and it never left. Thus far, it seems content to have me play the observer.” He glances at Jon. “You can probably understand that.”

“The Beholding isn’t satisfied to have its Archivist simply observe. It wants its knowledge actively harvested, recorded, curated.” Jon huffs, not bothering to contain his disgust. “Processed.”

The conversation lapses into a tense silence for several seconds before Basira changes tack.

“About Gertrude,” she says. “You tried to warn her about her death.”

“Yes,” Oliver replies.

“Why?”

“The evidence of her death snaked its roots all across London – as far as I could see, and perhaps further. At the time, I’d never seen anything like it. Such a sprawling web of repercussions stemming from a single death – I felt like I had to say something. As I expected, it made no difference in the end.”

Jon worries his lower lip between his teeth. “You said the roots surrounding me seemed sick.”

“You saw roots around Jon?” Martin says urgently, jolting up ramrod-straight in his seat.

“They’re… different from the ones I’ve grown accustomed to,” Oliver says slowly. “There’s no light pulsing within them, no life flowing to or from them. And looking at them, it’s almost like…” He frowns, squinting down at the floor as if it might offer up the words he needs. “It’s like they’re there and not there simultaneously. Faded, like an afterimage – one that can only be seen from a certain angle.”

“Okay, and what does that – what does that mean?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I was hoping Jon could shed some light on it,” Oliver says, raising his head to meet Jon’s eyes. “I may not have the same drive to know that you and yours do, but I find myself returning to the question frequently over the past few months.”

“R-right,” Jon says. “Let me just, uh… where to start…”

Jon rubs at this throat with one hand, the other clenching into a fist where it rests on his knee.

“Jon,” Daisy says, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I just, uh –” Jon breathes a nervous laugh. “This never gets any easier.”

“Do you want me to say it?” Martin offers, schooling his tone into something approaching calm. His posture remains rigid, though, hands balled into white-knuckled fists in his lap.

“No, it’s fine.” Jon takes a few deep breaths and then looks Oliver in the eye. “In the future, I ended the world.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the Beholding gave you any precognitive abilities.”

“It, uh – it doesn’t. I didn’t foresee the future, I lived it. For… for a long time, actually, so I –” Jon exhales a humorless chuckle. “I probably meet your definition of past my expiration date.”

Oliver tilts his head, considering.

“Hard to say,” he settles on. “You’re… a bit of a paradox. Feels as if you exist in multiple states at once, and it’s difficult for me to tell which one is true.”

“Maybe all of them are,” Jon says distractedly. “But, I, uh – I eventually found a way to come back to before the change – or, to send my consciousness back, anyway. But only as far back as the coma. I… I wish it had taken me back further – back to the very beginning, though I” – Jon huffs – “I suppose it’s hard to say what counts as the beginning.”

“It depends on how you want to define a beginning,” Oliver says. “In a way, the advent of existence marked the beginning of the end. Everything since then has been just another domino.”

“Well,” Jon begins, but Daisy cuts him off.

“Nope,” she says bluntly. “You go down that semantic rabbit hole and we’ll be here forever.”

“Fine,” Jon says with a petulant sigh. “Anyway, I couldn’t figure out how to wake up on my own, so just like the first time I was here, I had to wait for you to come along and help.”

“I still don’t understand why,” Oliver says.

“Neither do I, I’m afraid.”

“Not to encroach on your sphere of influence, but I think in this case, not knowing the answer might bother me even more than it does you.” Oliver releases a quiet sigh. “So you came back to stop yourself from starting the apocalypse.”

“It’s not like he chose to end the world,” Martin says, immediately leaping to Jon’s defense once more.

“Apologies,” Oliver says with an earnest nod in Martin’s direction. “I didn’t intend to imply otherwise.” He glances at Jon. “I’ve known of many who seek to bring on the end in the hopes that they will be able to choose what shape it takes. You don’t strike me as the sort.”

“No. But Jonah is.” Jon ducks his head as he speaks, fingers twisting in his jumper. “He wanted – wants to rule over a world reshaped in the Beholding’s image. He needed an Archivist with particular qualities to serve as the linchpin of his Ritual. So he created one. By the time he showed his hand, it was too late. I was the key, and Jonah didn’t need my consent in order to open the door.”

“I imagine it didn’t go as he planned,” Oliver says.

“No,” Jon says with a grim laugh. “No, it didn’t. He suffered as much as anyone else did in that reality. It all started because he was afraid of his own mortality, and yet – in the end, he met a fate worse than death.”

“Whatever it was, he deserved it,” Martin mutters.

“Maybe so,” Jon says. “But it was never about deserving. There was some poetic justice there, seeing him brought down by his own hubris, but… at the end of the day, he got the same treatment as anyone else. Just – pointless suffering, utterly divorced from the concept of consequences. Had a way of… diluting the schadenfreude, honestly.”

Martin’s spark of vindication appears to fizzle out as Jon speaks, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening.

“Regardless,” Jon continues, “Jonah wanted to be a god, but at his core, he was no different from any other human. Fodder for the Fears. And the one he feared the most – it was in no hurry to finish the meal. I imagine by the time Terminus finally came for him in earnest, he would have welcomed it.”

“Those who seek immortality always come to see it as a curse in time,” Oliver says sagely. “When they come to terms with the fact that there is no such thing as a truly immortal existence, it comes as a relief.”

“I walked through your domain once,” Jon says after a pause. “You gave me a statement about the End’s place in that world. The domains were reluctant to let their victims die – they’d bring them to the brink, then revive them and repeat the process – but the Fears are greedy. Eventually, they would suck their victims dry –”

“– bones – every one of them – picked clean and cracked open – desperately gnawing – trying to reach whatever scant marrow might have remained inside – sucked from them to leave nothing but dry, white fragments – the hunger he saw in their eyes–”

Jon bites down on his tongue. That’s quite enough of that.

“You alright?” Martin says, leaning over and putting a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Sorry,” Jon says gruffly. “That one was…”

“Grisly?” Daisy says.

“Yeah,” Jon huffs. “But – not necessarily inapt? That reality was a closed economy. No new people were being born. The ones who already existed were destined to die, no matter how unwilling the other Fears were to grant that release.”

“As has always been the order of things,” Oliver says.

“You predicted that eventually the Fears would start poaching victims from one another’s domains – and they did. There were…” Jon grimaces. “There were a lot of territorial disputes, towards the end there. Domains encroaching on one another, monsters fighting over scraps. The Eye got its fill Watching it all play out, of course, but given enough time, it would have starved, same as all the rest.”

“And once the world was rendered barren,” Oliver says, understanding, “Terminus itself would die.”

Jon nods. “And until that happened, both you and your patron were content to let things play out.”

“Terminus is patient.”

Too patient, Jon thought at the time.

“I don’t think it was your intention,” he says, “but your statement did come as a relief. I already expected as much – that eventually it would all end – but having it corroborated by an authority on the matter was… very welcome.”

“People may fear death,” Oliver says, “but anyone who outruns it long enough finds that there is a much deeper fear hiding underneath – that of having the release of death withheld from them.”

“We have a lot of statements to that tune,” Basira says.

“I imagine so.”

“So,” Daisy says brusquely, “is that enough of a story for you?”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. “Although it raises more questions than it grants answers.”

“Our turn for questions, then?” Basira asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “The… veins, or… roots you saw around Gertrude. You’re saying they didn’t just foretell her death, but showed how it would impact everything else. So, what about the ones you saw around Jon?”

“It’s difficult to observe them for any length of time, but they do seem… more sprawling.” Oliver studies Jon for a moment, considering. “Like you are the heart of a watershed moment destined to happen.”

“So that’s it, then,” Jon says dully. “I’m still the spark for it all.”

Pandora’s box with a ‘use by’ date, he thinks to himself, somewhat hysterically.

He already knew it to be true, but that doesn’t make the confirmation any less harrowing. Everything hinges on his ability to keep his head above water, but the fate of the world weighs ever more heavily on his shoulders, pressing down, down, down –

“Does that mean…” Jon hugs his middle, slowly curling in on himself. “Does that mean it’s going to happen again?”

“I cannot say.” If Jon’s not mistaken, Oliver sounds… almost sympathetic. “This is unprecedented. I can only theorize. It’s possible that you’re like Gertrude, and what I see is a premonition. Or maybe the reality you came from still exists, parallel to this one, and it still clings to you. Perhaps it’s a Schrödinger’s cat, and it both does and does not exist, right up until the point where you do or do not bring it into being. Or maybe it doesn't exist, and the roots I see are only… imprints, so to speak. Echoes of a time and place that this world will never overlap.”

“Like trace fossils,” Jon murmurs. “Ghosts.”

“If you like.”

“Could you – could you follow them?” Jon can feel his pulse quicken, his heart thrumming in his throat. “See where they originate?”

“They originate from you.”

“O-oh.” Jon’s gaze darts uncertainly around the area before fixing on Oliver again. “Then, uh – can you see where they end?”

“You have a suspicion,” Basira says, watching Jon carefully.

Jon swallows around the breath caught in his throat. “What if they go back to Hill Top Road?”

“As far as I can tell, they reach out in all directions,” Oliver says. “There may not be a single end point. Regardless, I have no desire to visit Hill Top Road.”

“Oh,” Jon says despondently. It’s not like he expected Oliver to go out of his way to help, but…

“Would it really tell you anything of value anyway?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know,” Jon says, running a hand through his hair, one finger getting caught in a knot and pulling hard at his scalp. “But – but it feels like something I should at least check –”

“To what end?” Daisy asks. Jon looks at her blankly. “No offense, Sims, but the most likely outcome is you get no real answers, you lose yourself obsessing over theories, each more catastrophic than the last, and you spend the next few weeks compulsively checking yourself for spiders. Some things aren’t worth chasing after.”

“I just – I feel like I should know one way or the other –”

“Is that you or the Eye talking?” Martin asks.

“What’s the difference?” Jon says flatly. He immediately regrets it when he glimpses the expression on Martin’s face – a very familiar mixture of concern and frustration. “I’m sorry. Just… I don’t know. I don’t Know.”

Jon tugs on his hair once more, focusing on the dull ache it produces. He’s always had trouble letting things go. Letting questions go unanswered; letting mysteries go unsolved. The Beholding just nurtured that obsessiveness, encouraged that impulse to proliferate in his head like a weed and choke out his inhibitions.

“You’re here now,” Martin says firmly. “You can’t go back, so you may as well go forward.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, guilt heavy and searing in his chest.

“Like I said,” Oliver says, rubbing the back of his neck, “my knowledge of the future is narrow. I can’t tell you anything about parallel universes, or branching timelines, or the ability to alter history. The only certainty is that anything that begins will have an end, one way or another. All the rest is just… details.”

Martin folds his arms across his chest, examining Oliver with narrowed eyes. “You say that like the details are irrelevant.”

“I wonder about that,” Oliver says softly.

“Well, I think our experiences matter,” Martin says. “The fact that we were here at all, it’s… it’s not nothing.”

“Even those who make the greatest impact are forgotten in time.”

“So what? It will always have happened, even if no one is alive to remember it. And – and you never know when something little will have an impact on someone, which contributes to them doing something that makes a greater impact – that changes history.”

“Even time itself will end eventually. History will be forgotten, and nothing will remain to register its loss.”

“And?” Martin persists. “We won’t be around to see it. In the meantime, we’re here. We’re alive. If we’re going to end no matter what, why not make it worthwhile? Sure, there are no equivalent powers of hope and love to counter the Fears, but – but who cares? That just means that we have to make up for that absence.” Jon smiles to himself as Martin builds momentum – shoulders pushed back, chest thrust out, head held higher, speech growing more impassioned as he argues his point. “If a few mistakes and some asshole with a god complex can end the world, who’s to say a few deliberate kindnesses can’t save it?”

“Am I the asshole with the god complex?” Jon says drily. Judging from Martin’s disapproving scowl, he is not in the mood for self-deprecating humor. “Sorry, sorry. But, uh – in all seriousness, I think it was more than a few mistakes on my part–”

“You know what I meant, Jon,” Martin snaps. “And – and fine, maybe a few kindnesses can’t save the whole world, but – but they can save someone’s world. They can save a person. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Yes,” Jon says with a small smile. “Yes, it does.”

“R-right.” Martin blinks several times, momentarily stunned by the lack of resistance. “It doesn’t change the world – except for how it does. Just – the universe might not care, but we can, and that’s exactly why we should. It’s… it’s what we owe to each other. That’s what I think, at least.”

Martin goes quiet then, arms still folded with a mixture of self-consciousness and sullen defiance.

“How long have you had that rant queued up?” Daisy teases.

“A while,” Martin says, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

“You’re quite the romantic,” Oliver says. He says it like a compliment, albeit somewhat wistful.

“Yeah, well.” Martin blushes at the praise in spite of himself. “Someone has to counter the fatalism around here.”

If you ask Jon, there are many reasons to love Martin Blackwood. This is doubtless one of them.

“Besides,” Martin recovers, apparently on a roll now, “it seems to me there’s as much evidence for fate being changeable as not. Yeah, sure, eventually everything dies, but who’s to say that the details are set in stone? Like – like that book, the one where the details of a person’s death change every time they read it.”

“But does their fate actually change, or is it just the book messing with their heads?” Basira says, tapping her fingers against her lips and looking down at the floor pensively. “If the End has foreknowledge of a person’s death, maybe the last entry a person reads before dying was always their fate, and all the previous accounts were just lies intended to seed fear.”

When Jon opens his mouth to chime in, the Archive seizes the initiative, unceremonious as ever.

"When did it change?” comes the cadence of Masato Murray. “Was it when I turned back to read it again? Or perhaps when I had made the decision to never visit Lancashire? If the book knew the future, then how much did it know me? My decisions and choices were my own, so was it responding to them or simply to the fact that I opened the book again? Perhaps it changed every time I opened it, even if I didn’t read the page, every interaction changing my fate…. When I close the book I wonder: are those same words still there, squatting and biding their time, or have they already changed into some new unknown terror that I can neither know nor avoid, waiting to spring on me.”

Jon holds his breath in anticipation. After a few seconds of suspense, the pressure recedes, the Archive having spoken its peace.

“Archive’s talkative today,” Basira observes.

“Apparently,” Jon grumbles. “What I originally meant to say was that I’ve wondered the same thing – whether the book was really telling the future or simply playing on the fears of the reader.”

“Maybe offering textual support is another convenience feature?” Daisy keeps her tone carefully neutral, gauging his mood.

“The Beholding is known for being exceedingly generous,” he retorts.

Basira ignores the banter and speaks directly to Oliver. “Do you know?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the book in question,” he replies. “All the deaths I’ve personally foreseen have come to pass so far. That says nothing about whether or not the End always reveals the truth to all who cross its path.”

“Right.” Basira shakes her head. “Not sure why I expected a straightforward answer.”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Martin says. For a fraction of a second, Basira tenses. Jon suspects she’s just as repulsed by such a prospect as he is.

“Whatever,” she says curtly. “It isn’t important right now. What I want to know is how to deal with Jonah Magnus. So” – she pins Oliver in place with sharp, unblinking eyes – “what can you tell us about his mortality?”

“In short? He won’t live forever, regardless of how much he wants to deny that reality.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Daisy says, tossing her head back with an impatient groan. “Him dying eventually doesn’t help us now.”

“I’m not a mind-reader,” Oliver says. “If there’s more to your question, you’ll need to elaborate. What are you actually asking? How to kill him? For me to tell you whether his death is on the horizon?”

“Jonah claims that he’s the ‘beating heart of the Institute,’” Jon explains. “He says that if he dies, everyone else who works here dies as well. You were able to see the ripples created by Gertrude’s death. I suppose I thought – maybe you could tell us if there’s something similar with Jonah.”

“If his death was imminent, perhaps.” Oliver averts his eyes as he twists a ring around his finger, growing increasingly tense under such concentrated scrutiny. “But as I said before, I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes.”

“So you won’t tell us,” Martin says.

“To be frank, this place is rife with potential.” Oliver casts his gaze around the area, as if seeing something the others cannot. “It would be… difficult to untangle it all.”

“Fine,” Basira says tartly. “Then can you tell us whether it’s possible for him to set up a dead man’s switch in the first place? Seems to me something like that would be the End’s domain, wouldn’t it?”

“It would.”

“Then would he be able to exercise any real power over it?” Basira persists. “There’s nothing inherent to the Eye that suggests its Avatars should be able to bind others’ lives to them. Even the Archivist doesn’t work like that – we’re linked to Jon as far as being unable to quit goes, but we won’t die if he does. I think it’s more likely that Jonah did something extra to bind the Institute to himself.”

“Assuming he’s even telling the truth,” Daisy says.

“So, is there an artefact that could let him do it?” Basira asks, still staring Oliver down. “A ritual? A favor from an affiliate of the End, maybe?”

“Terminus has a variety of ways in which it operates,” Oliver says cagily, “same as all the other Powers. I don’t seek out instances of those manifestations. Given the sheer number of statements collected here, it's likely you’re all more familiar with the breadth of its influence than I am.”

“You’re very helpful,” Daisy scoffs.

Oliver hunches his shoulders, chastised. It’s an odd sight – Jon wouldn’t have expected him to be particularly affected by such an accusation. Oliver never promised to be helpful; does not owe them his cooperation. Before Jon can pursue that thought any further, though, Oliver continues.

“I will say that Terminus is its own master. Those who believe they have tamed it are only fooling themselves. Orchestrating their own misery. The moment in which they finally realize that fact – that they have never had the upper hand, that the entire time they have never strayed from the route to which Terminus binds them…” Oliver chews the inside of his cheek, considering. “The existential terror that moment creates – I wonder sometimes whether it’s a delicacy to my patron.”

“Sounds a lot like the Web,” Basira says. The suggestion must pique his interest, because Oliver sits up straighter and leans forward ever so slightly.

“Except the Web reviles its extinction as much as the other powers, and as much as any mortal mind,” he says – not quite excited, but more engaged than before. “Terminus, on the other hand – its eventual oblivion is part and parcel of its existence. It does not fear the conclusion of its story. The Web will never surrender to such a fate. It will always seek an escape route, some way to appoint itself the weaver of its own ends. Its threads can never stray from the confines of the routes dictated by Terminus, but the concept that it may itself be under the guidance of another… such a thing is incompatible with its definition. Still, the shape of the Spider’s web will always mirror the blueprints of a greater architect.”

“And you think the same is true for Jonah,” Jon says.

“I know it is.”

“Okay, but – but Jon changed fate,” Martin protests. “In a million little ways – some we probably don’t even know about – and some big ones, too. So who’s to say that every step of the route is part of the End’s blueprints? What if – hold on.”

Martin stands and moves to Jon’s makeshift desk, rummaging around for a few seconds before coming up with a pen. He snatches one of Melanie’s therapy worksheets from the top of the pile and turns it over to the blank side.

“What if the only things set in stone are – are certain points along the route,” he says, scribbling a scattering of dots across the page, “but all that matters is that the route eventually intersects with those points?” Martin connects two points with a wavy, sine-like line. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter how convoluted” – he draws another line, this time with several loop-de-loops – “or long” – yet another line, this one traveling all the way up to the top of the page and making several winding turns before plunging back down to connect with the next dot – “the path is.” He holds up the finished product for everyone to see. “As long as the dots connect, the rest is free reign.”

“I like to think that choice plays a role,” Oliver says. “That fate is less of a track and more of a guideline. But honestly, there’s no way to know for certain. I only know the end point. The rest is speculation.”

“It’s also possible that the rift brought me to an alternate reality,” Jon says, eyes downcast. “If the reality of my original timeline still exists, I haven’t changed fate at all. I’ve just jumped to a different track.”

“Okay, and if that’s the case, and this is a different dimension,” Martin says heatedly, “then that means it has its own timeline and its own future, and whatever happened in your future has no bearing on ours.” Martin glares, daring Jon to argue. He doesn’t. “So it’s a moot point. If we can’t know one way or the other whether the future is already written, then let’s just act as if it isn’t. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. At least then it will feel meaningful.”

“The worst isn’t something you can prepare for,” Jon says darkly. “Trust me, I know.”

“If I want ominous proverbs, I’ll let you know,” Martin immediately counters – and Jon loves him for it. Daisy chokes on a startled laugh; Martin ignores her, instead pivoting to face Oliver. “We want to kill Jonah Magnus. Or, at least make it so he can’t perform his Ritual. But preferably kill.”

“Never realized you were so bloodthirsty, Blackwood,” Daisy says approvingly.

“The world will be a better place without him in it,” Martin says without a hint of indecision, not looking away from Oliver. “Jonah’s original body is in the center of the Panopticon. Except his eyes, because apparently transplanting them into innocent people is how he cheats death, because of course it is, why wouldn’t it be some messed up–”

“Martin,” Basira sighs.

“Okay, fine, moving on,” Martin sasses back. “It makes me wonder, would destroying his original body hurt him, or do we need to destroy his original eyes as well, or would destroying just his eyes be enough? And – and would it kill him, or just – blind him, disconnect him from the Beholding? Or – or would that kill him, because the Beholding is what’s keeping him alive?”

“Your guesses are as good as mine,” Oliver says. “Much of this really does come down to speculation and thought experiment, and it seems you’ve done plenty of that amongst yourselves already. I’m afraid that the only certainty I can offer is the certainty of an ending, and I don’t think that’s as much of a consolation to you as it is to me.”

“No, it’s not,” Martin says.

“But, uh – thank you for your honesty,” Jon jumps in. “For trying.”

“I really do wish I had better answers for you,” Oliver says, not quite meeting his eyes. “The End is… somewhat of an echo chamber at times. When you’re already on the inside looking out, it can be… difficult, to shift perspective.”

“I wouldn’t be able to offer many straightforward answers about my patron, either,” Jon admits.

“Wait,” Martin says. “Could you… could you at least tell us whether you can see anything about our deaths?”

Oliver draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “In my experience, there’s nothing to be gained from such knowledge.”

“Tell us anyway,” Basira says.

“Why?” Oliver says tiredly, his hands curling into loose fists. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because if you can see something, it could help us narrow down possibilities,” Basira replies. “If you see all of us dying in the same way, maybe it means we all die when Magnus does.”

“Or it just means you all die in the same freak accident.”

“Wait, do we?” Martin asks, his voice pitching higher in alarm.

“It was just an example,” Oliver says, scrubbing one hand down his face. “I’m just saying that this kind of knowledge doesn’t tend to give people the answers that they want.” Met with nothing but four determined stares, his shoulders sag in defeat. “Are you all certain you want to know?”

Everyone nods. Oliver equivocates for a full minute, rubbing at his forehead in complete silence. Eventually, he releases a long, low sigh.

“Right now,” he says, “I don’t see death closing in on any one of you.”

“Shit,” Martin says on a heavy exhale. “The way you were putting it off, I was sure you were going to predict a massacre.”

“Honestly,” Daisy mutters. “Bury the lead much?”

Jon ignores them, preoccupied with the implications of Oliver's revelation. If they were planning on killing Jonah tomorrow, it would say nothing about whether they were to succeed, but it would suggest they don’t die in the process, which would at least offer some reassurance going in. But Jon has no idea when they’ll be able to execute any sort of plan. This only confirms that none of them are likely to die in the next few weeks – and that’s assuming that Oliver’s premonition is accurate. Up until now, his predictions have come true, but there’s a first time for everything.

Judging from the contemplative frown on Basira’s face, she’s running through the same calculations.

“How far out can you see?” she asks.

“It varies,” Oliver says. “Weeks, usually. Sometimes months.”

“And it could change in a few weeks,” Daisy says.

“It could change tomorrow. It could change an hour from now.” Oliver looks between the four of them with a faint, melancholy smile. “I did warn you that it wouldn’t offer much sense of security. It only makes you want to know more.”

“Look where you are,” Basira scoffs.

“Point taken,” Oliver says with a startled laugh. “But honestly, ask yourself whether it’s all that different from Masato Murray and his book. If it’s worth living your life around the question of when and how – especially when the answer, should you receive one, will never put your mind at ease.”

“Just to be clear, ah – was I included in that prophecy? Or do you still see the veins around me?” Jon asks. Oliver raises his eyebrows. “I know, I know – the answer won’t satisfy me. Just – humor me?”

“Yes,” Oliver sighs, “I can still see them, if I look for them, but as we covered quite exhaustively, they look atypical and wrong and I don’t know what to make of them.” A tinge of indignation breaks through Oliver's characterisic mild manner – and then the moment passes. “I don’t think they indicate an imminent demise, but much about you is an enigma.”

“And there’s nothing else you can tell us about Jonah Magnus?” Basira asks.

“It isn’t a matter of if he can be killed, but how. Unfortunately, you’ll have to figure that part out for yourselves. As for whether or to what extent he could bind his fate to the rest of the Institute… there are any number of strange phenomena and improbable feats in this world. I would never claim to be an authority on the scope of it all.” Oliver offers another wistful ghost of a smile. “I’m afraid you might just have to take a leap of faith.”

Again, Jon thinks with an inward sigh.

But at least he can say he’s had practice.

End Notes:

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 011; 011; 168; 121; 156; 070. The “I still remember the first time…” & “And the worst part was that…” Oliver quotes are from MAG 121.

Yes, “what we owe to each other” is a nod to The Good Place.

So. This… was a beast of a chapter, and the last half of it really kicked my ass, which is why it’s taken so long to finally finish it. Still not sure how I feel about it – it’s a bit of a digression, but I’m hoping it still fits in thematically. Either way, next chapter we’re moving on to Ny-Ålesund.

Hopefully it won’t take me an entire month this time to write the next chapter, but… we’re down to two episodes left, folks. Chances are, next time I update, we’ll have heard the series finale. Are you all ready? Because I categorically am NOT. aaaaaaaaa

(That said, I already have a handful of epilogue standalone fics planned for this AU once the main story is done. Because hurt/comfort and recovery fics are going to be at the top of my hierarchy of needs once Jonny Sims destroys me in two weeks, I s2g.)

Thanks for reading!

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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soukokuwu · 4 years

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FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY

➢ fluff, with a dash of angst (fyodor x reader)

➢ word count: 1.8k

➢ thank you @glitchnovax for working with me once again, amazing and talented (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

Lavender & Home

11.50pm.

The only source of light was the faint spill of illumination from the moonlight. That glowing cold light that shone over pale skin and made tears sparkle so beautifully. The smell of coffee and leftover pasta filled the apartment. It was silent save for the beating of your partner’s heart, the only thing you felt being the warmth of his embrace.

It seemed so cheesy, doing this. Dancing in the kitchen in the middle of the night. But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Not when you had an ominous feeling wash over you.

The plan was complete. Everything was settled. The process of the entire operation, the contingency plans if something were to go haywire and the mapping of possible escape routes. This was no simple mission; it would be one of the most complicated ones to pull off yet. Risky, dangerous, even for an intelligent and cunning man such as Fyodor himself. But as he always told you, “it has to be done.”

You hugged him even tighter as the foreboding feeling washed over you again. Puzzled, the Russian asked you what was wrong, still holding you in his embrace as the two of you swayed to the non-existent music.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

The tears started to form in your eyes, threatening to spill out if you so much as took another breath. You didn’t even know what emotion it stemmed from; whether out of the fear of losing him or just a product of your sheer exhaustion. But it proved too much to control, and you let them out, tired of having to hold them in. You buried your head in his chest, trying to stop yourself from sobbing lest he found out that you were crying.

Fyodor didn’t even need to see your face or hear your sniffles to tell you were tearing up. He held you even tighter against him, this being one of the few times in his life where he didn’t know what to say. He knew how risky this next operation was. So he settled for giving you a kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the sweet smell of lavender.

“I... I need you to believe in me, milaya,” he murmured in your ear.

His words only served to bring more tears out of you. You had been trying so hard all this time to convince yourself that it wouldn’t be such an impossibly difficult mission, that he would make it out just fine— he is Fyodor Dostoyevsky after all. But here he was, evading making any promises, and you knew why. Because he wasn’t so sure of the chances of him making out of it alive, either.

“I’m scared, Fyo.”

It was something you never thought you’d admit to anyone, let alone to the man himself. You gripped at the back of his shirt, hoping that this feeling would go away. The possibility of losing him, no matter how small either of you believed it to be, existed, and it terrified you to the bone. You couldn’t bear to lose him, you just couldn’t.

He bit down on his lip as he heard your words. Fyodor couldn’t bring himself to assure you that he would be okay because truth be told, he wasn’t that sure of it this time. But he also knew you needed something to tie your hope to, something to look forward to. How could he build a hope of sorts in you, without having to make a promise he couldn’t keep? Then he had an idea.

“Remember the place where we first met? The place where we watched the sun sink below the horizon on that cold winter evening?” Fyodor asked. You didn’t know where he was going with this, but you held back a sob as you nodded your head. “If you ever miss me while I’m away, go there. I’ll always be alive there, some way, somehow.”

In all honesty, he didn’t know how long his plan would take, there were too many influencing factors, unlike the previous missions you were used to, and to give you a place to escape to might just distract you from any negative thoughts. You knew he was just trying to do anything he could to keep you alive here, to cut you from the anchor which was your pessimism. You accepted his attempt anyway, because you knew you needed it. You appreciated it all the more when he reminded you of that sacred place, the place that allowed the two of you to open your hearts to each other in the first place.

You also knew what he needed, which was your faith. Gods always had at least one devoted follower, and the only one that mattered to him was you. There existed a nagging voice in your mind that said there was a chance of failure, but it didn’t mean you had no hope in him at all. Fyodor was crafty, scheming, cunning and the most intelligent man you had ever met, and so were his allies for this mission. But this time, the enemy was someone with a matching intelligence. You had thought through the plan countless times with him, discussing every possible loophole, every work around. It took many hours of all the past few weeks and there was no way it should fail, or that was what he said.

As the clock gleaming in the moonlight switched from pm to am, your shaky breaths slowed as you thought to yourself, that even if things went south, Fyodor would surely find a way out. This voice in your head stayed. But you ignored it.

“Hey, Fyo?”

“Yes?”

“Please come back to me,” you pleaded softly. “No matter how long it takes.”

Fyodor loosened his grip slightly to look into your eyes. Your eyes were sparkling in the moonlight, the tiny and almost unnoticeable grains of salt from your tears settled on your cheeks.

“No matter what happens, we’ll always find our way back to each other.”

That was truly what he believed. Through anything, his spirit would find its way to you.

“Promise?”

This time, he showed no hesitation.

“I promise, milaya.”

════════════════════════

The next day when you awoke, he was already gone, his spot next to you on the bed cold. He had been gone for a while already, then. He had always been bad at goodbyes, so you weren’t surprised to see he didn’t wake you before he went off. He probably thought you needed the rest anyway. Fyodor was deadly observant, he probably knew you tried your best not to succumb to sleep the previous night, all in a bid to spend more time with him before he had to go. But you did anyway.

Throughout the days you couldn’t stop thinking of him, how he was doing. You could text him, but he had already warned you he might not be able to respond as much as you’d like him to. And that was true. As the days passed, he responded only once every alternate day.

Until he didn’t anymore.

You visited your special place everyday since he left, watched as the sun dipped below the ocean, throwing your prayers out at the open sea. You were kept on the edge every time someone passed by, hoping you’d see that beloved face in front of you once more, only to be disappointed by your own expectations. Fyodor promised he would find his way back to you, and so you kept that belief.

And you kept believing. Even as the first couple months passed with no news; even when there was actually news of the incident, of a Russian man falling victim to a crumbling tower, his ushanka hat being the face of the news. But still you kept that blind faith, no matter how absurd anyone else would think it was.

════════════════════════

Months after the initial news, you still paid visits to your sacred place.

Not to mistake anything, you knew you wouldn’t see him. You told yourself that every time you went there, just to help ease your disappointment. You knew it was impossible, but a stupid, idiotic part of you still hoped that deep down, that maybe...

But you sighed, suppressing that hopeless wish.

It was the beginning of winter. The evening was getting chilly now. The sky was growing a darker hue of orange by the minute. The sun was setting, the final glimmer of warmth for the day slowly fading away.

Just as your comfort did, when he left.

“You’d enjoy this, Fyo,” you mumbled to yourself, imagining that somehow, his spirit was beside you, listening to you. “You love watching that final glow vanishing from our sight before the cold sets in. You always did prefer the cold.”

You pulled his coat around you tighter. Fyodor had left you one of his coats. He knew you’d find comfort in having it anyway. He always knew you better than you understood yourself. It would be true, even in death. You rested your face in the fur of the hood, desperately wishing it was his shoulder instead.

“Why did you have to leave?” you choked out in a whisper, tears threatening to spill even after all these months.

“Giving up on me, milaya?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. What did you just hear? That thick Russian accent, that velvety soothing voice of his. It was unmistakeable. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around, lest it was just your imagination, your mind playing tricks on you. But then you felt the familiar warmth wrapping itself around you, a chin resting itself on your shoulder, looking out at the sea with you.

Cold hands rested themselves on your lap, and so you enveloped them with your own gloved hands. You were still at a loss for words. You bit back your tears, not wanting his welcome back to be a teary one. But you couldn’t control yourself. It had been so lonely the past few months, being the only one who kept that faith, that belief that he was still alive. Even when your faith wavered, when you convinced yourself so deeply that he was gone, a certain fire in you still didn’t burn out. Your resolve was strong, and you were sure Fyodor knew it, felt it.

Months of loneliness. All worth it, as long as he came back. And now, you didn’t have to feel alone anymore, because here he was. He was back. You gripped his hands tighter, afraid that he might slip away again if you didn’t. But you couldn’t mistake this. His cold, icy fingers were real, and so was he.

“You’re here, you’re back...” you sobbed, unable to hold back your tears. “You’re really back.”

Fyodor hid his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. He surely missed the smell of lavender, the warmth of home, your voice, your everything. All of his feelings found its way to you through that one hug alone.

“I heard your prayers, lyubov moya,” he whispered. “I’m home.”

tag, you’re it: @yokelish

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edenmemes · 4 years

Text

game of thrones (s3) starters

❝ did it ever occur to you that i might be the one who deserves your confidence and your trust? ❞ ❝ you’re lucky to be alive. ❞ ❝ it doesn't matter what we want, once we get it, then we want something else. ❞ ❝ you’ve been so kind. i’d feel terrible if anything happened to you. ❞ ❝ i'm apologizing. i’m sick of fighting. let’s call a truce. ❞ ❝ you are the finest man i’ve ever known. ❞ ❝ by what right does the wolf judge the lion? ❞ ❝ your jokes are not appreciated. ❞ ❝ no point in trying to hide behind that face. i know fear when i see it. ❞ ❝ the truth is always either terrible or boring. ❞ ❝ you are an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. ❞ ❝ as much as i appreciate a walk in the sunshine, i’m wondering why you sent for me. ❞ ❝ that’s a lovely gown, my lady. ❞ ❝ you’re very kind. someday it’ll get you killed. ❞ ❝ you're so dangerous, aren't you? saying scary things to little girls. killing little boys and old people. ❞ ❝ there it is. that’s the look. i’ve seen it for years on face after face. you despise me. ❞ ❝ do you have a family? a mother and a father you'd return to if you had the choice? ❞ ❝ there's a beast in every man and it stirs when you put a sword in his hand. ❞ ❝ you’ve come to a dangerous place full of dangerous people. ❞ ❝ the lowest among us are no different from the highest if you give them a chance and approach them with an open heart. ❞ ❝ all men must die. but we are not men. ❞ ❝ you have a taste- one taste of the real world where people have important things taken from them and you whine and cry and quit. ❞ ❝ you think you're the smartest there is. that everyone alive has to bow and scrape and lick your boots. ❞ ❝ i'm the simplest man you'll ever meet. i only do what i want to do. ❞ ❝ sometimes severity is the price we pay for greatness. ❞ ❝ you coward. a little misfortune and you give up. ❞ ❝ fighting bravely for a losing cause is admirable. ❞ ❝ big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts. ❞ ❝ plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart. and there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods. ❞ ❝ we can’t all have a king’s bravery. ❞ ❝ my sword is yours, my life is yours, my heart is yours. ❞ ❝ i think what you want most of all is to be a hero. ❞ ❝ back away. keep backing away till you're outside this establishment. then back away some more. ❞ ❝ could you do it? could you kill something? ❞ ❝ not another step. unless you want to drown in your own blood. ❞ ❝ i’ve heard some troubling tales. is there any truth to them? ❞ ❝ you’ve chosen the darkness. ❞ ❝ my enemies think they’ve destroyed me. they’re laughing at me. ❞ ❝ i would not speak to the dead. ❞ ❝ you said i should come to you with any problems. ❞ ❝ you’re a dangerous person. i like dangerous people. ❞ ❝ this is becoming one of the most boring conversations i've ever had. ❞ ❝ even the bravest men fear death. ❞ ❝ i would sit at this window everyday when the sun came up, waiting. ❞ ❝ it’s too beautiful a day to argue. ❞ ❝ it’s not easy for girls like us to dig our way out. ❞ ❝ what do i want? a little bloody gratitude would be a start. ❞ ❝ you’re clever, but you’re not half as clever as you think you are. ❞ ❝ if i wanted to kill you, do you think i'd let a wooden door stop me? ❞ ❝ the man who cut me lost more than his nose. ❞ ❝ you’re going to make me cry. ❞ ❝ you don’t have the strength. it would kill you. ❞ ❝ i’m not so easily killed. men have been trying for years. ❞ ❝ you refuse to tell me where you’re going? ❞ ❝ i got no fear of what’s out there. ❞ ❝ i don't pay you to put evil notions in my head. the ones already there don't need company. ❞ ❝ let’s not go back. let’s stay here a while longer. ❞ ❝ wait for me. wait for me and i’ll come back to you. ❞ ❝ i like to fight up close. i like to see a man's face when i put the steel in him. ❞ ❝ here, come sit next to me. i’m much less boring than these others. ❞ ❝ it’s not slander if it’s true. ❞ ❝ if blood is your desire, blood shall flow. ❞ ❝ you waste time trying to get people to love you, you'll end up the most popular dead person in town. ❞ ❝ i'm not afraid of you. ❞ ❝ i’m stupid. a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns. ❞ ❝ i've never heard a kind word from your mouth. ❞ ❝ i've never had a family. ❞ ❝ i'm sorry. here i am complaining to you. ❞ ❝ i want very much for you to be happy. ❞ ❝ i'm almost as generous to those who help me than unpleasant towards those who don’t. ❞ ❝ when you are dead, i will gather your bones in a little sack and let your widow wear them around her neck. ❞ ❝ stay alive a little longer, my friend. ❞ ❝ i am sworn to no man. ❞ ❝ i love you. do you hear me? i love you. ❞ ❝ every time i come back, i’m a bit less. pieces of you get chipped away. ❞ ❝ i like you, but if you lie to me, i'll pull your guts out through your throat. ❞ ❝ i want us to be friends. good friends. ❞ ❝ i have prayed day and night for you to come to me. ❞ ❝ maybe you were as good as people said once. / or maybe people just love to overpraise a famous name. ❞ ❝ i want you. ❞ ❝ people work together when it suits them. yhey're loyal when it suits them. they love each other when it suits them. and they kill each other when it suits them. ❞ ❝ i did what i did for the good of the realm. ❞ ❝ you’re paying for my sins. it’s not fair or right. i’ll remember it. ❞ ❝ sorry. were you sleeping? ❞ ❝ chaos isn’t a pit. chaos is a ladder. ❞ ❝ it's you and me that matters. / don’t ever betray me. ❞ ❝ you were trembling like a leaf. ❞ ❝ if you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention. ❞ ❝ i see a darkness in you. ❞ ❝ it’s quite flattering, really, you feeling such dread in the prospect of me getting what i want. ❞ ❝ i will not breathe further life into a malicious lie by further discussing it. ❞ ❝ you’re not doing this for your god. you’re doing this for gold. ❞ ❝ it’s not getting any easier, you know. ❞ ❝ i feel like i’m in a dream. ❞ ❝ nobody cares about what your father once said. ❞ ❝ but i promise you one thing. i won't ever hurt you. ❞ ❝ i think mothers and fathers made up the gods because they wanted their children to sleep through the night. ❞ ❝ we do not choose our destiny, but we must do our duty, no? ❞ ❝ i hope you’re better with a sword than you are a lie. ❞ ❝ is that what you think? that it's all for a reason? all these bad things happened because the gods got big plans for you? ❞ ❝ i'm just trying to say, very badly- i just- just want to say i know how you feel. ❞ ❝ men who fight for gold have neither honor nor loyalty. ❞ ❝ you don't want to be alone out here. someone worse than me would find you. ❞ ❝ if we die, we die. but first we'll live. ❞ ❝ how many men have you killed? fifty? a hundred? ❞ ❝ i don’t care what you swear because you’re a liar. you’ll lie to anyone. ❞ ❝ i want it to haunt you to the end of your days. ❞ ❝ i stole it. it's mine. if you want it, come steal it back. ❞ ❝ if you meant to murder me, then bloody well get on with it. ❞ ❝ i am a godly man. ❞ ❝ there’s no one worse than you. ❞ ❝ the god’s wouldn’t spare a raven’s cold shit for you or me or anyone. ❞ ❝ well, you rip my pretty silk dress, i’ll blacken your eye. ❞ ❝ not talking, eh? that’s a first. ❞ ❝ you’re a delight to me. ❞ ❝ show them how it feels to lose what they love. ❞ ❝ haven’t you wondered where your strength came from? your talent for fighting? ❞ ❝ i could have your tongue for saying that. ❞ ❝ you have a very suspicious mind. in my experience, only dishonest people think this way. ❞ ❝ you think a crown gives you power? ❞ ❝ every time we deal with an enemy, we create two more. ❞ ❝ it was just a bit of blood. ❞ ❝ next time you’re going to do something like that, tell me first. ❞ ❝ does fuck off mean something different where you’re from? ❞ ❝ deserve? start trying to work out who deserves what and before long you'll spend the rest of your days weeping for each and every person in the world. ❞ ❝ this will never be your home. ❞ ❝ i stopped being a child when i was nine. ❞ ❝ forgive my manners. i don’t see many ladies these days. ❞ ❝ first time i met you, you put a knife to my throat. ❞ ❝ any man who must say, 'i am the king' is no true king. ❞ ❝ you should be thanking the gods for this. this is more than you deserve. ❞ ❝ i could be your family. ❞ ❝ what i know is what i saw. and if you saw it, too, you'd run the other way. ❞ ❝ there are a lot of stories about this place. horrible stories. ❞ ❝ everyone is mine to torment. you’ll do well to remember that. ❞ ❝ i'll tell you what i prayed for this morning. let's see, for my family's health and happiness, for an end to the war, for a short winter. boring and traditional, i'm afraid. ❞ ❝ i do know some things. i know i love you. ❞ ❝ but if you don’t kill me, i’ll kill you. ❞ ❝ oh, i'm a monster? perhaps you should speak to me more softly, then. ❞ ❝ i hope i’m not a disappointment to you. ❞ ❝ i know how to skin a rabbit. ❞ ❝ you think you’re good with that bow? ❞ ❝ have you ever seen a war where innocents didn't die by the thousands? ❞ ❝ leave this place. leave tonight, i beg you. ❞ ❝ i choose my allies carefully and my enemies more carefully still. ❞ ❝ it’s getting dark. we could stay here for the night. ❞ ❝ you know i didn’t have a choice. you always knew who i was, who i am. ❞ ❝ my enemies have made my kingdom bleed. ❞ ❝ roses are boring, dear. ❞

#rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #tbd /#long post for ts /#im only gonna do s4 next & stop asdfhg

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schoolmascotbyday · 3 years

Photo

BASIC QUESTIONS

First name? “Frederick.”

Surname? “Frederickson.”

Middle names? “Flamarion.”

Nicknames? “Fred, Freddie, Dumbass, Knuckle Head, Idiot, Mr. Fred, Lizard Guy, Fredzilla… Fredzilla totally counts.”

Date of birth? “I was born on August 15th of 1997.”

Age? “I am twenty three years young.”

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? “Six foot even.”

Weight? “140 or something. Don’t body shame me.”

Build? “I guess I’d be a mesomorph.”

Hair color? “It’s blond-ish.”

Hair style? “Medium length. Sometimes it is straight, sometimes it has luscious waves.”

Eye color? “Grue. (That means green-blue.)”

Eye shape? “They’re kind of squinty, whatever you call that.”

Glasses or contact lenses? “No sir!”

Distinguishing facial features? “I have a big nose.”

Which facial feature is most prominent? “My nose.”

Which bodily feature is most prominent? “My chest.”

Other distinguishing features? “My hair. If you see my hair, you know it’s me.”

Skin? “White. Disturbingly white. I should get more sun…”

Hands? “Big.”

Make up? “I don’t understand how people wear makeup everyday. It’s hard. It would take me hours to not look like a clown. I wore eye shadow for the pride parade, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Scars? “Nothing too noticeable.”

Birthmarks? “Nada!”

Tattoos? “None, but I think one day I’ll get a big monster on my entire back .”

Physical handicaps? “I don’t have any.”

Type of clothes? “Worn out.”

How do you wear your clothes? “Too long.”

What are your feet like? “Also big. My socks are dirty. So are my shoes. There’s a hole in my favorite pair, and the bottom is coming off…”

Race / Ethnicity? “Caucasian.”

Mannerisms? “I am overexciteable and it shows.”

Are you in good health? “I keep forgetting to make a doctor’s appointment. Actually, I just don’t wanna do it by myself. But probably.”

Do you have any disabilities? “Fortunately no!”

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do you overuse? “I think I just shout too often.”

Do they you a catchphrase? “I say whoa-ho-ho a lot. Is that a catchphrase? Or should I have said that for my overused word and/or phrase?”

Are you more optimistic or pessimistic? “Optimistic!”

Are you introverted or extroverted? “Extroverted.”

Do you ever put on airs? “I turn the AC on a lot.”

What bad habits do you have? “Sometimes I chew with my mouth open and I stay up too late and I ramble and I don’t eat healthy foods and get obsessed with entertainment and I don’t blink enough when I’m playing video games and I choose being lazy over being productive and, oh, yeah, run-on sentences.”

What makes you laugh out loud? “A lot of things. I laugh all the time.”

How do you display affection? “Bear hugs and hair ruffles.”

Mental handicaps? “I don’t give myself time to be sad.”

How do you want to be seen by others? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How do you see yourself? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How are you seen by others? “I don’t worry about it too much.”

Strongest character trait? “I care so much.”

Weakest character trait? “I care too much.”

How competitive are you? “I can be kind of competitive, but I don’t trash talk or anything.”

Do you make snap judgements or take time to consider? “It depends on the situation, but I usually make snap judgements.”

How do you react to praise? “A lot of thank you!s and beaming.”

How do you react to criticism? “I don’t usually let it get to me, I try to be better.”

What is your greatest fear? “Losing another person I love.”

What are your biggest secrets? “Sometimes I say I know what I’m doing when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Shh.”

What is your philosophy of life? “Life is short, have fun.”

When was the last time you cried? “I don’t remember. A long time ago.”

What haunts you? “Losing Tadashi. Not being able to save him.”

What are your political views? “I’m probably a liberal.”

What will you stand up for? “Anyone that needs me to stand up for them.”

Who do you quote? “My friends. They’re so smart.”

Are you indoorsy or outdoorsy? “Indoorsy.”

What is your sinful little habit? “Buying a lot of merch. A lot of merch.”

What sense do you most rely on? “Definitely not common. Hearing.”

How do you treat people better than you? “I try to learn from them!”

How do you treat people worse than you? “I try to teach them!”

What quality do you most value in a friend? “Genuineness.”

What do you consider an overrated virtue? “Chastity.”

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? “I think I’d like to be smarter. Just a little bit, just enough to understand half of the things my friends talked about.”

What is your obsession? “Manga, comic books, video games.”

What are your pet peeves? “Being rushed, people being mean, being ignored.”

What are your idiosyncrasies? “I talk too fast.”

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is your family big or small? Who does it consist of? “Small. It’s just me, my dad, my mom and Heathcliff — the butler.”

What is your perception of family? “They’re supposed to be loving and accepting.”

Do you have siblings? Older or younger? “No. I think that would’ve been nice, though.”

Describe your best friend. “I have five, and they’re the best friends in the whole world. Tadashi isn’t here anymore, but he’s still one of my best friends. They’re all smart and unique and I love being around them.”

Ideal best friend? “Anyone who can be themselves around me.”

Describe your other friends. “Most of them are online.”

Describe your acquaintances. “I don’t have acquaintances, just friends.”

Do you have any pets? “I have a bunch of fish in my saltwater aquarium!”

Who are your natural allies? “Hm, Haven.”

Who are your surprising allies? “The rest of our friends.”

PAST AND FUTURE

What were you like as a baby? As a child? “Loud, wild, energetic, friendly.”

Did you grow up rich or poor? “Rich.”

Did you grow up nurtured or neglected? “I don’t want to say my parents neglected me…”

What is the most offensive thing you ever said? “I don’t even know of anything I’ve thought that was offensive.”

What is your greatest achievement? “My current grades.”

What was your first kiss like? “Quick and nervous.”

What is the worst thing you did to someone you loved? “I didn’t save Tadashi.”

What are your ambitions? “I want to write comics that people want to read.”

What advice would you give your younger self? “Enjoy being a kid while you can!”

What smells remind you of your childhood? “Freshly cut grass, pancakes, steak.”

What was your childhood ambition? “To be a superhero.”

What is your best childhood memory?

What is your worst childhood memory? “The birthday my dad told me they’d be home in time for, but missed. They didn’t come home for another week, and I’m pretty sure he forgot about it completely, because the handwriting on the card that ‘came in the mail’ looked an awful lot like Heathcliff’s.”

Did you have an imaginary childhood friend? “A few.”

When was the last time you were crushed with disappointment? “Sometime last month.”

What past act are you most ashamed of? “Shame is not an emotion I know.”

What past act are you most proud of? “Beating Dark Souls (Demons Souls).”

Has anyone ever saved your life? “Probably.”

Strongest childhood memory? “The day I broke my arm falling out of a tree.”

LOVE

Do you believe in love at first sight? “Why not?”

Are you in a relationship? “Nope.”

How do you behave in a relationship? “Like myself. I’m an affectionate guy.”

When did you last have sex? “It’s been about five months, probably.”

What sort of sex do you have? “All sorts.”

Have you ever been in love? “I fall in love all the time.”

Have you ever had your heart broken? “My heart broke when Tadashi… when I lost my friend.”

CONFLICT

How do you respond to a threat? “Just shrug and say ‘bring it’.”

Are you most likely to fight with your fists or your tongue? “I don’t like fighting, but I’ll do what a situation calls for.”

What is your kryptonite? “Funko Pops.”

If you could only save one thing from your burning house, what would it be? “My fish.”

How do you perceive strangers? “50/50. Could be friends, could be villains.”

What do you love to hate? “Cliffhangers and hard to beat games.”

What are your phobias? “Death.”

What is your choice of weapon? “Depends on the game I’m playing.”

What living person do you most despise? “I don’t despise anyone.”

Have you ever been bullied or teased? “I’ve been teased, but it doesn’t bother me much.”

Where do you go when you’re angry? “The kitchen to get a snack. The only time I get angry is when a game is being really frustrating.”

Who are your enemies and why? “I don’t have any, but maybe one day I will be a true crime fighter and I will.”

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is your current job? “Sign spinning.”

What do you think about your current job? “I love it. I don’t need the money, I just like bringing in more business to the local shops and showing off my skills!”

What are some of your past jobs? “I’ve never had to work.”

What are your hobbies? “Sign flipping, gaming, writing and drawing, reading comics, binging anime, practicing guitar, coming up with new costume ideas.”

Educational background? “I didn’t do so hot in high school, but I’m in college now.”

Intelligence level? “You could say I’m a selective learner.”

Do you have any specialist training? “I wish! That would be so cool!”

Do you have a natural talent for something? “I want to say my sign spinning is a natural talent — I kind of just picked it up one day and realized I was good at it. Also, super-hearing, headlights and flame throwing.”

Do you play a sport? Are you any good? “I’m not much of a sports guy.”

What is your socioeconomic status? “Ask someone who knows what that means.”

FAVORITES

What is your favorite animal? “Maybe lizards.”

Which animal do you dislike the most? “I don’t dislike any animals.”

What place would you most like to visit? “I’d like to go on a family vacation someday. I don’t really care where we go.”

What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? “The ending of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.”

What is your favorite song? “You’d laugh.”

Music, art, reading preferred? “Reading mixed with art.”

What is your favorite color? “Blue. No, orange. No, green! Yellow! I don’t know! There’s too many colors!”

What is your password? “FredzillaRulesTheWorld.”

Favorite food: “Changes too often to really say.”

What is your favorite work of art? “Death Note.”

Who is your favorite artist? “My dad. He counts, right?”

What is your favorite day of the week? “Sunday.”

POSSESSIONS

What is in your fridge? “A whole lot of ingredients I’ll never use and probably some I can’t pronounce.”

What is on your bedside table? “A lot of junk. I should clean that off...”

What is in your car? “Phone charger, aux chord, a half eaten bag of barbecue chips, stick of deodorant, loose change, hair ties.”

What is in your bin? “It’s empty. I have a butler.”

What is in your purse or wallet? “A group picture with my friends, money, a few different bank cards, a condom, more loose change.”

What is in your pockets? “My keys and my cell phone.”

What is your most treasured possession? “All of my pictures with my friends. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. You never know when you won’t be able to take another one...”

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel? “I’m sure Tadashi is somewhere looking out for me right now.”

Do you believe in the afterlife? “Yes.”

What are your religious views? “Loosely Christian.”

What do you think heaven is? “A place where everyone is happy and free and there’s no pain. And you can play games all day.”

What do you think hell is? “Sad and lonely.”

Are you superstitious? “A little bit.”

What would you like to be reincarnated as? “A fire breathing dragon!”

How would you like to die? “In a way that matters. If I’m going to die, I’d like to save someone while I’m doing it.”

What is your spirit animal? “Probably iguanas or something.”

What is your zodiac sign? “Leo.”

VALUES

What do you think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? “Torture.”

What is your view of ‘freedom’? “Pretty much how my life is now. I can do what I want, when I want --- for the most part.”

When did you last lie? “It’s been a long time. I don’t lie unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

What’s your view of lying? “It can be easily avoided. Just be honest.”

When did you last make a promise? “I can’t remember.”

Did you keep or break your last promise? “I’m sure I kept it, I don’t make promises unless I plan to do something about it.”

DAILY LIFE

What are your eating habits? “Questionable.”

Do you have any allergies? “I’m allergic to assholes!”

Describe your home. “It’s big. Real big. The yard is big and freshly cut. There’s not a blimp of imperfection until you get to my room, then it becomes a randomized mess.”

Are your minimalist or a clutter hoarder? “Hoarder.”

What do you do first thing on a weekday morning? “Turn my alarm off.”

What do you do on a Sunday afternoon? “Relax. Wait for my dad to call.”

What do you do on a Friday night? “Stay up late gaming.”

What is your soft drink of choice? “Mountain Dew.”

What is your alcoholic drink of choice? “Just beer is fine.”

MISCELLANEOUS

What or who would you dress up as for Halloween? “Oh, I love Halloween! I go all out! I’ll dress as another superhero this year, or maybe a villain to spice it up!”

Are you comfortable with technology? “I love technology.”

If you could save one person, who would it be? “Tadashi. I wish I could’ve saved Tadashi.”

If you could call one person for help, who would it be? “Haven, she always knows what to do.”

What is your greatest extravagance? “All the merch in my room, or my tank.”

What is your greatest regret? “Not doing anything to help my friend.”

What is your perception of redemption? “Putting someone else before yourself. If you do that, if you selflessly risk your own life or needs or wants for another person, you’re obviously redeemed.”

What would you do if you won the lottery? “Donate it all to charity.”

What is your favorite fairytale? “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

What fairytale do you hate? “I don’t hate any fairytales. People put a lot of hard work into their stories and I respect that.”

Do you believe in happy endings? “I do.”

What is your idea of perfect happiness? “Living every day how you want to live it.”

What would you ask a fortune teller? “I’d give my opportunity to someone else. I don’t need anything answered.”

If you could travel through time, where would you go? “Back to save Tadashi or die trying.”

What sport do you excel at? “Is flame throwing a sport?”

What sport do you suck at? “Soccer. I get confused and score for the other team. Every. single. time.”

If you could have a superpower, what would you choose? “All of them! Fire breath, x-ray vision, flying, rocket fists, gravity manipulation, invisibility, walking through walls, the ability to teleport through people’s phones so if they needed me I’d be right there... yeah, all of them!”

#yes i gave him my birthday what of it #this one took me a hot minute whew #walttasks #tasks.

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

Ashes

Note: So yeah the ending suck, I couldn’t find the right way to end it, but for the most part this seems decent. I might rewrite some of this in the future and finally, update some of my other works. Also a creative slumber sucks when all you wanna do is write but nothing seems to work.

Insp. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Us0y6scOtyw

Everything was loud. Every voice rumbles at each word they spoke. She could feel the hot tears rolling down her cheeks as her vision blurs into nothing. The sound of her own heartbeat was loud, beating frantically. Her breathing became non-existent.

“How could you, Marinette.”

She didn’t do it.

“Marinette, I’m so disappointed in you. You’re supposed to set an example.”

For what, how can someone be an example when no one follows them. This isn’t her job as the class president but your job as the teacher.

“You’re our everyday Ladybug.”

She doesn’t want to be. It’s bad enough she’s Ladybug in real life, away from all this.

The yells continue to get louder, her body begins to rapidly shake. No one is there to comfort her.

“You’re nothing but a bully!” They shriek, “How can you…”

Their voices merge into the same sound. Blame, disappointment, anger. Gripping her hair, her pigtails become loose, allowing her hair to cascade down her shoulders.

She could see nothing, only white. The noises become muffled. She involuntary pushes away any movements towards her.

“Cā liàng, I’m Hawkmoth. These people are beneath you.”

His voice, smoothing, pulling her towards her darkest desires.

“I’m giving you the power to burn those that have wrong you. All I ask is that of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous.”

“As you wish, Hawkmoth.” The whisper off of her lip cause mass panic. She could feel the change of her outfit. From her regular outfit to a black bodysuit with pink and purple flames outlining the pantlegs. Her hair becomes actual flames, flickering with every movement she makes.

I could hear the signs calling out from the bottom of the fire.

Opening her eyes for the first time since her meltdown, she welcomes the view of her classmates cowering in the corner. She blows a raspberry and walks over to them.

“Marinette!”

“I’m not Marinette, I’m Cā liàng, and you will all bow before me.”

Lila is the first to be surrounded by fire. The flames didn’t burn the poor Italian migrant, but they did scare her into fainting. Alya and Mme. Bustier cries to comfort her, to make sure she’s okay.

“You always listen to her. You listen to her and threw me out like yesterday’s trash.” Cā liàng screams, tears streaming down her face. The flames surrounding the room grows in size.

Soon the fire alarm goes off allowing the students to run for freedom.

The flames died down, but only to grow with Cā liàng loud screech.

She stands alone in the classroom, she could hear the outcries of other students ranging from confusion to terror. With a flick of her wrist, the windows shatter sending a heatwave.

I am like a torch flickering in the wind as the saying goes

Cā liàng flies out of the classroom only to oversee the crowd of students gather in front of the building. Akuma alerts screech to life.

“Now, now, people, all I want this the miraculous and the students of Caline Bustier. You have wrong me for way too long. I want my freedom.” Cā liàng states to the gather of citizens.

“Marinette!”

Cā liàng turns around to see Chat Noir, standing battle-ready. His baton facing her as he readies to attack her. Cā liàng dodge, calling for her flames to do her bidding.

“That’s cute, kitty. But you’re going to need more than a baton to defeat me.” Cā liàng turns to send a kick to Chat Noir’s stomach. He lands into her building.

“Someone save my baby!”

You didn’t take her side when she needed you the most.

“Sugarplum, please don’t let Hawkmoth win.”

She not stupid. Hawkmoth is the least of her problems, he’s just an out.

Cā liàng sends her flames towards the streets. Not burning her subjects but to freeze them in place.

Far away, Tikki is flying in search of a temporary Ladybug.

“Master Fu, we have a major problem. It’s Marinette.” Tikki on the verge of a breakdown falls to the ground. Wayzz flies to comfort his comrade.

Fu thinks about this, he only knows as much as Marinette when it comes to her allies. Who could take on the mantle of being Ladybug?

“Wayzz, Tikki, the Tsurugi girl.”

Tikki turns to Wayzz and nods.

“I can find her.”

“Good now hurry before Marinette does something she’ll regret.”

Tikki, finding a new source of strength, nods, and flies through the walls of the small building.

“Master, do you think she’ll be ready.”

“We have prep for this, Wayzz, it was only a matter of time.”

The two fall into silence.

Lost all my precious

Cā liàng, still engaging in a heated battle with Chat Noir, toys with him. Stopping his own mid-kick, she pulls him closer and whispers:

“She’ll never love you.”

Her flames surround him tighten with her fist. Soon, Chat Noir was knocked out causing an outroar among the crowd.

“Marinette, how could you?” Simultaneously, her class cries out seeing her.

How could you? Is that all they say when she does something. It’s like a broken record being on repeat.

“Cā liàng, get me the miraculous.” His voice echoes with anger. She grips her head only for the flames to cover buildings.

Rage ate me up

Tears swell in her eyes.

“Marinette,” She turns to see Chat Noir, coughing up blood. He holds onto his side using his baton as leverage. “Marinette this isn’t like you…” He holds out his arm for her to take.

Memories of the past months’ skyrockets towards her.

Almost getting expelled.

Being left out of gatherings.

Constantly being asked to do things she never wanted to do.

Her good nature being taken advantage of.

The flames grow more in size as she lets out a cry like no other.

“NO!” She screams as a familiar yo-yo string wraps around her.

“Cā liàng, your evil doings is no more.” Everyone turns to the figure that looks very similar to Ladybug.

Cā liàng shakes off the string and sends columns of fire towards the Ladybug themed hero.

“I won’t go back to being naive, kind-hearted Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I want them to burn.”

“You don’t want that. Remember those that haven’t wronged you. Those that care for you.” The Ladybug replacement says coming closer to the akumatized victim.

“You don’t understand!” Cā liàng cries out surrounding herself with her own flames.

When the flames disperse, Cā liàng was no longer there.

The temporary Ladybug gasps, searching for her opponent only to turns to help Chat Noir.

“Do you need to de-transform?” She asks after thoroughly examining the wounded hero. He shakes his head.

“We need to save her.” He winces as he moves.

She pushes back, “We can’t if your wounded, Marinette is the most strong-willed person I know and I doubt that this will be the end.”

Endless forlornness has made me numb

Standing on top of the Eiffel Tower, Cā liàng skips around. Pain crosses her face as she grips her head. His voice rings in the back of her head. Wrapping her arms around her torso, her nails dig into her arms.

Tears threaten to leave her eyes.

Has the not feeling pain really become something of second nature to her? All the time she withholds herself from feeling negative emotions.

“Cā liàng.” He wants her to do something she’s not capable of. Not because of her good nature but because she knows the truth. Her body captivated by the boost of power he had endorsed her with wants nothing more than to obey.

“No!”

I'd rather rise from here

Her flames surround her once more creating a sphere of pink and purple.

A massive heatwave hits Paris, France.

People sweating off their clothes runs to hide in either shame or embarrassment.

From the Eiffel Tower, the sphere only grows in size. In the center is Cā liàng letting of her anguish cries.

The temp. Ladybug swings with her yo-yo to the scene, keeping her emotions in check hidden from the world. She tries to break through into the spear. No luck.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” The temp ladybug calls out. Only for a guitar pick to fall down to her hands.

“Luka?” She questions looking between the growing sphere and the pick. “Of course.”

Swinging the yo-yo back down, the temp. Ladybug runs off in the direction of a familiar houseboat.

Or should I hold on to my past?

Luka, with a somber look, stares out of his window. Something wasn’t right, he knew that everyone in Paris knew that, but the odd feeling isn’t leaving him.

“Luka!” A familiar voice screams out.

“Ladybug?”

“Yes, no, yes, look Marinette needs you. I believe you’re the only one that can get through to her.” She states staring the blue-haired dyed older teen in the eyes.

Luka didn’t need any more convincing. With a nod of his head, the two rushes off the boat.

In the sphere, Cā liàng is reliving her worst fear. The fire exits through her body, creating a ring as images of her past appear within the rings. Tears stream down her cheeks as she watches.

From Adrien telling her to ignore Lila and don’t expose her to her parents giving her disappointed stares. Everything feels real.

“Marinette!” Familiar voices call out to her.

Unbeknownst to Cā liàng, columns of fire spread across the streets of Paris.

They've burnt to ashes

Faded to grey

The images turn into ashes.

Cā liàng opens her eyes and takes a deep breath. Turning around, she is faced to faced with Ladybug and Luka, Chat Noir nowhere in sight. She smirks at the two and lowers herself away from the duo.

“You’re too late,” Her voice echoes deeper than what they had expected. She turns to face the downfall of Paris and sees that ashes of buildings, bodies frozen in soot, the glowing of the sunset soon illuminated over the city of love.

Temp. Ladybug swings her yo-yo...

Cā liàng doesn’t dodge it, allowing the yoyo to wrap around her. The sphere behind her moves hovering over the Eiffel Tower.

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug calls out.

“Cataclysm!”

The world goes dark.

Returned to the earth

Cā liàng feet touch the ground, as the explosion turns to flickering sparkles of dust. She looks up to the sky, Ladybug and Luka are staring down at the copy of Cā liàng. Her mission is clear, as she walks the familiar path towards the school grounds.

There in the middle of it is a frozen version of Lila Rossi. The liar lies on the ground with a sooted covered Alya and Caline Bustier beside her. Cā liàng walks closer and gently caress the teen’s face. Her eyes dead of emotion, but face strained with tears, she holds up her hand. A swirl of fire surrounds the liar, only to clear revealing the liar un-sooted.

“I forgive you.” Cā liàng whispers, “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kill you.”

Lila, stares at the akumatized Marinette, “How can you? I destroyed you and this just tops the cake.”

Cā liàng smirks and bits her lip. “And if I were to end you now, who would they blame?” A fire goes ablaze in her eyes all while forming fire beneath the one that has caused her so much pain.

With one mighty shriek, Lila cries out, “Ladybug!”

Yes it's meant to be

The battle was fierce, but tiresome for everyone. With Lila nearly dying by the hands of Cā liàng, nearly traumatizing Marinette in the process. Ladybug had to work quickly as she knew this will only mentally damage Marinette if she were to go through this.

“Marinette!” A spark of hope raises when the akumatized item sparks. Luka was the only one close to the two when spark appeared.

Without hesitation, Luka pulls Cā liàng causing her to lose focus, nearly burning him the process. Ladybug is quick to destroy the object.

Uncertain flame of hope I found

Will you lead me back on the right track?

Once the mist of the akuma faded away, Marinette falls into Luka’s arms. He holds her tightly humming a soft tune. The burnt marks fade away as the Miraculous magic revives those that froze and the buildings that turned to ash.

Reporters try to get the temporary Ladybug to speak about the hardship of taking down this akuma, only for her to glare and disappear into the sky and behind buildings.

“Luka,” Marinette soft voice pulls Luka out his tune and focus on the poor teen in his arms.

“I got you, Nettie.”

Marinette shakily nods and closes her eyes.

Permanent ML Tag List: @damianette-is-life

#akumatized marinette #promare inspired #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #artxyra one-shots #mildly salted #slightly angsty

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bluekaddis · 4 years

Text

Today is 11/11 which marks 101 years of Poland regaining independence and I thought it is a perfect time to publish a post that I’ve been working on for a while.

Ferelden from Polish Perspective aka Why We Can Relate to Dog Lords So Much.

This is a sort of compilation of my own thoughts I had while playing the games and various talks with my Polish friends. It is not supposed to force any ideas or teach others how to interpret the game. I just thought it could be entertaining for anyone interested in history and culture. I was trying not to elaborate too much on the subject here but it still ended up being A Very Long Post TM. To make this post a little neater to read, I divided this post into 4 sections:

1. History

2. Fashion and Food

3. Politics

4. Relationships with Other Countries

I will be very happy if you find a minute or two to read some of my points. If you have any additional questions or comments feel free to leave me a message :)

And once again - enormous thanks to @aeducanka for proofreading. I would be a poor mess without you.

DISCLAIMERS

1. Yes, I know that Ferelden is based mostly on Anglo-Saxon England and I have no problem with that. True, I may be a little disappointed that the game includes references to so many European cultures and countries (France, Byzantine Empire, Venice, Roma culture etc.) and yet practically ignores Central and Eastern Europe completely, BUT this post is not meant to be a “Where is my representation?!” rant. If I wanted a game with Slavic culture vibes, I could always play the Witcher trilogy again. We are doing alright.

2. I am in no way an academic specialist on culture or history, even these of my own country. I did some research, but most of facts and figures can be easily found on wikipedia. You can treat this as just some observations and headcanons of a 29 y/o Polish woman, who has grown up and lives in Poland.

3. The main focus of this post is Poland in different moments of history. However, when talking about fashion and political system I will mostly refer to Polish culture between the 16th and 18th century. During that time Poland and Lithuania formed a dual state known as The Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. So, whenever I refer to this particular period, I will use the term “Commonwealth” instead of “Poland”.

PART 1 – HISTORY

The country’s name origin

Ferelden means „fertile valley” in Alamarri tongue [WoT vol. 1], Poland most probably comes from the Slavic word „pole” meaning „field”. They both refer to land that can be cultivated.

History of unification

Ferelden lands were divided between many tribes until they were unified by Calenhad Theirin. He fought and defeated other Alamarri tribes’ leaders, proclaimed Andrastianism as the new official religion of his kingdom and started the Theirin dynasty.

A similar story can be told about Mieszko I of Poland – the leader of the Polans tribe (one of many Slavic tribes of that time) who, by means of war and diplomacy, united many Slavic tribes and created the Polish country in 965. In the same year he was baptised, abandoning native paganism in favour of Christianity. Mieszko started the Piast dynasty which ruled Poland for over 400 years. He never officially became a king, though – his son, Bolesław, was crowned king in 1025.

Also, Ferelden is a relatively young country compared to countries like Orlais or Tevinter. Even if Poland has over 1000 years of history as a country, it has to be noted that some Western European countries have a longer history (eg. the Carolingian Empire or the Visigothic Kingdom). Polish lands have also never been a part of the Roman Empire.

Fun fact – the half-legendary sword of the first king of Poland, Szczerbiec, was stolen by Prussian troops during their invasion on Poland in 1795. Calenhad’s sword, Nemetos,was lost during the Orlesian invasion on Ferelden [WoT vol. 1].

Ostagar

Now, I will tell you a story. It is about a young king (in his twenties), a little reckless, wanting to be the leader who stood against the great invading threat to his country, a little blinded by the perspective of glorious victory. Just before the battle one of his allied forces betrayed him and did not provide the promised aid. The enemy army was too strong, too large. The king’s army was defeated, the king was killed in battle and his body was taken by the enemy. The king did not have children and his younger brother had succeeded him.

No, I’m not talking about Cailan, this is the story of Władysław III of Poland.

PART 2 – FASHION AND FOOD

Fashion

All cultures in Thedas have their own style and fashion. Ferelden is supposed to be this “We like fur and warm fabrics” culture, opposite to the extravagant Orlesian style. However, I have few problems with how Fereldan fashion is shown in the game.

1. It is too early-medieval looking. I know, it is a fantasy, you can mix ancient Egypt with steampunk and nobody should care. But we see, from cultural and technological perspective, that Thedas in Dragon Age is more renaissance/baroque than your typical medieval. Heck, some elements, like the infamous Formal Attire, look like clothes from 18th or even 19th century! In comparison, outfits like Arms of Mac Tir or Robes of the Pretender (though good looking) look like something from the Vikings era.

2. We do not see many good looking Fereldan outfits in the games. I like Alistair’s royal outfit and some of Fereldan armors and clothes from DA:2 but remember this?

Or this?

Yeah, Dog Lords can do better :/

And that’s why I like to headcanon Fereldan fashion as something more resembling the Commonwealth fashion between the 16th and 18th century. It was an interesting mix of European and Asian influences and I think it would work perfectly with canon Ferelden because:

1. People LOVED fur elements in their clothing. Fur lining on coats, fur caps decorated with feathers, pelts of wild carnivores (lions, wolves, bears, etc.) on armour - fur was everywhere.

2. It is simple but regal. The quality of materials and patterns were more important than volume and the number of layers. A typical male noble outfit consisted of a long garment (żupan), a long, ornate sash, one of two types of cloak (delia or kontusz) and a fur cap decorated with feathers and jewels. If you compare it with the baroque fashion from France it is less extravagant and more practical. No wigs, no flounces, no man tights.

Compare these two dudes – the older one is dressed Commonwealth style, the younger – in French style.

The Deluge, 1974

Of course some wealthy noblemen who spent a lot of time in France or other Western countries tended to adapt their style, but from what I know it was not that common. Women, on the other hand, tended to dress more similar to their Western counterparts (especially when they wanted to look fashionable) but their everyday dresses were not that much elaborate. They also wore kontusz (though the female version was shorter) and fur caps when outside.

Below I post some more costumes to better illustrate my point. They all come from Polish movie adaptations of H. Sienkiewicz’s novels (I looove both the books and the movies).

With Fire and Sword, 1999

The Deluge, 1974

Fire in the Steppe, 1968

And I could not NOT to mention the wonderful interpretation of Fereldan armor and clothing for my OCs drawn by @ankalime - I still can’t get over how beautiful they look :3

Food

From what we know, Fereldan food is very similar to traditional English cuisine (lamb and pea anyone?), HOWEVER, I can totally see some traditional Polish dishes on Fereldan tables. Let us look at this part of Alistair’s banter with Leliana:

“Now here in Ferelden, we do things right. We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. As soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing, that's when I know it's done.”

Dishes like bigos, flaki or goulash (mostly associated with Hungary but also present in various forms in Slavic countries) totally fit this description. Tasty and hearty but I know some foreigners see them as totally unappetizing :P

Poland is also culturally more into beer than wine (high five, British Isles!), so Fereldan ale fits this image, too.

PART 3. POLITICS

When I first played DA:O and heard about choosing the new queen/king on Landsmeet I was like “omg, they have wolna elekcja!”

The canon Ferelden is a feudal country, however, there seems to be less focus on the king's absolute power – instead, the nobles can choose the king they like, the hierarchy inside this particular social class is also less striking than one can expect.

And this brings me to the concept of Golden Liberty. (I will quote Wikipedia here, I am not that smart to explain this well in English on my own).

The Golden Liberty was a unique political system of the Commonwealth – a mixture of monarchy, oligarchy and democracy. The most distinctive elements of that systems were:

- All nobles regardless of rank or economic status, were considered to have equal legal rights (and you did not have to own a town or two to be considered a noble – a large part of the nobility owned nothing more than a farm, often little different from a peasant's dwelling, and some did not even have that much). The rights were, for example:

- Neminem captivabimus ("We shall not arrest anyone without a court verdict").

- right to vote – every nobleman, whether rich or poor, could vote. Of course if someone was rich, they could bribe others to gain more political influence, but it is the same as today.

- religious freedom – unlike many other European countries of the time, people in Commonwealth were legally free to follow any religion. The Commonwealth became a common refuge for people who were persecuted for religion in their homelands. The religious freedom was not restricted to nobility but to all social classes.

- rokosz - the right to form a legal rebellion against a king who violated nobility freedoms.

- the monarchy was elective, not hereditary, and the king was elected by the nobility. That “democracy” was not, of course, perfect, as only male noblemen had the right to vote and elect the king. However, it was still between 10-15% of the population who could vote. In comparison, “in 1831 in France only about 1% of the population had the right to vote”

The Landsmeet in DA:O is basically the free election (well, maybe minus the duel :D) and I would say the Fereldan nobility does not feel obliged to be obedient 100% of the time.

PART 4. RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER COUNTRIES

Orlesian occupation

We know from the game that Orlais invaded Ferelden in 8:24 Blessed and occupied it for decades. The Fereldan forces were rebelling against the occupant and finally, under the command of Maric Theirin, they won their freedom.

Again, it is a huge topic, so to summarize: Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth suffered a similar fate in 1795 as it was conquered and divided between Habsburg Austria, the Kingdom of Prussia and the Russian Empire. For 123 years Poles have been trying to regain their country, have started several uprisings and lost many lives in their fight for independence. Finally, at the end of WW1, independent Poland reappeared on the map of the world. Then came the WW2, probably the most tragic event in Polish history – the cities were razed to the ground, a vast part of national heritage destroyed or stolen, and over 6 million people (1/5 of the pre-war population) were killed.

So yeah, a country invaded and occupied for decades by its neighbour sounds way too familiar to be ignored.

Ferelden in the eyes of Orlesians

The Fereldans are a puzzle. As a people, they are one bad day away from reverting to barbarism. (...) They are the coarse, wilful, dirty, disorganized people [DA:O Codex Entry: Culture of Ferelden].

Yeah... this, unfortunately, sounds familiar. I fear that the stereotype of a drunk, stupid, poor, thieving Poles (and other Slavic nations), which originated from WW2 propaganda, is somehow still alive in the West. I will not dive deeper in this subject because I want to believe my followers have their own brain cells and I do not need to explain how hurtful and offensive those stereotypes are.

My point is – I could identify easily with a fantasy country that is located east from the “centre of culture and civilisation” and is unfairly believed to be more barbaric.

So – for all two of you who bothered to read the whole thing - thanks for coming to my TED talk.I really appreciate the time you spent here :)

#dragon age #my writing #ferelden #headcanon #heavy slavic breathing #finally!#it took so long #but i am really happy i can post it here

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crazylittlethingy · 4 years

Text

He loves me (Part 3)

abusive!dabi x reader (eventually x hawks)

a/n: I’m focusing in the reader and hawks’ early friendship in this one, don’t worry, next part I’ll give you some dabi *wink wink*

Part 1 - Part 2

It had been three months since classes started and you forgot why you were so scared of high school. Yeah, UA was tough, with intense physical and intelectual activities, you got home tired most of the time and your already limited time with your parents grew even more limited and you found yourself arguing with them more often, if you are tired enough on that day. You’d usually apologize through movie nights on Sunday. In the beginning no one would say anything, but, as the movie goes on, comments would be made, songs would be sang and laughs would be laughed.

You could also feel yourself becoming stronger. You liked your quirk quite a lot, it would take you and Touya away from trouble when you were little, and, nowadays, it symbolized a ticket to a good hero agency. Before UA, you could only open one portal for about 20 to 30 seconds before feeling a splitting headache that would take you close to passing out. Three months into the course, after training hard in and out of school grounds on weekdays (because even you knew rest is needed to archive a goal), you were able to open one portal for a whole minute or two portals for 30 seconds and you also had a better idea on how to use them on a battleground, teleporting and punching someone, kicking, taking your allies out of the way. But the best thing about training was seeing Keigo in action.

It turns out he wasn’t that bad.

In the time you spent together you came to the conclusion that he’d always seemed to try and give you a reason to smile. It was true that he still was convinced of his “godlike appearance and personality” and knew way too many cheesy pickup lines for his own good, but they were funny and you were getting used to it all, it became a constant form of comfort and calmness in the middle of a growing pile of undone homework and assignments. And, besides, he was genuinely a good friend, listening to complains and to what you were currently obsessing with, showing himself to be an openminded learner, as you discovered when he, willingly, let you make him watch all 8 Harry Potter movies. He was definitely a Gryffindor in your eyes.

You also learned a lot about him. I mean, nothing related to his personal life apparently, but you knew that he loves fried chicken (even if it sounded a damn lot like cannibalism to you), how he twisted his pen around his fingers when he was concentrated in an assignment, how he’d bite his lip if he had a “brilliant” idea of a place to go or something to do on a Saturday afternoon, how he’d throw his head back and put a hand on his stomach if something was truly funny to him and how he’d roll his shoulders twice and turn his head a little to the left a moment before he took flight.

Oh and how beautiful he looked when he flied.

Keigo seemed fine in any space, a true social butterfly bird, but the only moment he was truly in his element was when he was in the sky. On the ground, he’d be smirking, confident of who he was, but as he cut through the air he didn’t have to worry about who he was or what his obligations were, he’d be free from anything and everything, and that made him smile, which, in turn, would make you smile. What a beautiful friendship am I right?

Thinking about all that made you sigh.

“Good morning, princess~” another day, the same cheesy nickname he gave you.

You rolled your eyes and buried your face in your arms, letting out a frustrated scream like thing.

“Woah I can’t see you in the weekend this one time and you already missed me this much?” You weren’t looking at him, but you could imagine his infuriating smirk as clear as the day outside the classroom you were siting in… very stifled… because the chair isn’t comfortable… at all.

“Because you are the only source of happiness in my life” how could you not exaggeratedly roll your eyes?

“I know” you still hated that smirk (and how good he looked) for the record.

Another frustrated groan. “My parents spent most of Saturday away because their boss had an emergency or something and, on Sunday, they let all their frustration on me through screaming contest, very pleasing to the neighbors let me tell yah. But I also watched this really good series on Netflix about a girl who just lost her dad and discovers she has a telepathic quirk in a world where no one has quirks”

“It sounds like a really sad reality”

You give a sad laugh and look at the window and what it’s beyond it. “It does.” And for a second there, when he’s quiet for longer than the usual 2 seconds, you turn around to face him and there is something in his eyes you can’t understand, for once you don’t see him smile or smirk.

“Well, worry not, my lady, for I, Takami Keigo, swear on your mother’s cake that I’ll never let you go through anything bad alone” he made this whole really exaggerated curtesy and the smirk was back. How could you not laugh and smile heartedly?

“Thank you so much, kind sire. But where were you this weekend? And why do you swear on my mother’s cake of all things?” You question, still smiling, in your most pompous voice, but you were also worried, Keigo never missed one of your Saturdays, it was the only day your parents allowed you to have friends around or to go around.

Even with his head bowed, you saw how his expression fell a little bit. “I had something to deal with.” He sounded serious, his voice lower than you ever heard. “And your mother’s cake is the best cake ever, so I can’t bear to lose it.” With that wink, his cheerful tone was back.

“Keigo-“ “Okay, everyone, I don’t want to hear anymore giggles, whispers, gossips and jokes whatsoever. Is time for class.” As the teacher entered the classroom, interrupting any and all conversations. Keigo sat down by your side. You spent a few seconds looking at him, as if the answer to his behavior would be found in his blond hair. When he turned and caught your eye, his eyebrows making their way up and down as if he was trying to be suggestive. You gave him the finger and he laughed, you felt your cheeks become warm and you turned to try and pay attention to your first (and very boring) class of the day.

Lunch time is the best and the worst. It was too noisy for your liking on some days, but sometimes you were part of that noise, like today.

“Shut up Keigo” you were laughing so loudly your belly was hurting. “I’m trying to eat!” “When I say funny things you look at me with murder in your eyes, but if I make a shitty pun you almost die of laughing?” He sounded bashful but he was smiling warmly, not that you noticed, as you were too busy trying not to cry out from the momentarily joy the pun brought you.

“Excuse me if I think your normal jokes are the real ‘shitty thing’, I do tend to enjoy puns more, they are witty” You said as you finally caught your breath and dived into the cafeteria food.

“Excuse you, I’m funny” you just rolled your eyes at that, something you do quite a lot, actually.

Things were usually like this, you two would be eating and telling some shitty jokes or puns, complaining about training and assignments and judging your colleagues decisions in life, such as dating the school resident jerk or eating broccoli when pizza sounded like a better option. Everyday, you’d be joined by a girl and a boy from your class. The girl was really outgoing and smart, you two became friends over ‘nerdy things’, as Keigo liked to call your obsession with Supernatural and Doctor Who. The boy, on the other hand, was under Keigo’s wing, he was shy and reserved but also smart (as everyone in the best high school of Japan seemed to be) and he’d often make some comments under his breath when he thought no one was listening. Now those were funny and made you make an effort to pay attention to him at all times so you can get that little glimpse of his true self.

“You won’t believe what I just heard” Naomi, the girl, came jumping around to the table. You liked to think she saw you as a good and trustworthy friend.

“How is it possible you already have gossips when people are still getting to know each other?” Ren, the boy, questioned quietly. Naomi didn’t seem to pay him attention, but you offered him a smile as if to say you thought the same. He turned almost as red as Keigo’s wings.

Even if you and Naomi were somewhat friends, she and Keigo had a gossip connection, knowing everything about everyone and their parents, so he was always the most excited when Naomi came jumping around the room, you’d take the time to stay in silence or making awkward conversation with Ren.

“Spill the tea girl” Keigo offered his best American accent, mimicking a slang he read somewhere. You were almost sure he ran a blog in one of those American’s websites to talk about celebrities life’s… or Endeavor, he liked that guy more than you think he should.

“Weeeeelllll do you know who Kanami is?” Naomi’s face made you remember the Cheshire Cat.

“Isn’t she the girl whose cousin dates the most popular guy in school” Keigo, in turn, made you think of a curious Alice arriving in Wonderland.

“Yep. Apparently she told her cousin Hiro had called the house they live in cancelling their date, which her cousin totally believed, and she, Kanami, went on the date instead saying her cousin was sick! Now, this was two weeks ago and the cousin found out and they were just fighting in the corridor, quirks and all!” Naomi made extravagant gestures while telling the facts.

“What! No way! Are they still there?” Keigo was getting up.

“No, sadly, the principal arrived there as we made our way here” Both teens now looked like a balloon that lost all air.

“It almost seems like you guys are disappointed no one died fighting over a guy” Ren’s observation came as silently as the summer breeze.

“Chicken Little over there eats his fellow chickens as lunch and you think he’d have sympathy for teenage girls fighting over their first ‘love’?” You replied as you cut your meat (or tofu or salad if you are vegetarian/vegan).

When the bell rang once again and you could feel the despair of all the students’ souls, Naomi’s voice came chirping again.

“Why don’t we go out after school today?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?”

Smiling like a fool just at the thought of spending the day with your friends, the rest of the day seemed promising.

Keigo’s laugh was probably heard a mile away from where you guys were. Naomi was telling some of her best embarrassing stories as a ‘get to know each other exercise’ because ‘there is still a lot you don’t know about each other’ and it was nice. I mean, you didn’t feel like telling your early teenage embarrassing moments, but the kid ones were ok, seeing your three friends laughing warmly made you feel like you belonged in that second, in that place, with those people. Last time you felt like that was before Touya disappeared.

Yet, here you were, able to be carefree, feeling the wind in your hair, under a cloudless sky, surrounded by people who wouldn’t leave you.

But you felt strange. The tip of your fingers felt a little numb and there was this shiver making its way down your spine. Someone was watching you. That thought made you stop and look around. And there you saw it, Hades’ flames all over again.

There is this thing about knowing someone since you were little: it doesn’t matter how long you are apart, it doesn’t matter if the friendship is over, if it was interrupted, there was always this ongoing familiarity in them, no matter how much both of you change.

He was just standing there, looking at you. Blue against (e/c). He was wearing a black windbreaker and black jeans, his hair the color of a corrupted soul, so different from the ruby red (and later snowy white) you were used to. He aged, obviously, his features more mature and you wondered how sharp his jawline would be, but nothing, not even the piercings he wore on his nose and lip, no hair dye, no amount of clothing or scars, nothing would make those flaming blue lights loose their intense gaze and color. (I mean, yeah, contacts would do it but he wasn’t wearing them okay?)

“(Y/n)? Are you alright?” Keigo’s voice startled you, making you look at him and realize he and the others were some feet ahead of you.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine, I just have something to deal with and then I’ll meet you guys at the mall.” You did your best to show your most convincing smile, yet Keigo still looked worried at you. “I really am fine Keigo, for this once I guarantee you don’t have to worry.” You spoke seriously and he seemed to trust you, he gave one look behind you and decided to keep going.

As you got closer to the not so strange stranger, you noticed how a half smile grew at each step you took. When you were close enough to see the daylight reflected in his eyes you spoke in a whisper, like the word alone would be able to make him vanish, like it’d break you all over again.

“Touya?”

“Not anymore, love.”

Part 4

Taglist:

@aly-insanity

@a-typical-antisocial-fangirl

@memekingofwwiii

@axerrri

@elizabeththe3third

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thequietuptown · 3 years

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As a guy, how can I effectively call out other men's shitty behavior when I see it?

Hello friend,

This is such a great question, and thank you for adopting a great ally mindset. I've written about calling out racism and bigotry before, and I'll include that response below, because I think a lot of the same practices apply.

A lot of men have bought into some of the narratives supplied by a toxic view of masculinity, and it can be really frustrating and disappointing to see your close friends kind of go on auto-pilot and promote those harmful beliefs/behaviors without ever stopping to think about it. We hear our friends make inappropriate comments, or ply people with alcohol well after they've tried to establish boundaries. We see our brothers pester people into dates, unable to take no for an answer. We see men that we love compartmentalize and shut down because they think being strong means not showing any emotions, when we know true strength means acting with integrity in the face of adversity. In any of those cases, unchallenged assumptions are at play, and those men deserve better than to be told that's how they should act.

Whenever you see or hear something that you feel needs to be stopped, there are four things to keep in mind. First, try not to hesitate. This doesn't mean you should put him on the spot in a way that makes him feel like you think he's a bad person (even if you do think that) because that could just lead to him getting defensive and doubling down on his actions, or it could make the other people around feel ashamed or embarrassed. Rather, it means calling attention to the problematic behavior as close to its occurrence as is possible to do so in a safe manner, and to be able to pinpoint what exactly you found problematic. If you can't have that conversation right then and there, call attention to it by saying something along the lines of "Hey now..." or "Ouch," anything that will stick out in his mind as a response to his actions/comments.

Second, tell him his behavior isn't okay with you. A lot of the time we fall into the trap of saying things like "she's somebody's sister/daughter," and, while that may be well-intentioned, it also erases the fact that she's a person and the acceptability of the behavior in question isn't based on her perceived gender. Also, the creation of a hypothetical woman generally won't stop the behavior if he just doesn't respect women. Take ownership of the fact that his actions made you uncomfortable, so that he can't just write it off.

Third, make sure the confrontation isn't an attack. Regardless of whether or not we think it might be deserved, punishment generally isn't a great way to correct behavior. Be vulnerable with him when having the conversation, and take the time to calmly educate him on why his behavior was troubling.

Finally, if other people are around and you can't pull him aside to have that conversation in a safe way, ask questions that will get him to think about his actions or words. My go to questions in these situations are "Why do you say that?" or "Did you mean to do that?" This goes back to the unchallenged assumptions I mentioned earlier. A lot of us act or speak without thinking, especially when we're relying on those toxic narratives. These questions give him an opportunity to immediately reflect on what he just said/did, and with any self-awareness, he might correct himself in the moment. It gives him an opportunity to save face without aggressively putting him on the spot.

It's difficult to challenge other men's behavior on your own, but it is so important to have a familiar voice be that driving force for change. I wish you the best in establishing these boundaries around you.

With love, friend.

Below is the aforementioned post confronting bigoted remarks:

It seems these days that bigoted remarks are becoming more and more commonplace. With the current political climate and figureheads in power, it seems we cannot go one day without hearing something awful slip from someone’s mouth around us. It can be hard to speak up, and, let’s face it, it can be dangerous. It can invite a world of problems into our lives simply because we are trying to do the right thing. But you know who has it worse? The people that are the targets of such remarks.

I’m not saying to put your neck on the line. In any given situation, your safety and security, both physical and emotional, should come first, but there are things that you can do. The Southern Poverty Law Center has a great guide to Responding to Everyday Bigotry. They break it down into categories about how to deal with co-workers, neighbors, family members, you name it. So I would invite you to take a look at that, if you have the time and you are serious about speaking up.

But, as with any conflict, preparedness is key. You know it’s going to happen again so think about what you’re going to say in advance. Don’t stoop to their level and resort to name calling. Even try to avoid using words like racist or sexist, even though their words may very well be those things. This will put up walls and may open you up to some backlash. Asking open-ended questions is a good way to start a conversation to see if they can put the pieces together themselves. My go to question is “Why do you say that?” because it makes the person stop and actually think about the words they have said, which might be something they are not used to doing. I had a friend in high school who would say “Get your life together” any time he heard a homophobic remark. That’s a little bit more aggressive than what I would be comfortable with, but find something that works for you.

Another thing you can do is try to create a safe space around you. If this is something happening in your work environment, put up a poster or flier that says that your personal space if a safe space. If you notice recurring behaviors, set limits. Tell them, “Please don’t tell those jokes/make those remarks. At the very least don’t make them around me.” Most importantly find and be an ally. There’s safety in numbers, and it is easier to confront someone on their casual bigotry when you know someone has your back.

I know it’s scary, but remember: you’re doing the right thing. If you are getting offended when it’s not aimed at you, it’s taking its toll. Don’t let it. Remaining silent is surrendering a part of yourself and letting those attitudes continue unchecked. If you need that ally, I am here for you.

With love, friend.

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