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thisnameisnotspokenfor · 1 month

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Chapter 33: The Game finishing snippet

as celebration for hitting 500+ reblogs here is the super rough snippet of the game section! It's still in it's rough stages, and there's still a lot left to go- I was really trying to recapture the vibe from the library chapter while still staying new/fresh I guess! (this will probably be very different from the finished product!)

“Asha?” Cepheus’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife as she halted. Now both ‘dragon’ and knights were staring at her as she stood there, frozen.

“H-hello Cepheus,” she smiled, giving him a small wave.

“Hi Asha!” he smiled as Corvias stared at her.

“...Bye Cepheus.”

“Bye Asha!” he called as Corvias incredulously looked from him to her before fervently hopping. “Oh….OH- WAIT A MINUTE- PRINCESS GET BACK HERE!” Cepheus yelled as he took off after her.

“HELP!” She screamed once again as the star continued to chase after her. “THIS WAS A MISTAKE AAAHHHH-,”

“After them!” cried the children who followed in pursuit.

“No, you silly kids don’t follow me! How am I supposed to get to you if you’re behind him?!” She cried watching as they charged after the star. “Nooo!” she groaned.

“Keep running Asha!” Mrs. Zahira called.

“Circle around! Do a backflip!” Mr. Armin called.

“I can’t do a backflip!” She wailed as she continued sprinting around the market, watching as the star grew closer and closer.

“He’s gaining on you!” Mrs. Akinemi laughed as she tore past her.

No kidding.

Her headstart had done her little good as he quickly gained ground, somehow managing to nearly close the distance as she ran both through the crowd and around the stalls. No wonder the king had found stars terrifying. For someone who’d claimed to be so weak amongst his own kind, Cepheus’s strength and speed were insane!

“SOMEBODY SAVE ME!” she screamed, taking a sharp turn around another stall as the star continued following. “PLEASE!”

She shrieked as the audience roared with laughter and cheers as she continued running, silently cursing at the fact that she hadn’t worn better shoes.

“That’s what we’re trying to do!” Edda called in between pants as Aelar said something in Ischanian.

“Bob and weave Asha!” Phoebe advised as the children trailed behind.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?!” she called, running past Mr. Armin’s stall, where he was currently talking to Mr. Kurkaus and Mr. Leitus.

“I’m telling you, Armin, you give it a day or two and I bet you hot chocolate will take off in Rosas!”

“In this weather? Hmm, not likely,” Mr. Armin shook his head as Asha dashed past Mrs. Kurkaus’s stall.

“What?! But we’re drinking tea right now!!” Mr. Kurkaus exclaimed as he incredulously gestured to the tea set on Mr. Armin’s stall. “ How is hot chocolate any different?!”

“Asha he’s hiding behind Bellerose’s stall waiting to ambush you!” Mr. Leitus called as he poured himself a cup of tea.

“Traitor!” the star indignantly called to Mr. Leitus as he reappeared a few yards in front of Asha. “I’ll remember this! You’ll see!”

“Thank you, sir!” Asha yelled as she took off in the opposite direction as the star continued giving chase.

“Asha,” the star sang sounding too close for comfort. Oh God, she wasn’t going to make it, was she?

“No- PLEASE-,” she screeched.

“Scream louder Asha, I don’t think all of Rosas has heard you yet,” the star called, sounding far closer than she wanted.

She didn’t know where she was going, just that she needed to get back to the children. The children who were now behind- “AAAAHHHH!” She screamed as she felt arms wrap around her, pulling her to a stop.

“Yep. There we go!” The star called, his voice filling her ears as she began to struggle against his grasp.

There was no way she was going down fighting, not after she’d put in this much effort into escaping!

Shifting her arms and legs around his, she’d kneeled down. Then she’d turned herself around quickly wrapping her arms around his neck, as she slowly began to squeeze. Her legs wrapped around his sides, nearly straddling him as she used every ounce of strength to tighten her hold.

Somewhere behind her, she could hear the children’s footsteps come to a halt behind her just as the star released a strangled grasp.

A choir of groans and gasps greeted her from her surrounding audience as she continued tightening the choke hold. The adults winced as Aelar and the other children jumped in excitement.

“Cool!” Diego called as they struggled against one another. The star was holding back, but that wouldn’t stop Asha from

“That’s a nasty chokehold,” Mr. Armin grimaced as Mrs. Akinemi whistled.

“There goes the windpipe,” Mrs. Zahra winced before playing a small tune on her fiddle.

“No wonder Sabino didn’t bother with him! He knew she’d put him down herself!” Mr. Leitus called.

“I think he’s still conscious!” Mrs. Bellerose cried. “Poor kid!”

“Go easy on him Asha!” Mr. Bjorn commented.

“If you insist,” Asha replied, quickly removing her legs from the star’s waist before firmly planting them back on the ground. She still hadn’t released her hold on his neck, nor had she planned to as she’d carefully regained her balance before tightening it even further.

The star’s body nearly slackened for a moment before she’d felt him move, this time far more vigorously as he’d tried to tear himself away from her hold, hurriedly grumbling something in Cosmelathian.

“Fight princess! Fight!” Edda screamed as the star had placed a hand on her side. Fear had engulfed her as for a moment she’d wondered if he’d scratch her with his nails. But He’d offered no further resistance as the crowd continued to grow, shouting and cheering.

‘Fight princess! Fight!’ They’d sang as she grunted trying to secure her chokehold.

Oh, she was fighting all right.

A raspy sound had escaped the star as he’d staggered forward once more, moving his head as she’d nearly wrestled him to the ground.

He was trying to prevent her from locking it in.

A wise decision on his part as she’d continue to struggle to secure it. he definitely knew his way around combative maneuvers, confirming to her this his counter in the library had been anything but coincidental. He’d only feigned ignorance, probably to hide the fact that he was a far better combatant than he’d purposefully misled both her and her grandfather to believe.

Combining technique with his strength was a monstrous combination, but she hadn’t gained the reputation for being one of the best wrestlers in a tavern full of warriors and criminals for working strictly under ideal conditions. She’d dealt with worse just like she was going to deal with him.

“Cepheus!” She called over the sounds of their struggle and the crowd’s growing excitement as they’d taken sides cheering either her or the star on. “You thought this was going to be easy? Didn’t you?” she’d whispered to the star as she’d refused to let go.

The star laughed, moving in a near blur as she felt him suddenly slip and vanish from her hold. He’d moved so fast that she’d barely seen how he escaped, but it didn’t matter as the now freed star stood mere inches in front of her with his smile noticeably absent.

What was he-?!

She’d screamed as he stepped forward, his arms wrapping around her and lifting her.

First, she saw the sky. She’d nearly thought she was flying until she’d felt the pull of gravity again as she’d felt herself being hoisted down as the star hummed.

He hadn’t- he couldn’t!!!

She gasped as she saw the children’s shocked faces staring at her as his hold had tightened around her knees.

Oh no.

She had no idea what sort of move he’d used against her. But she doubted it mattered when she’d now found herself firmly planted on top of the star’s shoulders.

“What the-?!” She’d cried incredulously, as she helplessly flailed her arms. Oh no, no, no, no!

“That was amazing…” Diego whispered.

“What kind of move was that?!” Phoebe cried as the crowd watched on in awe, a few even cheering for the star as he held her victoriously.

“He lifted her like she was a bag of feathers!” Kelsey exclaimed.

“Just another wonderful day in Rosas!” The star victoriously sang as he’d shifted her on his shoulder. His arm gently rested behind her knees.

Oh, the grin she’d pictured on his face was too much as she’d struggled in vain against his iron grip once more.

This wasn’t supposed to be how it went! She was supposed to be free! Not captured- like- like this!

She paused, looking at the faces of the children who looked as if they couldn’t decide on whether or not to laugh or to cry. “Not one word,” she threatened.

“Can we negotiate?” Phoebe asked as Asha felt the last bit of sanity leave her. The children had begun following after the star as he’d headed back towards the fountain.

“Please!” Phoebe begged as the star paused in front of Mrs. Kurkaus’s stall. Her snow cloud from the previous day was still there, releasing a rather heavy snowfall as the star shifted Asha once more on his shoulder.

“Reverting to diplomacy now?” Cepheus looked unimpressed as the children shrugged.

“It’s worth a shot,” Diego spoke.

Now Asha was desperate, and desperate times always called for desperate measures. That’s why she’d reached out, collecting the flurries and snowflakes that had accumulated between her fingers.

This was her last chance. Her last chance.

If this didn’t work then nothing would.

“Hmm unless it’s food, I don’t think there’s much you all could- ACK!” he yelled, as the snowball collided with the side of his face. The whole market fell silent as he immediately released Asha who more than happily scrambled away from him.

It had only been when she’d put a few yards between them had the reality of her situation truly hit her.

She, Asha, mild manner peasant of Rosas, had just hit a reality-bending supernatural being who possibly wanted to destroy Rosas, in the face, with a ball of snow.

…What had she done?!

There was no way she’d just willingly pelted Cepheus, of all people, with a snowball!!!

“Uhh,” she started as the star slowly turned towards her. Snow fell from his face as he stared at her.

Was it too late to say sorry?

The answer to her question had come when a snowball had suddenly appeared in the star’s hand. His claw-like fingers tightly gripped it as he took one step towards her. Then another.

Uh oh.

“Cepheus- I,” oh he was coming now.

“Asha,” he sang.

“Cepheus no!” She squealed, narrowly dodging as something white and small raced past her before colliding with a surprised Mr. Leiutus.

“Oops,” the star murmured watching as the man blinked in shock. Mr. Kurkaus cackled with laughter as Mr. Leiutus glared. “Let me try that again,” he sighed reaching for more snow.

Wait again?! “No!” Asha wailed as she ducked behind Mr. Armin’s stall. “I repent! Please!”

“Oh no you don’t,” Mr. Leitus interjected as he ran to Mrs. Kurkaus’s stall and created his own snowball. “Thought you could pull a fast one on me did you?!” he yelled to the star who pointed to himself in confusion. “Take this!” He yelled, hurling the ball at the star who promptly ducked as the ball instead hit Mr. Kurkaus.

“AUGH!” Mr. Kurkaus cried, wiping the snow from his face. “You did that on purpose!”

“Partially!” Mr. Leitus confessed. “I was aiming for him!”

“How were you aiming for him when he’s to your right but I’m to your left?! That makes no sense Alaric!”

“I don’t know, I just threw a ball! If you don’t like it do something!”

“Alright then!” Mr. Kurkaus replied, racing towards his wife's stall as Mr. Leitus tensed.

“Uh oh,” he panicked before hobbling away. “No! I can’t run! Please!” he yelled as Mr. Kurkaus reappeared, now holding several snowballs of his own.

“HA!” he yelled, hurling four snowballs toward the screaming Mr. Leitus.

But instead of hitting his target, the first one hit Mrs.Zahra and her violin, abruptly ending her tune. “Ack!” she’d cried, lowering her violin as her husband snickered, before promptly being hit as well.

“Aah!” cried Thatcher as the third snowball hit him in the shoulder, an impressive feat considering that he’d never been remotely close to Mr. Leitus to begin with.

“What in the-,” Maria started, narrowly ducking the snowball as it instead hit Moireach.

“Hey!” Moireach yelled. “What the heck-?!”

“Sorry!” Mr. Kurkaus called. “I don’t know how that happened. I’m usually pretty good at snowball throwing…”

“Pretty good? Aldo, you’re worse than me!” Mr. Leitus teased as both Mrs. Zahra, Moireach and Thatcher raced towards the stall, quickly making their own snowballs as Mr. Kurkaus began to back away.

“Hey now…it was a mistake! I didn’t mean to hit you! What are you doing?! Stop! Ah!” He screamed as the trio began to chase him, all hurling snowballs in his direction.

“Don’t worry love!” Mrs. Kurkaus called, leaving her stall’s size to grab a snowball of her own. “I’ll save you!”

“Oh no, you won’t! Not on my watch!” Mr. Armin replied as he joined the fray.

Soon the market was complete and total chaos as snowballs soared overhead. The sounds of laughter and screams filled the air as people raced to and fro trying to pummel each other with the ever-growing snow cloud that had begun to spread over the market square.

“Okay, knights!” Edda called to the children who’d huddled behind the fountain, and away from the flying snowballs. “Our distractions don’t get better than this! Operation save princess attempt 3 is ready!”

“Just attempt 3? I could’ve sworn it was at least attempt 5-,” Thatcher started.

“Look it doesn’t matter okay? We just need to save Asha! Does anyone have any ideas!”

“I think….I might have an idea,” Aelar said softly as everyone turned to him. “But we are going to need help.”

Now Was this Asha’s fault? She wondered as she’d taken shelter behind an overturned table, safely away from the heart of the now snowy chaos.

Probably.

Was she going to take responsibility for this? Absolutely not!

But as she’d looked over the tabletop and took in the sight of the laughing people, playing with each other, she could scarcely believe that just a few days ago, so many of them had been sad and bored, wishing for a change. A change, that despite its terrible catalyst had now made life in the once very quiet city of Hamlet…exciting.

It was just like the star had said, wasn’t it? Their wishes had been granted, and for the time being, they’d all seemed happier because of it. Had there been some truth to his words? None of this would’ve been possible without him or his power and yet, no, she shook her head, promptly dismissing the thought and the dangerous implication it carried. Right now she had bigger problems to worry about, like the crazy star that she had lost sight of in the crowd. Where were her knights?

“Asha-,”

They better not have given up on her!

“Hey, Asha!” came a harsh whisper, snapping her out of her thoughts as Edda suddenly appeared at her side, startling her.

“Edda?!” she exclaimed before the girl hushed her.

“Not so loud! You don’t want the dragon finding you!”

“Right,” she nodded, somewhat annoyed that she’d forgotten his super hearing. “What are you doing here?”

“Aelar has a plan.”

“He does?”

Edda nodded, reaching into her pocket, “he does. But if you wanna be rescued, we’re gonna need your help.”

“Isn’t that cheating?” Asha asked.

“Do you wanna stay with him for eternity?”

“Fair point,” she conceded as Edda anxiously looked around the clearing once more. Then when she was certain they were alone, she held one of their wooden swords forward.

“Are you in?”

It had been five minutes since Edda had told her the plan, and five minutes without any sign of the star. Now she was worried, if not for the game, then for the possibility that the star had possibly used the game as a distraction to sneak off to somewhere she wouldn’t want him to be. But he wouldn’t do that, right? At least she hoped not.

Her eyes scanned the still chaotic marketplace, watching as Abigail had thrown one snowball only to be immediately pelted by three incoming ones. Her shrieks filled the air as her friends laughed, dragging their friend back behind their makeshift shelter as more snowballs were exchanged and thrown.

Where was the star? Better yet where was Lady Allard?! Surely the hour had been up and the food was ready!

Her last question had been answered as she’d heard Lady Allard’s ill-fated voice. She’d peaked over the tabletop, as the crowd of officials and arrivals came into view.

She’d meant to warn her. She did. She wasn’t sure how she was going to, but she never got the chance as Lady Allard stepped forward gesturing to the market. “And as you can see this is the market- the quietest place in to-,” her voice came to a halt as a snowball collided with the side of her face.

Now the once chaotic market had gone quiet.

All watched with bated breath as the noblewoman slowly wiped the snow from her face.

“Who….threw that ball?” She started as she trembled. “Out with it!” She screamed. “Which one of you hit me with that snowball!”

No one said anything as they exchanged glances.

“It wasn’t me-,”

“I didn’t have a snowball in my hand-,”

“Keeping your comrade’s silence, huh? Fine then! I’ll just have to destroy all of you!” She cried, storming towards the nearest pile of snow as she took a handful of snow. She halted, looking towards her officials angrily as she yelled, “Don’t just stand there! Avenge me you fools!”

“Oh…OH RIGHT! Yes!” They’d nodded in agreement, nearly stumbling over each other as they reached her pile of snow before charging after her toward a group of people.

They’d all screamed and scattered as the chaos resumed.

“Oh gosh, what have I gotten myself into,” Asha groaned as she huddled behind the fallen table. She couldn’t see the star anywhere…. Should she attempt another escape? Ugh, she hoped the ground wasn’t icy, but come to think of it, despite the amount of snow that had been accumulating, the weather hadn’t felt colder than normal, which should’ve been impossible given Rosas’s geographical position.

She shook her head, grumbling, “It’s literally snowing in Rosas. It never snows in Rosas. Of course, it wouldn’t we’re way too close to the equator for this. how is it snowing?!”

“Take an educated guess princess,” the star answered as he pulled the table away from her. A fairly sized snowball sat in his right hand as he looked at her thoughtfully.

“Cepheus!” she screamed, doing her best to scramble away from the star as far as she could. Of course, she hadn’t gotten far, she knew she couldn’t, not when she’d felt that familiar telekinetic hold on her, purposefully slowing her down as he calmly walked towards her.

Now she began to understand how Safi’s mice had felt whenever they’d been cornered by

Charo, who’d been all too willing to drag the process out.

But she needed to stall. She’d deduced that much as she’d caught sight of Phoebe’s figure sneaking closer, her eyes pleading with her to give them time. Fine.

It was time to get unethical again..

“N-now let’s not get too hasty here Cepheus!” ” she started with an uneasy smile. “Surely we can resolve this without resorting to violence!”

“Says the woman who threw me in a chokehold,” the star murmured as he neared.

“Which was admittedly not the best decision I’ve made today, but I’ve now seen the error of my ways!” She grinned nervously.

“Have you, princess?” he was still coming closer. She’d contemplated begging him to accept defeat, but knowing those children, there was no way they’d be satisfied with a simple victory over the star.

She nodded, “Yes I have! And you know! I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately-,”

“Mmhm.” Think Asha! Think! The moment he grabs you, it’s over! But what could she say to make him stop?

Nothing seemed to work, nothing save for- “ her eyes landed on Mrs. Bellerose’s abandoned flower stall behind him as an idea hit her.

“Vincas!” she screamed, pointing to the flower stall.

He stopped, looking at her as if she’d grown two heads before repeating, “Vincas?”

She nodded, thanking God that he’d actually come to a stop. “yeah you know, I was trying to think of which flowers reminded me of you and I settled for vincas.”

The star stopped, looking back at the beautiful flower stall. He wasn’t smiling anymore as he examined the flowers in question, completely missing when Asha had quietly pulled out the wooden sword that Edda had given her. “Little red flowers remind you of…me?”

She couldn’t tell if he was shocked or disgusted. Knowing how he’d felt about red stars, maybe both. She nodded, holding his attention as the surrounding children continued to creep closer amidst the chaos. “Of course they do. You know, here on earth they have a really good meaning.”

“Protection, friendship, and happiness.” she’d shrugged as she slowly eased herself to her knees and back onto her feet. “You know, things that those flowers reminded you of me.” oh she was nearly shaking now as she neared him.

She hadn’t missed the frown on his face as she’d said the word ‘love’ but it had given her enough strength, or rather spite to charge forward.

Immediately his arm flew forward, catching her hand with the wooden sword in it, just like she’d anticipated. shifting herself around as she’d pushed herself downwards, using her momentum to trip the star. She’d been shocked when he’d actually gone down with her, wrestling and rolling around in the snow as she’d pinned him beneath her.

He’d blinked in surprise, looking at her and the wooden tip that had hovered a few inches over her chest as his hand still held her wrist. “Hmm, call me crazy, but I think I’m getting a sense of deja vu here. A rather pleasant one, really.”

“Deja vu, huh?” she spat, trying to push against the star’s strength. “You know cepheus…” she grunted. Why was he so strong?! “If you think I look beautiful in defeat, you should see how I look in victory-,”

“Victory?” he asked, looking shocked as the sound of the children’s screams cut through the air. They’d flung themselves all over his limbs, as she’d held him down.

“Now!” thatcher cried as Aelar appeared with his wooden sword, tapping it against his chest before he firmly planted it beneath the star’s arm.

“AAAAAHHHHH!” the star screamed, as the surrounding snow fight ceased. Asha and the children quickly crawled off of him as he sat up, clutching his chest.

All eyes watching as his trembling hand reached for the wooden sword, unable to pull it out before he wailed “BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!!” He wailed, falling over dramatically as he reached towards Asha, imitating the movement of what she guessed was…a dying dragon? She didn’t know. She studied stars, not dragons. “AND DEATH!” he’d finished before going completely still as the market broke out into cheers.

“WE DID IT!” thatcher screamed.

“We saved the princess!” Phoebe cried, excitedly hugging her doll.

“Aelar your plan was genius!” Edda exclaimed as the other children nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” he began, smiling shyly. Before turning to Asha, “Thank you for playing with us miss.”

“It was no problem,” she said with a small curtsy, before kicking the star’s foot with hers. “I knew I could count on you all to put the wicked dragon down.”

“Free cheers for the knights of Rosas!” Mr. Leitus exclaimed, “Hip-hip!”

“Hooray!” yelled the crowd as they lifted the knights into the air. She couldn't quite stop the smile that came to her face as she watched Aelar excitedly talk to the kids who’d eagerly nodded. Maybe it had been too early to decide, but she had a feeling that he would fit right in with the other children of Rosas.

Sensing that the crowd was now distracted, Asha leaned down towards the star, “Hey are you okay?”

He smugly grinned, removing the sword from his side, “never been better. That was a pretty convincing performance wasn’t it? Hmm maybe I should take up theatre.” he took her hand as she helped him up. “I would be amazing in theatre. I can see it now!”

“Eh, I wouldn't quit my night job if I were you,” she joked, earning herself a string of

Cosmelathian words as the pair followed after the crowd into her grandfather’s bakery.

#the kingdom of the stars #wish au #rough chapter snippets #writers on tumblr #kingdom of the stars

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jessaerys · 6 months

Note

your fav mello/near fics??? thank yeww (also love your drawings!)

oohh this reminds me i should pick up my ff.net archival reclist project up again...

it is of note that it's been a looooong while since i've combed the archives and there's a couple of common tropes i don't usually read due to personal taste, so i'm sure there's a lot of good fic i'm unaware of and/or forgetting about! this has totally renewed my interest in making a comprehensive personal reclist >:) perhaps i'll come back and edit this post every now and then.

i owe comments to nearly everyone mentioned here i am SO sorry. it's a lost skill that i am working on developing again. at the very least i've got everyone in one place so i can go down the list this year. i encourage everyone reading from this reclist to leave a comment too!

i wrote "off the top of my head" but this got VERY long so under the readmore it goes

obligatory classics

• the famous @tierfal 's sidetracked (2010) and full of surprises (2009). rated e and m respectively. these are like the allegorical little black dress in the wardrobe of the platonic ideal of the mellonear oneshot. seem to be pretty well known across the ship fandom • stripped (2009) by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire on tumblr. explicit. i haven't read this in a while but i remember it capturing the delicate gossamer tension of the ship in a way that was sooo bittersweet and nostalgic. • to speak of rules and privilege (2008) also by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire, gen, a manifesto on tenderness, soooooooooo soft, changed the game, near being afraid of thunderstorms was immediately adopted into personal canon. big time influence for the way i write near and mello's pre-canon relationship re: big brother, little brother. • an understanding (2008) by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire, rated T, short and sweet, razor sharp prose, the aesthetics of the little piece live rent free in my head. • dual(2011) by ramasi, @ramasi here i believe. rated m. historians say this might be one of the first examples of mellonear choking kink ever recorded,

•scarification (2012) by gacrux11 on fanfiction.net, rated m, big time dead dove do not eat. sorry this one leans early 2010s era grimdark melodrama but i love it sjkdfkjfd. not enough dead dove fics about the boys if u ask me. • salt in the wound (2007) •tempus fugit (2007), and • white out (2006) by vaudevillain king on fanfiction. net. a beloved rare find. all of them are rather grimdark edgy products of their era, but some of the best the era had to offer. they make me so nostalgic for my teenagehood on fanfiction.net. i get the impression these might've been written even before death note was finished? • birthday smut (2009) by kleine_aster on livejournal. explicit. this one is SO funny to me because it is both really, really good, very in character, but unfortunately it suffers from almost satirical misogyny that afflicted fujoshis back in the day. near literally is like oh that bitch... like. he would not fucking think that but i can edit quickly in my brain as i read. bisexual mello rights! otherwise really sexy imo. i might be writing something that's kind of in conversation with this fic.

RARE finds

(please tell me if you enjoy any of these, i want to feel like an explorer that's brought back treasures from far away lands)

contemporary favorites:

• you've heard about it before and you will hear about it again: the archer ensnared (2023) by jabbernatty, rated e. a jessaerys obligatory syllabus read, the fic that made me go fulltime yaoi disease. i owe so much to jabbernatty they are my white whale my friend my enemy the writer i've psychically imprinted on from the beginning. honestly too scared to even leave a comment given the jessarys archer ensnared lore. may one day may contact and pray i don't come across as insane • postmortem (2023) by the_hemlock true gen, a favorite of ALL time. it's only tangentially mn really, it is 99% about near trying to piece together the mystery of lawlight post-canon, but the characterization and prose are some of if not the best i've ever come across. reads like it could be a piece of canon material. if you only read one fic on this list i'd pick postmortem. • it's friday i'm in love by neallo/@neallo rated m. possibly my all time fave in the neallo cinematic universe. something about the after-hours longing and the standing in the kitchen by the refrigerator lights, as the poets say. i love when stories feel like you're cutting out a window to peer into a larger universe that is just out of reach. perfectly captures what it is like to have a maddening crush • i want to hold you (hostage)(2023) by neallo/@neallo rated e. thee defining fic of this current modern mellonear era. manages to walk the line of kinky/sexy/sweet/fluffy all at once. plot twist of the century in the last chapter. near is properly as bananas insane as mello is in this fic, which is the marker of a good mellonear dynamic. really everything by morgan neallo is a safe bet for a great read • there's nothing i want but you (2023) by neallo/@neallo rated t. wammy's era mellonear obsessiveness that is soooo teenagery and yet a portent of just how codependent they might one day get. cute and ominous. • armageddon/kill game (2024) by bolide/@bolide-archive came out of nowhere a couple of months ago and ascended to the top of the game like a dark horse. rated m, chess au. one of my favorite interior mello narrations and one of the most similar to my own interpretation. such naturally talented prose. i rotate lines from this in my head all the time. still in progress but i have faith that it will be completed :') • how to burn down the sacred loom (2023) by dornishviper/@vriskarlmarx a contemporary CLASSIC. the less you know going in the better. beautiful prose, beautiful structure. they don't make fic like this anymore • the house always wins (2023) by mer_curia/@vivi-scera. screaming with my mouth closed. holds a special place in my heart given that it is my posting that convinced vi to give the ship a try, and i was rewarded with a fic that is so catered to my tastes i honestly had to read it through my fingers. SO good, the manifesto on wammyscest, so rather controversial. heed the warnings. • moonlight (2023) by tsukinousagi/@quicktimeeventfull rated t. an austere, cold little glimpse into a vampire au. it's giving let the right one in. so melancholic. one of the saddest near examinations out there. •proximity tells (2018) by abysmallypresent, rated m. truly lives up to death note's second-by-second minutia while managing to keep up the tension the entire time. great characterization. •silhouettes (2015) by bad blood/eroticcodependence, @wxmmyshouse on tumblr. unrated, post-canon compliant. made me CRY! elegantly short and simple, bittersweet and so so wistful. •arsonist's lullabye (2023) by tzviaariella/@tzviaariella. rated t. this one has a heart-wrenching air of realism to it that exists outside the chaotic universe of death note, one of those examinations of picking up the pieces after the titans have all gone away. very bittersweet.

honorary mentions

• let's die somewhere prettier (2020) by firesafinething also one of my absolute favorites, unfortunately it is discontinued and it is likely it will never be completed. sad! the premise seemed SO promising. in my mind i file it right next to postmortem mentioned above. the exploration of the tragedy of 27 year old near we could have had in a better timeline. one day i will leave a comment so good maybe it will bring back the fic from the land of the dead • august underground by me & @firebuggg rated e, in progress. >:) (shamless self promo)

#death note #meronia #mello dn #near dn #mihael keehl #nate river #mello #near #fic recs #this took so long to compile dfkgjfdjkgfdjk

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ramenrescue · 6 months

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do you any headcanons/aus/thoughts on usao/ousa ? loved your analysis of ogata/asirpa

Oh boy, I might have too many thoughts about Usami and Ogata so this may have to come in parts, especially the AUs. I have started writing a modern day reincarnation fic for them because I am just very feral about these two at the moment, so if I ever finish that and feel compelled to put it out to the world I'll let you know. The thing about writing fic or manga is like -- I can write little snippets but to piece them together into one coherent story is very difficult.

Anyway, your ask came at such a prompt time because I managed to buy the Japanese volumes on Bookwalker for almost 50% off and I specifically reread the main parts with Usami, so they are quite fresh in my mind. I think I agree with other analyses I have read about Usami in that he is a direct foil to Ogata. And this can be seen in their superficial traits: Ogata has many square-shaped, angular, sharp motifs on his face, like his square-shaped eyes, square shaped iris, squared eyebrows, square jawline, square hairline, while Usami has rounded tips on his eyelashes, round moles on his cheeks, rounded lips (cupid's bow), concentric circles for his pupil/iris, and rounded brows. Usami excels at close-range combat, while Ogata excels at long-range combat. Usami grew up amongst a large family with many siblings, while Ogata grew up practically an only child.

But here's the weird part -- I actually don't think they are complete opposites -- I think they have some things in common. <- more on this later.

It is interesting how in Usami's backstory (Chapter 227), Tsurumi (in conversation with the dojo owner) refers to Usami as a "dog among sheep" and a "born soldier who is highly loyal, combative, and is able to kill without remorse or regret". Then, it cuts to Usami in present day saying he predicts the serial killer in Sapporo will return to the scene of the crime and masturbate while reminiscing of their crimes because he understands that sentiment on a personal level. Usami here appears to show understanding that he possesses an innate capacity for violence.

Ogata was always wondering about the whole nature vs nurture question -- like whether lacking remorse for the act of killing is something one is born with or a product of one's environment (ex. bad childhood, war). Usami is a shining example that humans can in fact kill without remorse, and everyone except Ogata knows Usami is an exception to the rule. Usami is well aware this is what makes him special and this is one of the reasons why Tsurumi values him so much as a subordinate.

The problem with Ogata is that because he appears to have very little personal connections outside of Usami during the war (which is... kind of cute in a pitiable way?), he misconstrues that people like Usami are the majority. Usami agrees with all of Ogata's skewed interpretations and analyses that "all (majority of) people do not feel remorse in the act of killing" and in doing that, he is straight up lying. Usami knows people like himself are in the minority -- and because his analysis of Ogata's character was so spot on -- I'll go as far to say Usami knows Ogata is "normal" -- because if Ogata were truly a "born soldier" like Usami, he would not be ruminating about the philosophy of guilt and killing and questioning himself and bouncing his ideas off of another person -- he would just simply, be. Usami receives further confirmation that Ogata is simply, "just a guy", when he overhears Ogata calling Yusaku's name in his sleep. Usami also calls Ogata a snot-nosed brat quite a number of times, and I think that is alluding to Usami knowing that Ogata is just a sheep wearing wolf's skin.

It's interesting that Ogata entrusted the inner workings of his mind to Usami. I thought about this and I came to the conclusion that maybe he saw his own mother in Usami -- which I know, it's kind of insane, but I'm going somewhere with this! In Chapter 304, when Ogata is reminiscing about his mother, it appears she has a prominent cupid's bow -- a physical characteristic possessed by Usami. His mother likely called Ogata by his first name, and Usami is shown to be THE only person in present day who calls Ogata by his first name. Ogata's mom was head over heels over a man in a position of power with a wife who never returned the same level of love, while Usami is head over heels over a "promiscuous" man in a position of power who will likely never return the same level of affection that he's outputting. Another interesting side note: Usami chides Ogata for being the illegitimate son of an escort* and back in the Edo period, women in the business would chop off their pinkie as a sign of loyalty to their patron. Although Ogata likely did not have a good vantage point (nor did he care) to observe Usami's final moments, I think it's still worth mentioning that Usami getting his pinkie chomped off by Tsurumi resembles an escort chopping off her finger as a sign of ultimate devotion to her customer, lol. Anyway, I think because Ogata drew parallels between Yusaku and Asirpa, it is not so far fetched that he saw his mother in Usami -- and ultimately his projection made him trust Usami more than one ever should. There is one more important evidence that Ogata saw his mother in Usami -- in that he killed both of them with similar intent. He killed his mom not out of hatred, but because he wanted to put her out of her misery -- and he thought that if his father came to her funeral, she would be happy. Before he shoots Usami, he says something like "if you're so worried about being Tsurumi's cheapest pawn, why don't you see what his face looks like at your funeral," and in a way, he is putting Usami out of his miserable state of feeling inadequate. Ogata killed his mother with conviction that the positive outcome would happen, while he kills Usami with more of a neutral outlook -- and interestingly, Ogata, by killing Usami, gave Usami the thing he wanted most in life -- a reaffirmation from Tsurumi that he was his one and only (which, whether Tsurumi was telling the truth or not is dubious from a reader's POV, but alas, we are happy for Usami).

So here we return to my earlier point -- that they are crafted to be very different from each other, but they do possess similarities. One obvious one is that they both yearn for affection from Tsurumi -- which highlights another difference in that, yes they both yearn for love, but the love they seek are different. Usami yearns for love from one person and one person only, while Ogata is more agnostic and yearns for love from pretty much anyone who is willing to give him attention. But here's the thing -- I think Ogata's yearning for affection is a product of his environment -- and I think Usami's yearning to be someone's one and only, is also a product of his environment! I think that because he grew up in a large family, the love from his parents was dispersed amongst all of their children***, fostering an environment ripe for someone like Tsurumi to sweep him off his feet and pour "love" into this near-empty vessel. Usami felt intoxicated by the notion of being someone's one and only, that his jealousy-filled-rage led him to murder. I'd argue that without the addition of Tsurumi, there would be no Usami. Tsurumi compared Usami not to a wolf or a bear -- but a domesticated dog -- which is not, by itself, likely to commit acts of violence**. A soldier becomes a soldier only when commanded -- STEERED in the right direction, much like a dog will become violent when raised to do so. Therefore, a version of Usami who never met a sweet-talker like Tsurumi in his formative years, would likely not grow up to be an ultra-loyal killing-machine. To sum, I believe Usami's capacity for violence is an innate quality that can only be harnessed by the right environment.

Thank you for the question! One thing I still haven't quite wrapped my mind around is how after Ogata shoots Usami, he says "thank you, Usami, your death has completed me as a sniper." Okay??? What does he mean by that! I don't know! So if you or anyone reading this has any thoughts I'd love to know!

*=note that 商売女can include prostitutes and geisha, and the lines between geisha and prostitution was a lot blurrier back then so I'm just calling them an "escort" although Ogata's mom is officially known to be a former geisha

**=note that this is a sweeping generalization and I am aware different dog breeds do display varying levels of unpredictable, aggressive behavior

***=I just want to point out that Usami's parents are portrayed as being in love with each other, so they may have had that many kids as a result of lack of contraception. There's a scene in Vagabond with a couple who are having sex despite their many children crying out of hunger, and it kind of reminds me of that...

#asks #usami tokishige #ogata hyakunosuke #im just rambling dont mind meeee i'm just a passerby

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sorrelbriarrose · 4 months

Text

Okay I’ll just post the whole set I made and copy n paste my ig caption:

Caption:

I’d like to provide something of an explanation or context for my enjoyment of Taylor Swift. For me her music embodies the fairytale American girlhood that I never got to experience growing up. The stories she tells are generic and broadly applicable, owing to her insane popularity. While perhaps not really deep or personal or even necessarily sincere, there’s something just so Disney princess perfect about this product she’s selling. As someone who never got to experience a girlhood at all, these masterfully honed encapsulations of this idealized, perfect life are very comforting, and it feels like these holes in my life are being filled a little, if only temporarily. It’s not real but it makes me feel better.

Another quality, something I find relatable and/or personally significant, is that she (even in terms of her like artistic persona) is like blatantly very selfish. This isn’t like an admirable trait but I’ve always appreciated her honesty in that regard. She pursues her personal gain and elevation and isn’t really a good person but like doesn’t really find that necessary. She’s immature and like kind of annoying but some of us are I guess so I mean 🤷‍♀️

That brings me to her comparison to Griffith. I find there to be a strong resemblance here and it’s not just a visual one. The aforementioned selfishness is a big part of that, but this also circles back to gender as well. I am of the opinion that both of them have this same brand of like thin/sharp/graceful high femininity that I find personally very inspiring and significant. It’s aspirational for me and I hope to convey at least a fraction of this kind of elegance some day.

Anyway this is the meaning behind why I’m so embarrassing and lame but I like the dorky art I made so whatever.

#taylor swift #griffith #berserk #Ethel Cain is the other side of this coin idk #ethel cain #transfem #transgender #anime #digital collage

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andmaybegayer · 1 year

Text

Last Monday of the Week 2023-09-11

Oh shit that was today

Listening: Apocalyptica is a band that continues to perform because we love it when some guys do crazy shit to a cello. They put a performance of one of my favourites, Bittersweet, on YouTube the other day.

youtube

Songs that absolutely ROCKET me back to being 15 and listening to Apocalyptica on loop while practicing for the Lego Robotics competitions.

Reading: Trying and failing to track down the full set of papers by O. P. Kimball on "The Prevention of Simple Goiter in Man", he's the guy who was responsible for a serious government push on iodine supplementation, a topic I occasionally go insane about. There's 3-4 papers he wrote on his initial studies on the student population of some high school in the early 1900's but for some reason the first paper is very hard to find. Fascinating stuff though. This paper is the best of the originals I could find, and the next one is a decent retrospective from the 60's:

It was known before this that iodine was needed for thyroid function, before even the mid-1800's, but Kimball experimentally showed that it's actually really easy to provide enough iodine to people as a supplement to completely eliminate a huge source of disability and disease, and the successive work seems to be what drove grand-scale iodine supplementation which is one of the most effective public health operations pretty much ever.

Yeah.

Watching: The Mummy was up for Movie Night, a rare break from terrible movies for an actually good one. Few movies so rich in impeccable comedic timing and physical comedy.

Making: Now that I have a solution for storing my filament, I am slowly returning to printing, currently doing a few test runs to figure out how to make reasonably dimensionally accurate parts.

Once I get everything to size I can print the actual product, which is an adapter to run a coffee grinder on an electric screwdriver. There's such a tiny difference in the dimensions it feels unfair that you can't just drive it directly. I suppose the other option would be to mill down the driven hex on the grinder directly, but. I don't want to try and do that.

Playing: Breath of the Wild, I am dedicated to actually finishing this game. Beat the Naboris beast, you can check the tag for more details. Thunderblight Ganon was easy but tedious.

Tools and Equipment: I finally have a whetstone for sharpening my kitchen and pocket knives, and I have to recommend having some kind of decent knife sharpening situation.

Draw throughs can be good, I frequently hand them out as gifts. The main difficulty is that good draw throughs are hard to find, and not as useful if you also need to maintain other tools like pocket knives in addition to kitchen knives. I like the Worksharp Kitchen Edge, it's what I got for my parents.

There's some cool fancy sharpening systems that attach the stone to a sliding bar for highly reproducible grinds, but I have enough experience to use stones and they are a lot of fun.

#last monday of the week #Youtube

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imakemywings · 11 months

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These takes going off about Fingolfin's flaws, as a son, brother, father, and leader. OK but like have they ever stopped and thought about the fact that he's hot af? He is canonically strong as hell so he probably had balls of steel and could probably carry me with one hand. Yes, I am thirsty for this man, and him going off to fight a god in single combat was the hottest, ballsiest batshit insane shit ever. My sharp elf eyes saw you say he is your first favorite elf, so please may I ask why he is your favorite and your headcanons.

You are so RIGHT Fingolfin is perhaps the sexist Elf in this book full of sexy, tormented Elves. Anaire saw gold even back in Aman. It is possible Fingolfin had flaws (allegedly) but none of them overcome his titanium balls energy.

Fingolfin is my fav because there was something just so tragically noble about his "if I have to watch my people be utterly destroyed I'll go down making a statement about our courage" and how the Noldor were so distraught at his death they couldn't even sing about it...and my man hit Melkor! He wounded this giant would-be god! Not once--SEVEN TIMES.

"He passed over Dor-nu-Fauglith like a wind amid the dust, and all that beheld his onset fled in amaze, thinking that Orome himself was come: for a great madness of rage was upon him, so that his eyes shone like the eyes of the Valar." ("Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the fall of Fingolfin," The Silmarillion)

SEXY.

"But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it like a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice." (Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin)

HE GLEAMED LIKE A STAR. Showstopping.

A product of his total despair and rage at the cruelties and power of Morgoth...but sexy nonetheless.

"Many times Morgoth essayed to smite him, and each time Fingolfin leaped away, as a lightning shoots from under a dark cloud; and he wounded Morgoth with seven wounds, and seven times Morgoth gave a cry of anguish, whereat the hosts of Angband fell upon their faces in dismay..." (Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin)

It takes three blows from Morgoth before Fingolfin finally goes down. And even as he's dying, he gets in one last hit on Morgoth:

"...Morgoth set his left foot upon [Fingolfin's] neck, and the weight of it was like a fallen hill. Yet with his last and desperate stroke Fingolfin hewed the foot with Ringil, and the blood gushed forth black and smoking and filled the pits of Grond... ...Morgoth went ever halt of foot after that day, and the pain of his wounds could not be healed..." (Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin)

Amazing. A for effort. Gold star for commitment.

And even apart from his glorious and fruitless end, there are a number of other things I think are fun and great about Fingolfin:

The Noldor clearly like him--the greater part of the Exiles initially followed Fingolfin, not Feanor. Clearly he has something going for him (although I suppose you could argue it's only ''more likeable than Feanor" which is not a high bar to pass--but they aren't choosing to follow Finarfin)

While he did pussy out on turning back to Tirion, he does lead his host across the fucking Helcaraxe. Like, it is one thing to make that decision standing on the shores of Aman--it is another to actually carry it out and maintain the loyalty and survival of the Elves following you. Talk about a leader tested by fire (metaphorically of course, it was very cold)

He maintains the leaguer around Angband and the Long Peace for like 500 years. That's most of the First Age. Baby, you're killing it.

He forgives Feanor for threatening him?? Totally something he did NOT have to do, but he does it anyway, and I have always taken his words at Taniquetil to Feanor to be 100% genuine. He wants things to work out with Feanor, that's his big brother and he loves him...it's just that Feanor doesn't want that :(

He's Lalwen's favorite brother and she goes to Middle-earth partly out of love of him. That's just cute <3

As for my personal notions about him...

Fingolfin is an active person, like much of the house of Finwe. He hates feeling like he's sitting around doing nothing; he will always start looking for something to do.

He's pretty open with being affectionate to those around him.

He felt responsible for looking out for Finarfin and Feanor's kids after they all left Aman. He ended up taking on a notable father-figure role for the Arafinweans, Finrod in particular, and tried his damndest to reach out to the Feanorians as well. They were not willing to trust him the way the Arafinweans were...but they did still on some level appreciate having an older adult around and once he was gone, things really started going to hell.

He actually tends to be quite optimistic, even in the face of dire situations. The duel with Morgoth was the result of his being stripped of any remaining hope.

Feanor got along slightly better with him when he was a child; as soon as he started approaching adolescence things took a sharply downward turn and never recovered. Nevertheless, Fingolfin loves and admires his brother and is willing to forgive Feanor almost anything.

Fingolfin, like Feanor, takes a lot more after Finwe in looks than his mother; he has none of Indis' coloring and has Finwe's figure too. In fact of all of his kids, Fingolfin probably takes most after Finwe.

He's taller than Feanor

He and Anaire courted f o r e v e r . She never rushes a decision and he wouldn't try to push her, so although they actually met well before Finarfin and Earwen, they weren't married until after those two. She also waited three days before giving him an answer on the marriage proposal. Indis hoped some of her caution would rub off on him. It did not.

He never quite got over the pain of losing Aredhel and Turgon so mysteriously. He tried to trust that they were safe and knew what they were doing, but it hurt that they were not willing to confide in him about what it was.

Lalwen was one of his most trusted advisors and generals in Beleriand and her death in the Bragollach contributed to his despair over the future of the Noldor there.

I like to think that if he was able to be reborn, he and Anaire would manage to make things up <3

#asks #anonymous

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hoodiehydra · 2 years

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Hello! 🦊anon. Can you write a fnf (Friday night funkin) agoti xreader? For fluff please？thx.

Perfect! I’ve recently been thinking of a good prompt for this and I HAVE FOUND IT! Hooray!

Also, greetings, fox anon. Nice to see ya again.

One “Exhausted but excited”, coming up!

Prompt: Work’s tiring for the both of you, but your digidevil boyfriend is here to make it better!

Warnings: none in general, a bit of a sharp tongue here and there (PUN NOT INTENDED) but overall PG :D

Romantic fluff, enjoy!

================================

Exhausted but excited

“Mph…” you said nothing, groaning as you stepped into the door of you and AGOTI’s shared apartment. The sweet feeling of home soon warmed yourself up as you finally relaxed into the familiar walls of your home. (Side note: my class is insane asf and we call our class walls “Wallace”. The wall is now a he and is our class mascot. 70% of the boys simp for Wallace and we worship him as our god. ALL HAIL WALLACE- more Wallace updates to come)

The feeling was soothing, and all the immense stress and tension from work today soon faded away as your digidevil of a boyfriend soon came into view. You smiled softly, energy drastically drained as you slumped onto the couch, where he joined you and pulled you into his lap.

“Babe, you good?” He gently asked.

“Been worse.” A blunt mumble flew out of your mouth.

He sighed and massaged your scalp, you relaxed in his touch and sighed in satisfaction.

“Hm…” You groaned, as he stopped petting you and took the remote. You frowned mildly, but was too tired to complain and you silently waited. He soon went back to you, massaging your scalp again and F/M (favourite movie. What’s your favourite movie? Mine is either HTTYD or Venom. VENOM IS NOT BECAUSE OF AGOTI I SWEAR) was playing in the background. It was really relaxing, just a soft, quiet moment, just the two of you.

“C’mon, I bought pizza for dinner. You’re not cooking, and I can’t cook for shit unless you want the house to burn down.” He joked.

… nice way to ruin the moment.

You complained, but was dragged from the couch. At least it was pizza, it was worth getting up for. You both chewed on your pizzas in silence, occasionally sending each other memes from the internet, so dinner wouldn’t be too boring.

“How was your day?” AGOTI broke the silence.

“Tiring. Managing a retail shop may be a small job, but it can still be exhausting.” You replied.

“Yeah, but you’re great at your job! I have no idea how you handle it.” AGOTI cheered you on.

He was always very supportive, always behind you and comforting you when things got tough. 2 years of being together and you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

“I guess I am. Work is just getting more busy and I can’t handle it sometimes.” You thought out loud.

“And I’m here for you. You know that.” He smiled warmly.

Soft moments with AGOTI weren’t rare, but it’s not common either. It’s a really special thing.

You smiled warmly at his words, finally feeling happy with yourself. You stood up and hugged him, whispering thanks. He reciprocated the hug, warmth engulfing the both of you.

Yeah, life wasn’t always the smoothest, but needless to say, an exhausted you and a relaxing evening only made you more excited for your future with your boyfriend.

================================

This was requested a while ago, sorry!

Got this idea a few days ago and this is the end product. I’m not very proud of it. The ending was abrupt and the “excited” part wasn’t mentioned much. No idea if snek will see this but- meh.

#ALL HAIL WALLACE #WALLACE RULES #WALLACE THE BEST #fnf agoti #fnf agoti x reader #agoti x reader #hydrawriter #x reader #glassbreaker’s treasure trove

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oppositegenderscantbefriends · 14 days

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This debate is lame.

Still surprised a ex of mine got i.g maybe exposed on reddit? Not sure if she okay-ed it or what I don't speak to them so not my problem but still weird an a Lil gross to see.

I want to fuk around or get into a relationship but at the same time I know I'm not mentally ready nor emotionally available right now for that. I also just don't want to spend money. I really have been selfish with myself and it's nice. But uh yeah I kinda wanna fuk around but that could cost my time away from making money and that doesn't seem worth it or productive. I did a lot to be who I am today an locked away the man wh0re b.s I used to do and idk if I'd wanna let that back out again because I started thinking what if I had a daughter or what about my sister's? If they saw or could see how I am with women would they see that as okay if I wasn't being genuine or honest or loyal? Would they accept a lesser man instead of somebody good in nature? So I stopped an changed my ways. Just didn't want them to grow up valuing something horrible and If I had a daughter I wouldn't want her to let men use her or think that what they do is okay or normal or right because they got something from it. That's just not healthy or okay in anyway.

Mental health isn't good again. Just not okay but at the same time I will be. Only because I said and promised I wouldn't do anything permanent. Although the urge is strong. I just know now that it'll pass and that it's just temporary pain. It's not gonna be like this forever. Even though I challenge that idea, I have come to accept it and started hoping it does. Really wish I didn't see and go through and have things done to me in life, seen things i didnt ever think i would, heard things from people i never expected to hear, and experienced stuff I shouldn't have ever felt. I know life isn't easy for many and everyone has a story. I get that, not asking or looking for empathy or sympathy because in my eyes. I still believe it's my fault even though I'm told differently. I still don't see it that way.

I wish I had somebody that would show me love thru making me amazing food recipes from insta, Facebook or wherever to just try out. Such a food wh0re. That and having somebody make you something from scratch or just overall homemade always means a lot to me because it doesn't need to be expensive or fancy or any of that. It's the effort and thought of that person taking that much time and thinking that hard about me that makes me happy. The littlest things in life truly mean the most because in my experience, they're always overlooked.

I had a bad health scare recently. Blood pressure wasn't lookin right, heart rate was a bit high but all good. Just almost maybe nearly went on a ambulance ride. Couldn't catch my breath, talking was nearly impossible. Heart felt funny a couple days but we good. It's normal feeling now. If it happens again I'll probably be in the e.r or possibly dead if it's as serious as it could be but I don't think it will be. I got really good genetics sooooo yeah. Just sucked feeling my chest that tight, not able to speak an when I did it felt like my chest on the left side was gonna pop or burst an the next day it hurting right in the same area like Lil sharp pains an also slightly unable to catch my breath along with my heart thumpin crazy fast while I barely moved(i.e. walked or picked something up or w.e)

Fingers crossed that some broad gives me the green light to truly give a real hard-core experience. I just would like to vent a lot of stress and hate out into some intimacy.

Lost weight 188 to 152-155 now. I'm gonna get back to bulking and hitting the gym again since I have a nice solid foundation to work with since I didn't lose too much muscle mass. Gonna have a insane physique and strength when I go back to 160-165. Probably take a couple months since I'm gonna be slowly bulking since I want a bit more muscle than fat this time. Although I might eventually get back to 170ish to just be a solid unit. But yea, the main goal is weight gain with strength training.

Might be it? Idk. I can't decide anything anymore. Just feel desolate. Goodnight, gonna hit my cart an fuk off for a while. Maybe re share post on here still but my post will slow or stop. Same across the board of other socials.

P.s. stand up an get help if needed. Be safe in what you do in your day to day. Take care of the only body you have. Don't be weak with people who don't care about or use you. Cut em off and lock in on yourself. Nobody will give you a life worth living, you have to make one yourself.

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panzerkatzee · 11 months

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NaNoWriMo Journal Day VI

Soooo new day, new me…

At least, that's what I had to tell myself, when falling asleep last night. There was a mean thought spiral wanting to drag me down… but it kinda worked. I am feeling better again after waking up. So that's nice~

After the tub, I didn't write too much, which isn't really surprising. Hot baths tend to take my energy, yet they are important for me to relax and loosen my too tight muslcles.

Todays To-Do list, will be some house cleaning, to cut down on my efforts during editing. But luckily thanks to two insanely productive two days behind me, I don't have to hit a super high word goal any more~

But First… Daily Challenge. After writing a lot of dialogue yesterday, which is usually the part I feel almost as uncomfortable with as with action scenes, I decided, to go for some action again~ This time a chase ;)

Four hours later…

I am a bit drained, managed to write 1757 words today… but I wasn't expecting stellar numbers. My mind is a bit preoccupied and I stumbled a lot, when I had to research stuff, which tore me out of the flow… sighs

Soo… time for a break… good thing is, I still hit my daily goal, which has sunk to a bit below 1100 words a day… so I am confident, I will last through this challenge and definitely hit the 50.000 words within a month…

What I am more worried about, is that I won't be able to wrap the story up nice an neat in that amount of writing… so it's very likely I will surpass this number while working on the project…

The goal, in the end, is to write a book, that can stand on its own, to increase the chances of actually getting a book deal… but we'll see… For now, I wanna continue writing and fleshing out this story..

I forgot to post this yesterday….which is why I do this now… had a huge dip in motivation last night and drew a bit on a picture for a friend..

Sooo Song of the Day (yesterday) Taylor Swift - …Ready for it?

youtube

Why is it on the playlist? First and foremost… it has an ellipsis… And I personally love to use the … interchangeable with a comma too just place emphasis. Also the aesthetic of the music video is just EVERYTHING… I mean the cgi is a biiit cringe by now. Still when it came out it hit me with the weight of a freight train, because the way captured Taylor is swirled by all the lights at one point… I sweat that's an image I daydreamt of for at least a year or so before the video came out… and it is also a huge part of what inspired me to write sci fi in the first place… So yeah… Taylor Swift… she's awesome!

Pic by TheMotionStudios

Rika realised she was fucked, apporximately two seconds later. One second after the womans eyes had locked on her, half a second after she had recognised the Japanese dragon tattooed to the left side of her face, winding down from her forehead over the cheek and scar. She didn't even look for the eyes mods, indicated by inset power lines powerlines across the cheekbones, she admired at the bar. Nope, she just turned and ran. Legs pumping beneath her, skirts pulled up so they wouldn't tangle up and trip her. Pushing aside hapless pedestrians and evading automatic rickshaws, the redhead wound her way back through the crowded Kyoto streets, hoping to escape the pursuing enforcer. She hadn't even seen the enhance body move or make any sign of pursuit. But the prickling in her neck, the second wave of irritated shouts behind her, was indication enough. At a crossing, Rika took a sharp turn left, already feeling the burn of exhaustion creep down her legs and up into her chest. Her throat and lungs burned like fire and she could feel a metallic taste on her tongue. The fear kept her going, running, escaping. No telling what would happen, if she caught up. Maybe she'd be just shot, or pushed down somewhere, making it seem like an accident. She had seen something not for her eyes. And even if she wasn't going to say anything, all kids growing up around these parts of Nihon knew, the Shogunate wasn't trifled with. The fear of disappearing, of vanishing into the jaws of the dragon, of the world turning on, like she had never even existed in the first place, it let her push trough the pain, let her run, even in an unpractical gown, not minding the delicate hairstyle and the insanely expensive adornments, of which half had already been lost to the chase. Only when she recognised the street she was on, the familiar sign of Kamara's tea parlour, she allowed herself to slow. Enough to not crash right into the counter, when she bounded inside and evade the older woman in the process of serving tea to a group of customers, but not enough to pause and explain. "Rika? What th-" But Rika couldn't explain, she didn't even hear the last of the sentence, instead rushed on, up the narrow stairs, through the bedroom and out the narrow balcony door. Only when reaching the roof, hidden on the slope towards the backyard, she allowed herself to stop, lying down, feeling like her lungs had been exised with a blunt spoon.

#creative writing #nanowrimo 2023 #nanowrimo #sci fi novel #sci fi #writing #writing journal #writers on tumblr #taylor swift #Youtube

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livingwithlosingyou · 2 years

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Living with Losing You - 10/4/2022

Allergic reaction to what???

Today was an uneventful day turned eventful. The only agenda items I really had were to go to your dad’s office to work, work itself, dinner with your mom, and the suicide aftershock group.

I didn’t want to run today because the tattoo is still healing, so I just decided to start the workday early. I ended up having over 300 emails to start the day, and I was only gone for 3 days. It’s pretty intense. Your mom dropped me off at your dads office for me to work since she needed the car today. I had a very productive work day there. The only issue was the stink bugs. I started my workday in an older and unused office in the firm, and there were lots of bugs that started to come out of the woodworks. I noticed my allergies got bad while I was in there too, so I’m wondering if that triggered this fun hives situation, or maybe didn’t help with it. Anyway it was funny cause your dad would come in and kill some of them then leave (lol). We had a couple good laughs. I’m definitely a San Diegan. These KY bugs are something else. They don’t even look like the stink bugs we have back home.

I ended up staying at the office until about 3pm. I worked the rest of the time out of the conference room, which was a much better idea. Move movement, less dust and bugs, etc. instead of your mom picking me up, I decided to just drive your dad back to his house so I could have the FJ cruiser in case we both needed to go places at the same time (which ended up working out).

Before I headed back to the house, I went to visit you for the first time since I got in town. It’s always hard when I realize that I am driving through a cemetery to visit you. I know it’s real, but I hate that it’s real. I like being able to go and just sit with you by the lake. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I talk to you. I talk to you there, and I talk to you a little each day. It’s usually me just saying you would like loved something, or if I do something embarrassing I say “I bet you saw that and enjoyed that”. Those sorts of things. You really are in a beautiful spot. Lakefront property, one would say. I love you, James.

When I got back to the house, your mom and I talked for a little as I finished up working. Then, she started making this yummy easy gnocchi dish. We had been excited for it for a while now. Once it was done we quickly filled our plates. I hadn’t really eaten much today, so I was all in on this. Well, not too long after eating I started to feel just generally unwell. Lightheaded, sciatica was bad, etc. I went upstairs to shower and continued to feel awful. I got out of the shower to find that me legs had gone numb, by lips / mouth / tongue were tingly, and I was covered in hives. So, I was having a terrible reaction. I almost called for your mom, but I was able to control my anxiety, and took a couple Hydroxyzine to help with it. I really did not want to go to the ER, so I decided to just rest for the remainder of the night, and lay down. I did end up calling my parents and talking to my dad for about 40 mins. It was a mostly productive conversation. I think it’s hard to support me right now. Actually, I know that it must be. It’s hard to know what to say, and it’s impossible (unless you have gone through it too) to understand how I feel.

I am going to make this a shorter one because I am really not feeling great. I am going to try and go to urgent care tomorrow to be evaluated. Might even try and schedule an appointment through Sharp if that doesn’t work. Since I have an HMO, it can be a bit of a pain to go to the doctors out of network / state. I was on hold with Sharp for about 30 minutes. I realize that I forgot to add that previously on here. That’s just insane.

Anyway, I need to get some rest, and hopefully sleep this off. I miss my doctor, so much. You always knew how to take care of me, and were the one who made me feel heard. You also accepted me and all my ailments. I appreciated that so much. I love you and miss you, James.

Rest in Peace, James Burton Nichols

10/1/1993 - 7/16/2022

PS I can’t post a picture of my hives because most of the blotches were on my ass. So. Here are a couple from the cemetery.

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jakeyuni · 2 years

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ready? set…touchdown! tutor? | s. jaeyun

“he smiled at you as if you were the only person in the world. unknowingly to you, it’s because you were, in fact, the only person for jake.”

SYNOPSIS › you’d always known jake sim as the unbelievably handsome and smart jock/student that sat next to you in your advanced psychology class. similar to you, jake had always pined over you silently. so what happens when jake becomes your assigned tutor for the very class he’s your seat partner in and when a yearbook editorial feature causes [forces] you to get to know the boy better? complete, and utter, chaos—as the both of you deal through your growing feelings for one another.

PAIRINGS › tutor+football jock!jake x fem!yearbook photographer/editor reader

TROPE › mutual pining, friends + tutor & his tutee —> lovers

GENRES › fluff, slight crack, pretty heavy angst at times !!

WARNINGS › profanity, reader has slight anxiety/self-doubt/insecurity issues, jake is conflicted with his feelings, jake & reader high key suck at communicating which leads to issues, lots of cheesy lines, slow-burn tbh, reader & jake are very smart—y/n is just struggling, most importantly: heartthrob football jake who also doubles as a hot nerd ;)

EXTRAS › i suggest you read because it includes a steamy kiss at the end (pretend to be surprised) + but with a twist ;), oh also because it involves the high school football game experience [like the scene from the hilary duff cinderella movie!].

WORD COUNT › 10.2k+

PLAYLIST › hold on — flor, tek it — cafuné, sunsetz — c.a.s, car crash — eaJ, pluto projector — rex orange county

AUTHOR’S NOTE › goshh i really do hope this fic lives up to your expectations because i’m in love w the final product! enjoy :)

AT 8 AM SHARP EVERYTHING MORNING, JAKE SIM WOULD STARE AT THE DOOR, AWAITING YOUR ARRIVAL.

he’d observe the entrance of your psychology class every day and hope you weren’t absent. thankfully for him, you didn’t dare miss school unless you were actually sick. which to his delight, was rare. school had always been one of your top priorities, and jake had always admired you for your ambition.

every morning when you walked in, the gust of the wind from the windows open from the opposite side of the classroom would cause your hair to blow as you walked to your seat. a million fireworks would go off in jake’s head, as well as in his heart while he watched you slide into the seat beside him, giving you a nod. you smiled in response every time, even if you weren’t feeling like it that day.

every now and then, if jake was lucky, he’d smoothly slide close enough to you so that his elbow could touch yours. though you never moved upon the contact, you’d take note of how often he’d do it.

likewise, you wished he would never stop. because you were so attracted to jake sim, it sometimes gave you a stomach ache when you stayed up at night, daydreaming about what could maybe one day be.

if only he wasn’t the star quarterback of your school, along with being an insanely smart and sociable person. then you’d maybe think that you’d have a chance with him.

but with all the girls and cheerleaders that flocked around him, seeing him as a mere piece of prey for them to fiend on, you never bothered considering the odds.

oh, but if only you knew that jake wanted you just as much as you did him. perhaps then, you’d be together by now. but that’s not the way this story goes, now does it?

you swore you were about to throw up or at least faint. you paced the small space of the bathroom stall as you rehearsed your lines over and over again for your interview for the yearbook photo editor position. why did you think it was a good idea to apply for the photo editor position again? oh right, college applications.

you took in deep breaths just as fast as you let them out in an attempt to calm your nerves. feeling content with your less heated state, you pull out your phone to check the time. shit, it’s almost 4. i better head over to the yearbook room.

your walk to the room consists of self pep talk and fixing your blouse to make yourself look presentable. you had to have this position sealed on your transcript. you definitely knew you were capable, but this position was competitive and there were lots of candidates, making you less hopeful.

you walk into the yearbook staff office with your head held high and some of your practice photo shots placed between your torso and arm that you’d taken to show your work and potential to the interviewer—a senior whose position you’d be taking since she decided she had too much on her plate for her last year. this news made for an excessive amount of buzz for the underclassman, considering they all wanted her spot and would give anything for it.

you come face to face with the senior outside of the door, shin ryujin, who recognized you for your promptness almost immediately. ryujin wasted no time in getting down to business while you followed suit, taking a seat in front of the desk.

“alright, ms.y/l/n. tell me a bit about yourself. what made you want this position in yearbook out of all the organizations?”

you took in a sharp breath and smiled wide. “well, for one, i’ve been looking forward to becoming a part of the program for a while now and am thankful for being given a chance to book an interview with you. as you can see my grades are quite high and i’ve been trying to maintain my GPA. i thought trying something new would make me a better communicator and become more known to the school as a whole,” your breath wavers as the senior makes no effort to communicate any sort of note that she was listening to you—you just hoped that she was.

“i see. well, it’s nice to know that you’re smart and you seem to be quite productive. also, i like the perspective you add to your photos. the editing is pleasing to look at, too,” ryujin explains as she shuffles and switches between your transcript and photo shots simultaneously. “consider yourself to be near the top of my list. i’ll keep you in mind, y/n.”

that’s it? you thought. no further questions were asked as you bid your goodbyes and thanked ryujin for her time, which seemed to be none at all. 10 minutes was the amount of time your interview had occupied. and it was 10 minutes later when ryujin called you while you were walking dreadfully on your way home.

you remember freezing on the spot as ryujin told you that you were her last applicant interview and you by far, had made the best impression on her; meaning that you were actually a part of yearbook. this was real, this was happening, and you fought the urge to squeal improperly loud on the sidewalk for all your neighbors to hear.

to ryujin, it was simple. but now that you had the actual job of being the photo editor, your head began spinning. fuck, i didn’t actually think i’d get the position. nonetheless, you were full of glee. or, well, that was until you came home to multiple emails from ryujin bombarding you with your yearbook schedule and duties as well as events to attend to for the month. it was then that you realized how busy the next few months were going to be; you were in for one hell of a ride—to say the least.

“your grades are declining. what’s going on with you?” you felt like you were being scolded by your mother. you honestly didn’t know how it could happen, especially with your work ethic. how hard could balancing work, homework, clubs, and yearbook be? it sounded easy enough, right?

absolutely not, as it turned out. now you were sitting at the very desk you’d sat in for your interview two weeks earlier. except this time, you were experiencing different kinds of nerves, the type that made your heart sink into your chest, making you want to curl into a ball and disappear. ryujin’s death stare wasn’t helping either.

was it shame? no. guilt? perhaps. truthfully, you’d never had a ‘D’ in a class, ever. you’d never come to such a low point and swore you never would.

considering the end of the first semester was near, you couldn’t lock in your first senior year grade for advanced psychology with a ‘D’ permanently taunting you on your transcript. absolutely not. you knew things had to change—as did ryujin. you could tell by the way she leaned her elbows further down the desk, slightly frustrated. “i asked you a question, y/n.”

“yeah, no, i’m fine. it’s just that trying to find the time and balance between everything with yearbook was harder than i expected,” you don’t meet ryujin’s eyes that you’re sure are shooting daggers at you.

she scoffs. “you knew exactly what you were getting into the moment you walked in this room. don’t give me that ‘it’s too much for me to handle b.s.’ do you know how lucky you were to be selected? out of all the people that applied? it’s a shame that your grades are what they’ve become at the moment. you know that yours were the best out of all the applicants; though—your pictures need work, still. you can’t excuse your laziness, y/n.”

now, you were just angry. bitterness swept your tongue and seeped through your veins as you finally looked at ryujin. how dare she call you ‘lazy.’ you were everything but that—obviously because you wouldn’t have been chosen if you were so. you just needed help. and there was nothing wrong with receiving some when you actually needed it.

why was ryujin acting all high and mighty when she withdrawled from her position because she was tired? hypocrisy at its finest. sure, you’re one to be stubborn and prefer working independently, but you supposed things would have to change.

“i’m sorry. i know. i’m doing my best to make my grades and habits better. i’ll stay up later to study extra hard. i swear i’m doing the most i can, i’m just struggling,” you swipe your tongue over your lip in hopes to calm yourself down.

ryujin hums in response and goes to pull a file out of her desk drawer, slapping it onto the desk abruptly. you slightly jump as you scan the salmon-colored file; a familiar boy’s picture—laminated with his name in bold, is pasted on the flimsy yet heavy folder.

“this, is jake sim’s file. he’s at the top of your advanced psychology class and he’s going to be tutoring you from now on. i already asked your teacher for permission. ms.jung informed me that he’s your seat partner too, so i assume you’ll have no trouble getting along. jake said yes to tutoring you already. you have no exceptions, this is mandatory if you want to keep your position.”

you don’t answer ryujin, lost in your own thoughts. call it bad karmic luck or the universe doing you a possible favor. jake sim tutoring you? no way. not real. nothing’s real. what the fu-

“y/n. i’m serious about this. if you want to hold your position as photo editor and photographer, this is important. we can’t have someone with a D in any class on the yearbook staff, it puts no good to our name or brand.” a mocking laugh escapes her mouth. “if we allowed such mediocrity, then everyone would think they have a chance at making the team.”

okay, now that stung a little. “i’m completely aware. yes, i’m okay with jake tutoring me. do you know the details of it all?” you ask, now playing with the metal of your rings in an attempt to distract the images that were captivating your brain of you dragging ryujin by her perfectly poised hair.

“you mean the meet-up dates and everything?”

“yes, as in the timings and whether or not our schedules line up.”

you can practically hear the way ryujin rolls her eyes at you. “that’s for you and jake to figure out amongst yourselves, not my job. i’m doing enough as it is. this meeting is longer than i anticipated it to be, too.” she stands up and raises her eyebrows at you, wordlessly motioning for you to follow suit.

you measly get up and greet her goodbye while fighting the urge to get mouthy. there was no use in defying the help you very much needed. why were you so upset about jake tutoring you, anyway? wasn’t this all you’ve ever wanted, some one-on-one time with your year-long crush? you shrugged off the wavering nerves that weighed down your shoulders thanks to ryujin’s sternness and went to your locker. just as you were about to slam your locker shut, you hear the footsteps of someone approaching you.

“hey, y/n,” you feel a hand touch your shoulder and tense up; the voice, however, is one you could single out in a crowd of people in an instant. it was jake’s.

you slam your locker shut and turn around, instantly being met with the very boy you knew it would be. his hair was slightly tousled and wet, it was obvious he’d just finished football practice and showered. he carried a book that read ‘AP PSYCHOLOGY’ on the front. and god, his smile. he smiled at you as if you were the only person in the world. unknowingly to you, it’s because you were, in fact, the only person for jake.

you mirror his toothy smile, “hey jake.”

“so..” he starts off hesitantly as you tilt your head. “you know i’m your tutor for psych, yeah?”

you exhale through your nose and raise your eyebrows, “yeah, i’m fully aware of that. but when did ms.jung ask you to tutor me?”

“just this morning before class, actually.” he pauses as he motions for you to start walking with him. you follow regardless of where he’s taking you. “sorry i didn’t tell you this morning. i would’ve but we were taking notes all period.”

“it’s fine, really. i’m just embarrassed i need tutoring to begin with. i’ve never struggled so much and well…ryujin said i can’t be on yearbook anymore if i don’t get my grade up asap.”

“there’s nothing wrong with needing help, y/n. i’m also your seat partner and friend, not just your newly-assigned tutor.” you slightly nudge at his side with your elbow and he chuckles. “are you okay to be tutored right now or do you have somewhere to be?” the two of you come to a halt at the front steps of the library.

you sigh and jake looks at you questionably, his hand barely grazing the door handle of the school library. you look at him and see that his eyebrows are risen, anticipating your response. “i don’t see why not?”

“you don’t seem so sure of yourself.”

“no, i am. i’m just tired is all,” you lie straight through your teeth. tired wasn’t the right word to describe the tingly sensation you felt both in your heart and stomach—at all. you were actually very much awake now; about to be tutored by the jake sim is a fantasy only so many girls have most likely envisioned in their heads every night. the same could be said for you, and that’s exactly why it was taking everything in you to not run in the opposite direction. you were nervous, but jake didn’t have to know that.

“mkay then, shall we?” jake swings open the door and you clutch onto the straps of your backpack, hoping that jake would pinch you so you’d wake up from this dream.

***

two hours later and you were on the edge and perhaps on the brink of exploding. at one point, jake had to physically grab your hand to stop you from breaking your pencil (which gave you such grand butterflies you had to put your head down)—jake assumed it was because you needed a mental break, when in reality, you were dying of embarrassment. you couldn’t even hold eye contact with him properly.

frustrated, was an understatement. “i’m not getting this. i seriously don’t know why they’re so many variations of the same word and why i have to memorize the singular definitions of them all. this is so…pointless,” you whine.

“hey, hey, it’s alright. we can come back to this later. maybe you need to take a break.” jake was so patient with you it only made your heart beat faster than it already was. or maybe it was the energy drink jake gave you from the vending machine during your first break so you could power through the rest of the tutoring session. albeit, you’d never know which.

“no! i can do this. i just need to take a breather.” you stare down at the myriad of words on the slightly crumbled paper and groan, putting your head down for the second time that evening.

jake gets up and sits in the chair beside you, you lift your head at the sound of the movement only to have your head roughly meet his shoulder. “ow, that kinda hurt.”

“sorry,” he chuckles before rubbing the top of your head mindfully as you fix the stray strands of hair, your fingers touching his ever so slightly, “just thought i could help you better if i were closer to you,” he shrugs. oh no, your heart was beating fast again. but it’s just the energy drink, you tell yourself. sure, yeah, that’s all it was.

“i agree.” you snatch the paper out of jake’s hand, determined to finish studying the vocab list you were assigned to study this morning; you had a quiz on the words tomorrow. jake huffs at your action and smiles while he watches you rewrite and reread the words over and over again. he props his chin into his hand and idly admired you as you glance at him every now and then to ensure your work is correct, and every time the brown-haired boy acknowledged your silent yet needy look of reassurance, he would bob his head in your direction, humming in compliance.

each time jake fueled your brewing feelings that you’d shoved deep inside the depths of your brain—and heart with his small gestures and slight touches, you grew more fond of him, and you wanted to make the boy proud. and if proud meant that he’d smile at you every time you whined or recalled a story of something dumb that happened in class out of elation, you’d take any given opportunity to study with jake.

okay, so maybe you didn’t study hard enough. the big fat ‘C’ written in red ink at the top of your vocab quiz was taunting you, and the way ms.jung had shaken her head at you before handing the paper with an ‘A’ written at the top—to jake, only made you feel worse about yourself.

jake reassuringly rubbed your shoulder and threw you a small smile, mouthing an ‘it’s okay, tutoring later today, hm?’ to which you simply nodded before slumping in your seat for the remainder of the period, tuning out every word that came out of ms.jung’s mouth.

“i studied for three hours with you yesterday, then went home and studied for another one hour by myself. this can’t be possible,” you groan, now sat at your signature tutor-session seat at the library, jake by your side as he bounces his leg up and down out of habit.

“i know but maybe we need to find the most effective method for you to remember information. clearly what we practiced yesterday wasn’t very useful, and that’s alright. progress takes time,” jake beams, motioning with his hands to emphasize that it was normal for there to be academic obstacles—though it didn’t feel that way for you, especially considering your history of continuous high grades and accomplishments.

his positive attitude was in stark contrast to your own and it would annoy you if it weren’t for the fact that he was the one saying all the words.

“mkay, you’re right jake. thank you.” you drag a small smile before pulling out your supplies and thinking of a new study method to use for your next vocab quiz—which was also tomorrow.

jake sits next to you, giving you hums of approval and squeezing your shoulders everytime you repeat a definition to him correctly. the way you slightly flinch and become stiff whenever jake touches you is quite embarrassing and you silently pray that he doesn’t say anything about your body language. oh, but he does.

“is everything good?”

“yup,” you emphasize by popping the last letter, “everything’s just fine.” desperate to ease the weird tension, you needed to change the subject. you figured that now was the perfect time to ask jake about yearbook.

“hey jake, i have to do this photo spread for the school sports section, and was wondering if you’d want to be featured in it? i’d have to interview first, though.” you turn your body so it’s facing jake directly, your knees now touching—jake doesn’t budge an inch, to your surprise. but then again, he never did when your elbows touched during class. yet maybe you needed to backtrack a bit, you’re aware jake’s normally this touchy with all his friends. but if that was the case, then why do the touches feel so different and so much more intimate?

jake’s eyes turn into tiny crescents as he grips your wrists out of joy, “really y/n? you’d do that for me?” he looks like a puppy about to be given a treat and you can’t help but giggle at the sight.

“of course, jake. people like you…like a lot, anyways. plus, consider your feature as a way of me saying ‘thank you’ for tutoring me. it’s a small gesture to begin with and you deserve this.” jake didn’t have to know that the yearbook journalist of the team tore her acl and was on temporary leave—(perks of being a soccer athlete and yearbook writer), meaning that now you had the duty of writing for the athletics’ feature page on top of your tremendous workload and tutoring sessions. how fun! choosing to feature jake specifically, however, was your doing.

the boy lowers his head at the kindness of your words and looks up at you, biting his lip. it’s only when you feel your body heating up that you realize that jake hasn’t loosened his grip on your wrists, causing you to look down at the source of contact. “oh, i’m so sorry,” he begins to panic a little. embarrassed, he starts to retreat his fingers, but you had other plans in mind.

you shake your head to let him know you didn’t want him to pull away, at least not yet, letting out a taut laugh and pulling his hands back. only this time, he holds your hands inside his own, bringing them to rest in his lap. “you have soft hands, jake,” you blurt out. the undeniable tension was deafening and you had to say something.

jake’s throat goes numb and he knows he’s a goner. he never knew why any ounce of game he had vanished whenever he was around you. you blew all the air out of him every time you would: chew on the end of your pencil, play with your hair when you were bored or confused, make intense eye contact with him—showing him you were paying complete attention to his notions. or just in general, whatever you did made his heart rate pick up. you were utterly breathtaking, he just wished he could say it to you without feeling like the world would topple over every time he tried to do so.

“thanks…i moisturize.” jake wanted to dash out the building. i moisturize? really jake? could you be any more awkward?

you laugh again, lightheartedly, and pull your hands away; jake thinks he’s lost every shred of a chance he had with you because of how idiotically vague his answer was. he honestly had no idea where his flirty demeanor went whenever he was with you as of late. given the situation though, you knew he was nervous by the redness of his cheeks and ears and so were you—you were just better at hiding it.

with that, you continued your session. the entire time you wondered if jake would ever hold your hands again. you hoped he would, but you were torn. his response irked you a bit. it was unlike him: dry and awkward. you knew you’d be thinking about this for the rest of the week.

you know what else you’d be thinking about the rest of the week? jake sim inviting you to do the interview for his yearbook feature…in his own room…which is in his house.

fuck, fuck, fuck, no i can’t do this. you didn’t think jake would go as far to invite you to his house.

you were trying your best to not get attached to the star quarterback of the football team—but jake was making not catching feelings increasingly difficult for you. especially considering he was known to not be a player, despite every person to exist throwing themselves at him, jake had morals and priorities that didn’t concern being in a relationship; plus, you recall the time he’d casually told you during class that he was looking for something real, something raw, something long-term. back then, you’d brushed off the tmi that he’d nonchalantly said as if it didn’t matter. if only you knew how much that minuscule piece of information mattered to you now.

that’s when you knew why jake was unlike all the other jocks. not just because he was one of the most dorkiest nerds you’d ever met, but because he had a heart made of gold and a smile that could rid of all the evil in the world.

regardless, you didn’t want to feel the way you did—and it pained you that were unable to stop jake from occupying every corner of your brain. what pained you most, however, was the fact that you doubted he’d actually want to be in a relationship with you due to his commitment to school, football, and extracurriculars. thinking about the boy, most days, was a chore.

as of now, you were sitting cross-legged on jake’s bed with him beside you: notebook in hand and voice recording app open while jake clears his throat to prepare for his interview.

“this is y/n y/l/n recording, photo editor and newly assigned temporary writer for the school’s yearbook, and i am here today with jake sim—star quarterback of the football team and one of the star students of our school, to interview him regarding his educational and athletic dynamics.”

jake’s eyes bore into yours and you can tell he’s nervous—his lips are redder than before, courtesy of all the biting he was doing to them while you were talking.

when he began speaking, the way the words rolled off his tongue made you swoon. you felt sort of culpable about it, the time and place was most inappropriate for you to be ogling jake. you couldn’t help it, though. but really, could you even be blamed? the way his white tee hung loosely over his broad shoulders, his glasses perked up on the bridge of his nose, and the way his eyes would narrow every time he spoke about a narrative that he was especially passionate or knowledgeable about, caused you to internally groan.

“…i suppose balancing my academic schedule with my athletic schedule can be a bit difficult at times, but it’s all about the mindset i keep to help myself pave my way to success. yet, of course, balance is everything to me and i wouldn’t be capable without my friends, family, and peers by my side. thank you.” jake smiles at you and rolls back onto the bed as he finishes off the interview, kicking his legs up in excitement and satisfaction like a little kid.

“woah, that was…amazing jake. thank you for saying so much and opening up to me, i have so much to use from this interview,” you let out a heavy sigh, “—i hope i won’t disappoint.”

jake scoffs, “y/n don’t say stuff like that, you could never disappoint me.” he stands up from the bed and sticks out his hand, “down to go eat something? you should have dinner here.”

you sucked in a breath. what happened to the shy and awkward jake that could barely maintain eye contact with you at the library when you held hands? “sure, i would absolutely love to.”

***

dinner with jake was beyond amazing. he even went as far as to pull out the dining chair for you before the two of you began eating the sandwiches jake whipped up. the both of you would alternate between cracking terrible jokes, talking about school, and simply chewing in silence while stealing fleeting glances at each other. the tension was occupying every vessel in your bodies; both of you could feel it.

it’s when you stood behind jake as he washed the dishes, and when he turned back to cheekily smile at you, that you knew you loved jake sim. it may have seemed crazy and too rushed to anyone else, but you knew your heart better than anyone else; you knew the moment you laid eyes on jake on the first day of class, he wasn’t just some boy, he was special. you loved him for more than just his looks or his social status, you loved him because there was never a moment where anything felt unauthentic, nor a moment where you regretted being with him.

similarly, jake had been infatuated with you ever since he saw you walk into class, sitting beside him—out of all the other seats you could’ve chosen. that day, he promised to himself that he’d wait for you every day, even if it meant waiting an eternity.

the day ms.jung asked him to tutor you, he vowed to himself that he’d do anything to get to know you better, to build a relationship with you. because jake sim had one thing in his mind: you.

it would’ve killed him to not make something more from what had already begun brewing; he was determined to ask you about what had been spiraling in his mind. later tonight, i’ll do it later.

***

jake had offered to walk you home after dinner and he knew it was the perfect opportunity to talk about his feelings with you. you’d conversed with him for a good hour before you received a phone call from your mother: asking you to come home since it was dark out now and she was worried about how you’d get home. you opened up to him about your life, and he allayed you as if he knew you like the back of his hand.

your way home was mainly silent, with jake clearing his throat every now and then—while you stared at the ground, chewing on the inside of your cheek, your shoulder touching his as you strolled through the dimly lit streets.

“hey y/n, can we talk about…us?” jake inquired as he slowed down his pace, stopping in front of one of the lamp posts.

“us?” you didn’t know what he meant by that. was it good? was it bad? jake gives you a faint smile and your shoulders become less tense. “sure, you can talk to me about anything jake, you know that.”

“i just, don’t know what we are, and it’s confusing me.” his voice hitches and you step closer towards him.

“well, what do you want us to be?”

“that’s the thing, i don’t know. i’ve never felt this way about anyone before. i’ve always been so focused on being the leader, the quarterback, keeping up with clubs and school in general, to please my parents and to make sure i don’t let my team down—“ he looks at the ground, defeated. “—that i don’t know how to distinguish between if what i’m doing is for myself or if it’s really just to satisfy other people. i’m…torn.” he quirks his head to the side at the last word as if he’s asking himself a question.

you sigh and motion for jake to continue walking. he’d never been this vulnerable; always the golden boy that never lets anyone see him at the lowest of moments. you didn’t know he felt so strongly about all this. that he felt so strongly about…you. “i’m sorry you feel so much pressure on yourself, jake. you know there’s no harm in putting yourself first. i’m here for you, and, we can figure out whatever we are as we go. none of it has to be sudden.”

“yeah, i’m still figuring myself out, i think i need to know what i want before i go into something completely confused. i don’t want to risk what we have by messing things up for us just because of how many priorities i have.”

“oh, i see,” you murmur.

you didn’t realize when you reached your home, but jake’s words were incessantly echoing in your head with every step taken. you assumed he meant that you weren’t one of, nor his—priority, at least that’s what it felt like at the moment.

one thing was for sure, jake felt even more defeated than before. this was new territory for him, and he was overwhelmed. as for you? you merely spared him a smile and a wee ‘thank you’ before you dragged yourself inside. did i just get rejected?

your lack of words as jake dropped you off was daunting, he wanted nothing more than to be with you. he realized as he walked himself home, that he was in fact, having an epiphany: he was a confused idiot that needed to figure himself and his feelings out, quick—before he lost you for good.

“if you know you really like her, you need to stop leading her on. it’s shitty of you to do that, jake. you know that,” sunghoon, jake’s best friend, sternly tells him.

the two boys were sitting at the library: jake sitting across from sunghoon, and sunghoon sitting in the seat that you usually occupied during your tutoring sessions.

“i know, i know. i just,” jake lifts his head up in frustration, staring up at the ceiling before he lets out a soft groan, “i like her so much and we talked about our feelings like i told you, but i couldn’t just tell her that i’m not ready to get into something serious yet because football season isn’t over. i would’ve sounded like such a douche!”

sunghoon lets out a wheezy laugh. “you’re fucking with me, right? that’s the reason why you’re not ready to be with her just yet?”

“no…well, partially? our tutoring sessions have been going well and she’s so smart, obviously—she’s just struggling with this particular unit. it’s not even that-“

the other cuts him off, raising an eyebrow at the boy, “get to the point. then what is it?”

“it’s my dad. he’s been on my ass about football because the next game is a big one and it’s also the last one of the season, we made the championships which means there are going to be scouts there. all my dad does is talk about football—and my mom is focused on my grades so much it’s suffocating—the both of them are absolutely insufferable most of the time,” jake mewls.

“jake,” the former starts off softly, “you know how fucking capable you are. you’re the smartest guy i know. don’t let your parents and their nagging get in the way of something you for once in your life—know for a fact you 100% want.”

it was as if jake had been struck with a bolt of lightning. a bolt that—in the very split second of sunghoon’s words turning into a mere echo, all the doubts he had about pursuing you, had vanished and turned into nothing but absolute dust.

jake got up from his seat with an urge to run to you, to tell you he loves you and wants nothing more than to be with you—but he knew he couldn’t. so instead, he settled on waiting for you to attend your last tutoring session while sunghoon talked with him to ease his mind of all thoughts in his brain that transpired of you.

in truth, you and jake had been conversing normally. well, aside from the fact that the normality of your conversations only regarded the bases of your tutoring sessions. there was still tension, yes. but none of the lingering stares or fleeting touches remained. the both of you stayed holding back from the brink of destruction—the brink of you specifically being brought to your breaking point.

you wanted nothing more than to grab jake by his shirt and slap him silly—or possibly also grab him by his shirt and kiss him. you truly weren’t sure which you craved more. because, sure, jake did partly break your heart when he left you hanging and feeling sour the night he walked you home, but that didn’t mean your mind halted all thoughts about him entirely. if anything, the lack of communication made you want him more than you’d ever wanted him before. and you weren’t quite sure that this was the way you were supposed to be feeling—given the situation at hand.

funny, right? the way space between two individuals is supposed to make them think about their relationship, let them think about themselves, and grow. but in your case, as well as jake’s, the prolonged space only made the two of you crave each other more—ignited the fire between your bodies even more.

the unspeakable tension never eased, even if you weren’t making mindless conversation with the other or making eye contact that made you both embarrassing heat up the way you once did.

as you sat with jake for your last tutoring session with him, you caught him glancing at you, feeling a pair of eyes boring into your skull, and you suddenly felt tense, insecure. all the feelings and doubts of even liking him were resurfacing in that very moment, making you feel ill.

you swallow thickly. “can i help you?”

“yeah—no, sorry. just thinking,” jake shakes his head at the stumbling of his own words.

“about?”

“us.”

“oh,” your eyes drop down to the pencil you’re holding.

“i feel like the way i left you hanging the other night wasn’t the way i intended our conversation to go,” he breathes out.

you dryly laugh. “yeah, well what happened..is in the past now.” you clear your throat, unsure of whether or not you should say what’s on your mind. “you don’t have to entertain me with an apology, jake. you made it clear that you’re not ready, and at this point, i’m not sure if you’ll ever be.”

jake’s eyes widen in remorse and you can’t help but look away from his guilty pupils. “but you see—that’s the thing. i do want you, y/n. i want you so bad. you’re all i ever think about.”

your heart drops, and you feel all tingly inside, but you’re quick to remind yourself that jake’s flattery doesn’t make up for how he’s made you feel in the past. they’re just words, you think.

“i’m not just saying all of this to play with you or lead you on,” he continues.

“if you want me so badly, then why don’t you show me that you truly want me?” your voice breaks, and jake can’t help but usher himself over to you, kneeling down and turning your chair so that you were facing him.

a single tear drops from your eyes and jake’s quick to wipe it away with his hand before cradling your cheek with the same hand, ever so slightly rubbing the flesh using his thumb.

“give me some time, y/n. i’m incredibly preoccupied right now—i know that isn’t an excuse, but i want nothing more than to be with you and make us official. i’ll make this all up to you soon enough. just let the final football game of the season be over, and i’ll show you how much i want you. i promise.”

you let out a weak laugh at the sincerity of his words because you never meant for your last tutoring session with him to be so vulnerable. it was only your last because you now had an A in the class, meaning you didn’t have to rely on jake to tutor you, it’d be a waste of time on both ends. yet, it was ironic, the way you wanted nothing more than to waste away endless hours with jake, talking about absolutely everything and anything. that’s why the thought of this being your last possible chance to communicate with the boy effectively, mattered to you.

that’s also why you were significantly grateful that jake had spoken up first, because though you felt absolute embarrassment from the way the other kids in the library were staring at you and jake, all that mattered to you was that this, in fact, would not be that last time you spoke to jake sim.

you let out a chuckle and crinkle your nose, going to wipe the remainder of your tears with your sleeve, prompting jake to pinch your cheeks as he goes back to sit down in his own seat across from you.

“i understand. i’ll wait for you, jake. as long as it takes, and until you’re ready to give me your undivided attention, i’ll wait.”

“you won’t have to wait long, y/n. and when you think you do, remember my words, mm?” he bites his lip out of curiosity for your answer.

“i will,” you respond before gathering your things and putting them into your bag, “oh, and before i forget, i still have to take pictures of you for yearbook, i wanna be there for you, plus those pictures are going to be the final touch of your editorial feature,” you remind him.

“can’t wait to see your face tomorrow at the game then,” jake teases as he walks with you out of the library.

“you’re seeing my face right now—too, though?”

“what can i say? i can never get enough of you,” he says admirably.

you pretend to gag at his words but the butterflies erupting from your stomach say otherwise. “gross, sim,” you lightly punch his shoulder. “oh, and jake?”

“yeah?”

“thank you for tutoring me, i appreciate you.”

“anything for you, y/n. anything.”

you tsk at his cheesiness but smugly smile as he contemplates his next action before taking your hand in his, insisting to walk you home for the night.

during your chat with the boy on your way home, you feel nothing but absolute content wash over your limbs. staring idly at his shining eyes under the light of the iridescent moon, wondering positively about what the future for the two of you holds; thankful that the bad note you two left on, was now restored.

it was game day, and you were nervous, to put it lightly. you’d messaged jake earlier, hyping him up and wishing him luck before he went to prepare himself for the big, the last, and by far the most important football game of the season—at least for jake. this game would determine if any scholarships were guaranteed within his near future.

though you were excited about jake and seeing him all passionate with his game face on, you were torn, bittersweet sensations swept through your body as you walked to your school. you put on some slight makeup, your tote bag was filled with your usual items, and your camera was hanging around your neck, secured by the camera strap.

you weren’t quite sure why you were so nervous. perhaps it was the way the conversation in the library you had with jake a couple of days prior went unusually well. you had hope—for you and him. since he’d promised you that he would, at last, make things official and show you how much he truly wants you the moment the game/season ends, you figured that was the source of your panging heart.

nonetheless, you were ready. ready to take the perfect shots of jake as he [hopefully] scores a touchdown, wowing the crowd, the myriad of girls who flaunt themselves at him, and the scouts that were exhilarated to finally see him in action.

you turn the corner of the vastly wide and freshly green field of grass with huge drawn on markers (for the players) using white paint, and find jake throwing the football amongst his teammates. one of them, park jongseong—or jay, as many referred to him, noticed you first, motioning with a dip of his head to jake that you were walking towards them.

jake throws the ball to jay and the former pats him on the back rather playfully, giving him a quick wink, causing the other to shake his head at him before he jogs to meet you. “hey,” he greets with a sparkling grin, “you’re early!”

“yeah i wanted to scope out the scene a bit y’know? plus i figured i’d take some extra candid shots of you and the others practicing before the game starts—so ryujin can get off my back about ‘upping my photography skills,’ or whatever,” you explain.

the boy‘s mouth opens and closes, then opens again before he speaks, as if he were finding just the right words to say to you. you found it quite amusing, and cute. “that’s very studious of you, y/l/n.”

you snicker at his foolishly flirtatious tone, “you know me, the most studious girl ever known to man-kind,” you retort.

jake swings his hands' side to side before interlocking them with yours, “so you’re saying you didn’t come early just because you wanted to wish me good luck on my last game of the season, correct?” he pouts sarcastically.

you roll your eyes in a ridiculing manner, “hmm, i don’t know?” you pretend to contemplate, tapping at your chin playfully. “maybe i am, maybe i’m not…guess you’ll never find out, sim.”

he exhales sassily before tearing the distance between your hands. “guess that means you have some duties to attend to, hm?”

“no, no! i can stay for a bit…for you—too, before you have to go,” you mumble.

the boy holds one of your hands once again, reaching for your head and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear that was blocking your face due to the wind. your mouth went agape and curved into a line, unable to form coherent words due to jake’s intents, causing you to stare at the sky out of sudden false curiosity; the clouds looked particularly stormy and mundane, unlike earlier. the seemingly windy weather wasn’t expected, which is why you made a discerning sound.

jake follows your movements, similarly staring at the grey sky. “looks like it might rain,” he huffs, slightly agitated. “i’m hoping it doesn’t—as much as i love the rain, it could ruin my chances for tonight.”

“yeah, it could. don’t worry though,” you beam. “you’ll crush it no matter what. you always do.”

a distant call of jake’s name is heard a couple of meters away, both you and the boy turn to make out that jay and sunghoon stand beckoning for jake to join them in the lockeroom and get into his uniform.

jake ruffles your hair in a childish manner at the disappointment that protrudes your features. “i gotta go, but i’ll see you out in the bleachers, mkay? make sure you get a good seat! i want you to be the first person i see when i score that touchdown,” he winks at you as he jogs backward for a bit until he disappears into the field to meet with the guys.

you were left a blushing mess, jake always managed to leave you in disarray. you couldn’t say you didn’t like the way he made you feel, though. you’d give your all to feel the way you do when you’re with jake every day, if you could.

you prompted on visiting your locker and taking pictures with your camera of the posters that showcased the football team players, advertising for everyone to attend the final game of the season. you smiled to yourself when your eyes settled upon jake, yet kept moving around the school tentatively before you realized that you’d better head back to the bleachers and get a good seat. you wanted to see jake from one of the higher levels of the bleachers, just as he wanted you to be, directly in his line of sight, too.

***

a crowd of bustling and noisy students surround you as you stay seated on the perfect spot in the bleachers. the thrumming music and thumping drums of your school’s band is echoing throughout the stadium as they play the school’s arrangement of any football game, and you can’t help but feel giddy inside. high school football games were always an event of their own, an event that everyone constantly spoke about and fancied getting extravagantly ready for. tonight, was no different.

girls wore shimmering eyeshadow sparkling on their eyelids that reflected brightly every time the colored lights hit them, and colored variations of paint neatly striped over their cheeks to show school spirit. you, too, wore sparkly eyeshadow and had a bandanna that displayed your school’s official colors securely wrapped around your thigh. it was preppy, the entire vibe of the scene that unfolded in front of your eyes.

your nerves were jolting with glee as soon as the band’s music crescendoed with the football team that came running from the side of the field from the locker room and tore through the banner that was made for them, with jake in front—as he was their star quarterback.

you grin to yourself when eavesdropping on the endless chatter of girls talking about how hot jake looked and how they’d give anything to be with him. you didn’t bother to be jealous, not just because he wasn’t quite yours yet, but because you knew you had something especially intimate with jake that they did not; you were sure of it.

you tune out the excess voices and focus on jake, watching his every move as he and his teammates huddle in the middle of the field and perform their usual group chant before parting ways to their designated places on the field.

your eyes rake over jake’s form as you watch him assemble to his position, the timer still has a bit of time left until the buzzer sounds to commence the start of the game, and you watch jake rise out of his position a little as he notably wanders his eyes through the crowd in the bleachers—until he finally finds your figure. you make eye contact with the boy and cheekily nod your head at him so he’s aware you’ve noticed him. in response, the boy does the same and bites his lip coyly before getting on his knees so that he’s properly in position.

you overhear some people murmur your name and you’re sure they’ve noticed the silent interaction between you and jake, yet you remain unbothered and keenly prideful, nonchalantly cracking your neck side to side to give them all a little show.

“[TEN]-HUT,” shouts the coach right as the buzzer sounds and that’s when you know, the game has begun.

you truly don’t know much about football, just that it revolves around a bunch of guys tackling each other—or something of the sort (?). nonetheless, you remind yourself that you’re here to take pictures of jake for his feature, and get some close-up shots of your school’s dance team, as well as cheer during the halftime performance.

your estimate is that you could get some high-quality shots of jake as he paces around his spot in the field, jutting around not as fast as he’d be when he’s running, and your mind lives up to its words.

you manage to snap some ethereal shots of jake with his sweat glistening and hair that’s adorned to his forehead and sticking out a bit despite the heavy helmet that covers his countenance.

halftime rolls around and you jump down from your seat in the bleachers to take some up-close shots of the dancers with their bedazzled uniforms and of the band playing, before returning to your seat, anticipating jake to make his touchdown sometime soon; you could see the scouts discussing amongst themselves a couple of meters below you, and an unsettling feeling made home in your stomach. you couldn’t imagine how jake might’ve been feeling.

right as halftime ends and you get a glimpse of jake and his teammates rolling into the field for the second half of the game after replenishing their bodies. the boys on defense are doing especially well and you feel elated for what’s to come.

it’s been a bit, however, and the game is nearing its end, you snap one last shot of jake right before he goes to snatch the ball out of the opposing teams’ player’s reach and makes a beeline for the marker checkpoint he needs to get to before he can score a touchdown—he looked absolutely breathtaking with his mouth agape and face slightly scrunched up in focus.

you lift off of your seat in preparation for jake’s victory, and he makes it—jake leads his team to triumph.

screams erupt from the crowd of students around you as they all jump onto their feet, moments after jake kicks the ball. your eyes locate downward towards the scouts and you see them talking abruptly with joy written all over their faces; a huge smile of your own breaks out on your face, and you’re relieved. what you don’t expect with all the commotion that surrounds you, is the rain that starts abruptly pouring.

sounds of groans fill the air as a good amount of students clatter amongst themselves to find immediate shelter from the rain, but you couldn’t care less, all you cared about was your boy.

you, too, jump out of your seat after the shock of what’s happening washes over your body a bit, but it only heightens as you watch jake throw off his helmet onto the grass and run to you with all the energy that his body has left to give.

he’s sweaty, he’s tired, he’s drenched with rainwater, and his mind is in a whirl of how he truly just made a touchdown, but all he can think about is you.

you don’t have time to process the way jake ignores the ridiculously loud remarks of congratulations the scouts throw at jake as he speeds past them, nor can you see straight when you realize that jake has run up the stairs of the bleachers and is now standing right in the tight space in front of you.

jake doesn’t care that the majority of students are watching him—and now you, nor does he focus on the fact that the both of you are soaked. his eyes flicker once to your lips then twice, yours alternate between his eyes and his lips, smiling when he wraps an arm around your waist and tilts your head up to look at him directly with the other.

you lightly pant and begin to match the rising of his chest, your mouth opens and you’re left speechless. “jake?”

you say his name as if it’s the last time you’d speak of it again, and he takes his chance, he takes it as confirmation for all that he’s ever witnessed between the both of you.

the moment jake’s lips meet yours, you swear your heart stops, all background noise becomes a blur as jake’s lips feverishly chase your own. his grip on your waist tightens and your chests collide as his hand travels further up your face, cupping your jaw. you’re left in awe as he quickly slides his tongue into your mouth when you gasp at the intensity of the kiss and the atmosphere, bodies hot with passion, the rain adding to the aura of fictionality as the droplets stick to your hair and drop down to the space where your lips connect.

your noses constantly brush over each other as jake slightly bites down on your bottom lip and holds your jaw in place so he can feel you like he’s been dying to do ever since he'd laid eyes on you. you stay there, kissing him back softly when he halts the sinking of his teeth from your lips and gives you a few soft pecks. you’re stunned and breathless, gasping after he parts from you.

as soon as he separates, you break out into one of the widest smiles known to your muscles. jake reciprocates your same smile and grabs a hold of your waist with both hands, yours balancing your body on his shoulders as you rest your forehead against jake’s. his smile never fades, and neither does yours.

“wow,” you drag out. “that was…insane, and definitely one way of showing me that you want me.”

the boy laughs breathily, “my touchdown or the kiss?” he sarcastically inquires.

“both,” you spit out, still smiling.

“well, i told you i’d live up to my word, didn’t i? i promised you.”

your vision threatens to be blocked by forming tears, ironically not by the copious amount of rain plunging from the sky, but before you’re able to do so, jake isolates your bodies and wraps an arm around you, sensing your emotions, and you sniffle. “yeah, you did. i never should have doubted you, sim.”

“i’m here now, that’s all that matters.” the quarterback pecks your cheek and gives you a soft look before he heads down to the field once again, physically dodging victory punches and flirtatious but supportive winks from his teammates as a testament to what they all witnessed and what you had just experienced.

the team does their victory chant one last time and you wait for the boy right beside the bleachers where there's a built roof as you watch him split from his team and go to discuss with the scouts and his parents that give you some sly smiles. thankfully, it’s only a couple of minutes before the boy comes running to you, you didn’t know how much longer you could have lasted without the warmth of his touch.

jake takes your hand and spins you around as if you were his princess, the only girl that lived to exist. because to him, that’s exactly what you were. he kisses you once again and doesn’t seem to want to stop until you remind him that you’re still in public and very much visible to any bystanders.

he groans in annoyance but indulges your figure by securing his arm around your shoulders as you walk into the school’s locker room to let jake shower and clean himself up.

he insists on you changing into the spare sweats and jersey he keeps in case of emergencies to keep you warm and dry while he freshens himself up.

the school is empty and quiet. after his shower, jake meets you waiting on the bench outside of the locker room, sitting down beside you, flooding you with compliments about how beautiful you looked in his jersey and as a whole, then kissing you ever so delicately. “you’re wearing my jersey and the entire school saw us kiss, you know that means you’re mine now, right?”

“jake sim, i’ve been yours ever since you offered me that piece of candy the first day of jung’s psychology class,” you laugh out, resting your head on his shoulder.

“you’re mine, forever now, though. i made a promise, and i don’t intend on ever breaking it.”

“neither do i,” you vocalize along with a kiss to his cheek.

you were his, as he was yours, and that’s all there was to it.

jake sim will forever be your hot, nerdy-jock boyfriend, along with you, his precious, most enticing, most amusing, and most perfect girlfriend.

this story may not have been like all the others, with the cheerleader ending up with the star quarterback of the football team. but that’s what mattered most, your story had character and realness; not every path to romance is smooth and easily obtained. but i suppose that’s what makes your narrative most interesting.

jake didn’t want a facade of a relationship, he didn't want any pages left blank or unturned, he wanted fair play, he wanted—you.

now that he finally had you, and you had him, it’s rather plausible to say that jake sim scored more than just one touchdown in his lifetime, is it not?

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obislittleone · 3 years

Text

What Once Was Mine

Chapter 3

Summary: Locked away in a house her entire life, she always dreamed of exploring the nearby kingdom for just a day, believing it could make the rest of her days in solitude bearable. What she was unware of, was the real reason she'd been hidden away for so long. Changes comes swift like a flying dagger when a thieving bounty hunter seeks solace in the old home.

Din Djarin Royalty!AU / Tangled!AU

Pairing: Din Djarin x Princess Kryze!Reader

A/n: y'all keep eating this up for some reason even though it's literally the product of an idea I had while poopin

Warnings: mentions of death, drowning, Angst, lil flirty

SERIES MASTERLIST

The steep climb up the rocky hill was a bit more than you were expecting, and the bounty hunter was not being merciful in the least. It was almost as if he knew the terrain would be complicated, and tried his best to make it even more difficult in order to drive you want to turn back. It was unkind, and since you were the one holding this situation under your thumb, you needed to negotiate some more terms, or at least make it even.

"You must be in an awful hurry to leave me behind," you paused, holding up your dress high enough to step onto the high rock. "Especially since I'm the one you're supposed to be escorting."

"Is it too much for you?"

You huffed a sigh and glared up ahead at him, you knew what he was doing, and two could play at that game.

"Because if it is, maybe you'd be more comfortable back at your house."

You used your powers to pull out the stone from underneath his supporting leg, sending him sliding down the hill. He landed several feat beneath you, standing back up with a low gruff in his voice. He looked back up at the place he'd fallen from, his held such confusion, as well as frustration. What in the world had happened for him to fall?

"This hill has loose stones, you might wanna be careful," he said with a scoff, beginning to come back up the rocky surface. He didn't have to get too far to be face to face with you, given that you had gone a bit slower.

"Is this too much for you?" You teased with a smirk. You may be absolutely insane for assuming your ears recorded anything of the sort, but at the moment you swore you'd heard him chuckle just the slightest at your antics.

Reaching the top of the hill, he decided ultimately that he would wait for you, knowing that after this, there wasn't much that could deter you or the child enough from wanting to continue the journey. He accepted the fact that he would be taking you into the kingdom as promised, because it was the only plausible way he would reattain the dark saber without searching for days on end. Though he was a thief and a hunter, he was still a man of his word, and it would not have sat right with him had he gone back on a fair deal.

The trip down the steep hill was somewhat easier, but also scarier to an extent. The sharp rocks at the bottom that lead to a forrest trail betwixt the trees were a sign that any fall would surely be fatal. It was only a little further. You kept looking down, passed your feet to the dangerous bottom, and felt that you needed some, nay, any form of distraction you could obtain.

"So, I never caught your name," you muttered, now much closer to him than on the climb upwards.

"I'm not giving you my name."

You quelled your brows together, a sour look spread on your face. He didn't need to be so stingey. He was after all going to be your companion for the next two days, willingly or otherwise.

"Then what am I supposed to call you?" Your sweet question almost took him by surprise. Most people didn't care for his name, and if they did, usually it was because they were hoping for the reward that came with it, hanging over his head like clouds in the sky. He was perplexed at your genuineness.

He still hesitated, of course, because he's a wanted bounty hunter and thief, and even having you use his name with the purest of intentions would end up badly in the presence of the wrong company. Ultimately, what could go wrong? He's gotten himself out of enough to deal with a little heat, only if the need arises in the first place.

"Call me Din," he said with a sigh, going down further between the narrow path. If you can even call it a path.

You smiled and let a blush seep into your cheeks. You rather liked his name, if it was indeed his real name. You supposed he said it rather quickly for it to be made up. It was simple and easy to say, but unique in a way that you've never heard of before. There was no character in any story, nor person in any history book that possesses his name. You wouldn't ever forget it.

"Din," you practiced saying it out loud, very quietly I might add. You said it again, maybe three or four times just to let it roll off your lips.

"Watch your step as you come off, here," he warned, stepping over one of the final stones in the way, almost close enough for his feet to touch the grass.

"Where-?" You asked, missing the exact spot he was talking about and falling forward against him. He gripped your arms to hold you up, and make sure you didn't take him down as well. You were close enough to see his eyes again, and appreciated the contrast of what they looked like out in the sun from when you were back at the house. Back there they were dark as night with endless pathways in the brown depths. Now they were exposed to the light that came in beams from the sky, making the irisis pool like honey around his pupils. He had let his eyes drop from yours for only a second, glacing at something you didn't quite catch before he put distance between you. He made sure you were stable before stepping off the stone and onto the forest floor. You followed soon after and made your way to the trail.

Silence was something you learned Din was accustomed to. It seemed the only words he liked to say were the ones he felt were absolutely necessary to vocalize. Things like 'watch your step' and 'we're crossing over here' made a few appearances. You figured he must be lonely with all that silence. You hated being lonely, and would loathe for anyone else to bear the same cross. It made you wonder what kind of life he truly lead, beyond the thieving and hunting, he must have had something else to fill the void. Unless he didn't, which is why you felt saddened all of a sudden.

"Are you okay?" He asked, turning to the side of him and noticing you'd slowed down. It took you a moment to snap out of it, letting your eyes regain contact with his as you sped back up to your former pace.

"Of course, I was just thinking," you explained, which gave him a nervous feeling. He didn't want you thinking too much on this journey, because thinking lead to talking, and of that he wasn't a fan.

He huffed out a breath, like he was preparing himself for a question. You almost didn't even bother asking, but you were bursting with curiosity. This was the first person from the outside world that you'd ever met, you were bound to have questions one way or another.

"I was just wondering," you took a few steps in front of him and turned around, walking backwards down the trail so you could see him better. You felt more connected through conversation by facing him. "I've never actually had real friends, and I don't know how a person would act if they had them... but you don't seem like you possess any either."

Grogu began to babble on, waking up from his nap right this moment. He was probably enjoying the view since most of the trip has been spent backwards for him.

"People don't need friends. Having friends means having attachments, and I'm not very fond of those," he said, thinking about how just this morning he let Xi'an and Ran get aced to the palace guards. He kept running, didn't turn back... now look at him. He's stuck as an escort for the next day and a half to a girl he hasn't met his whole life.

"So you're like me?" You asked curiously, looking behind you once to make sure you were staying on the path and avoiding any objects in the way that you might trip over.

"No, I know plenty of people. They are not friends."

"I don't understand..."

He stopped in his tracks dropping his head to the ground. He knew you wouldn't stop until he answered you, and to prevent a headache from coming on, he figured he better do it quickly.

"Not everyone you meet is your friend."

"Then who do you talk to?" You knew he didn't like to talk, but surely he had someone he could tell his troubles to. Even you had someone for that, though he didn't ever talk back.

"You really want to know?"

You nodded eagerly with a smile, thinking he might really be interested in opening up to you. Perhaps he would tell you of a family member, or mentor of some sort. Maybe not a friend, but someone he was close with.

"Several women in the kingdom," he said, side stepping you and continuing on the trail. You were unsatisfied with that vague answer. It was a poor response really, and you didn't understand the meaning. He meant to tell you he had no friends, yet several women in the kingdom were his buddies?

"But if you talk with them, surely they are your friends."

Your sheer naïvety was making him crumble. There was no way in the world you were so innocent, even after being locked behind closed doors for so long. You read books, didn't you? Even books should be enough to explain the goings on in real life society.

"It doesn't work like that. Some of the women in the kingdom have habits of liking bad men who only stay for the night," he paused, wondering if he had even given enough information for you to latch onto. "And I'm a bad man, so I don't have a hard time finding company."

Now came the turning point, because the old discussion about what signifies a friend was long forgotten. The mentions of the women he had associated himself with rather frequently, had left your mind. You brain had completely shifted to his last words. Bad man.

"I don't believe you are a bad man," you said with furrowed brows. You didn't think he should believe it either. That kind of thinking was harshly damaging to one's mind. Even if he was a bad man, why would he admit ir to himself? Wouldn't that just make him sad and woeful?

"You're kidding me. I broke into your home, showing up with something stolen, then threatened you. Do you have any idea what the concept of bad is?" He wasn't angry, but in disbelief. He almost prepared himself to laugh, but you hadn't been joking in the slightlest.

"You never threatened me," you corrected him, and you were right. He hadn't made a move to harm a hair on your head since he laid eyes on you. "And besides, would a bad man have caught me when I fell?"

"I didn't have much of a choice."

"You could have dropped me," you remind him. He is somehow enraptured by your perception of reality. It's as if you can't see the world for what it really is. You'd never seen the world at all, and that was mainly the reason why everything was so beautifully poetic and majestic to you.

Everything you knew, you knew from books... but books lied, they made things prettier. Not being able to see the entire picture made your mind easy to accept the beauty above all else. When one does not see a flaw, they cannot acknowledge that it is there in the first place.

It was a concept he was coming to terms with, you being such an optimistic beam of light and curiosity. He hadn't ever met someone so excited to walk on a dirt road before, but here you were, frolicking down the path as if it were a marble hallway in the palace, not mention, barefoot.

He smiled with real intention under the mask for the first time in a while, thankful that the cloth strip was there to hide the expression.

Coming out of the forest, there stood a tall structure -a magnificently built dam-, with sluices protruding from every angle. The water that flowed was a beautiful sight to see, with the glint of light as it rushed and roared along the wood. The trickling sound as it moved was pleasing to the ears, and resembled that of rainfall off the corner of your house.

"We'll stop here for a few minutes to rehydrate, but we can't stay long, this part of the land is closely watched by palace guards."

You understood him, going to an open water stream, gathering the water in your hands and taking it into your mouth, as much as you could at a time. You twisted the wrap on your body that Grogu was nestled safely in, bringing him to your chest as you allowed him to do the same with the water. You waited patiently until he was done, smiling as he let out a satisfied squeal. Ever the joy your little bundle was, his little noises made you heart happy every time you heard them.

You noticed a shadow come over you both, and looked up to see that on a ledge stood a single palace guard. You didn't know what to look for, but his armor and helmet were a dead giveaway that he was associated with the kingdom's protection. He stepped away from the ledge after he saw Din, and you jumped from your place to warn him.

"Din, they saw us," you said, gathering his attention.

"Who did?"

A rustling cry of horses from just up the bend was enough to alert him to the rather obtuse situation. The horses were charging quickly towards you, and you wasted no time in resecuring the baby to your back in a safe manner.

"Run," he uttered, pulling you back towards the forrest, to a place he seemed to know where to go. He knew these woods well, and this wasn't the first time he'd been caught drinking from the good old watering hole. This was however the first time he had company. He needed to create an obstacle for the guards to pass through, and hopefully slow them down.

He grabbed the knife from the holster on his thigh, throwing it with perfect accuracy to cut the rope by the top of the dam. The gates if it were thrown open, and the water that had piled up for months at a time came gushing through like a river.

"Are you insane?" You screamed, following after him under the wooden sluices to find a cavern. It had a small entrance, which made for an abundance of fear on your behalf.

"Follow me."

"I can't go in there," you yelled, shaking your head frantically. "I have a fear of small spaces."

"That's ironic," he said, shoving you ahead of him anyways, following after you as the water began to flood around your feet. The cave was bigger on the inside, with a single stream of light coming out of the top, maybe a foot above your head. You ran through the water, climbing up the rocks to find a wall was cutting you off from other parts of the tunnel.

"They sealed it off," he mumbled to himself. It brought you to a moment of panic, knowing you were trapped.

"We have to go back, we could drown."

You trudged back through the water, which now sat at your knees. It was a lot thicker now than it seemed to be when you were drinking from it. You ducked down to the hole you entered through, but it too was jammed closed, a large rock held you in place, but kept letting gallons of water in by the second.

"No. No, no, no. This isn't happening." You backed away and ran a hand through your hair, which had fallen out of it's braids for all the running that ensued.

Din came over to the stone, pushing at it as hard as he could, trying with all his might to somehow get it out of the way. It wasn't going to budge, and it got harder and harder as now the water was around his hips. He misplaced his hand on a corner of the rock, falling into it as it sliced open into a cut that started in his palm and ran down his forearm. He gave up, knowing the stone wouldn't allow any leeway.

You stood back and reached for the hole in the ceiling of the cave, where the small opeing sat. It wasn't going to fit either one of you through to the other side. This was it, right now. You were all going to die here... maybe not all of you. You took Grogu from his confinement on your back and held him up to the opening. He cried, and reached out for you, but you wouldn't let him experience this. It was going to be painful.

"It's okay, love," you told him with tears in your eyes. He made more noises of sorrow and kept grabbing for your hand, but you pushed him through the small hole, knowing he was going to be better off out there than in here, where the water came above your stomach. The top of the cave wasn't as narrow as the bottom, so the flow slowed down a little, but didn't stop. It was only a matter of time. There was something incredibly poetic to be said about this tragedy, but you were no poet, you were just a girl.

Your tears were by far unstoppable now, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for a sense of security you knew was going to be short lived.

Din didn't feel like crying, but he did feel like punching something. Given the fact that the entire interior of the cave was purely rock, he deemed it a bad idea.

"Where's the kid?"

"I got him out," you said, nodding upwards to the stream of light. You wiped your eyes, knowing it was probably the last time you'd ever see him again. The little blessing in your otherwise tragic life. Your life, which was about to end. This was all too fast. One moment you walked through the gleaming light in the trees, away from the home that kept you still, and in place, now it was a far opposite. You didn't think it could possibly be this real, that you could meet your end so soon after liberation.

You sniffled, trying to calm yourself for the road ahead. You'd read about drowning. The victim is said to feel the sensation of water in their lungs even after they're dead. You weren't looking forward to it. You hated yourself for dragging not only yourself, but another human being into this mess. The first one you'd ever met outside of your mother. Your mother.

"My mother was right, I never should have left," you cried, not able to hold onto any form of peace or calm. Given the circumstances, you deemed yourself the allowance. "I'm so sorry, Din."

He sighed, flipping his hood off and stripping his face of the mask.

"What are you doing?" You asked, confused. He hadn't taken that thing off since you met him, which meant he clearly had a specific reason for wearing it.

"I'm not going to die next to someone who doesn't even know what I look like," he explained, forgetting the mask in the water as it rose above your shoulders.

You were enthralled with the sight of him instantly, dark brown hair, laying in sloppy locks against his head. Even with the sweat that coated his forehead and scalp, his hair still looked fluffy and soft to the touch.

Light facial hair grew around his jawline, and beneath his mouth, framing it perfectly. A thicker layer of scruff hair made up the moustache that layed over his top lip. His lips. You had a hard time taking your eyes away from them, only to find the gentle curve of his nose when you did. Pairing everything with the eyes made of honey, he was beautiful. There was no way you could have ever imagined him to look this way, and yet, you couldn't imagine those eyes belonging to any other face but his. You hadn't seen many faces before, and the ones that were drawn in your novels weren't as realistic as you'd like them to be. His face was enough to distract you momentarily from your fate which was fast approaching.

"You're awfully handsome, you know," you said, taking your eyes back to his, while still admiring the other factors that were now within sight.

"I know."

You chuckled softly, knowing it was just an attempt to lighten the mood. The water swarmed your shoulders, and the cold temperature was getting to be scarier than the idea of drowning in it. The width of the cavern was narrow again, and as the water began to climb your neck, you realized you were hiding something from him, too.

"As long as we're about to die, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you that I have magical abilities that can move things with my mind," you said awkwardly. He looked back at you as if you had shown him a ghost.

He clearly didn't believe you, but he was still shocked at your confession... that you could move things with your mind. Wait, you can move things with your mind!

"I can get us out of here," you said frantically, coming to realization. How foolish of you not to remember your gift.

The water overtook the both of you, and as you held your breath, you placed both hands on the ceiling of the cave, trying to focus on breaking it apart. Your necklace glowed green as the stone separated into small pieces, making an opening big enough for you both to fit through. You pushed yourselves through, pulling up to be met with a rapid movement of water. The dam was still spilling out, or so it would seem, because it carried you into a moving river of draining water. It was hard to keep your head above the constant wave, since you couldn't swim, but you focused all your power again on simply staying afloat.

You saw Din paddling toward land when he collided with a rock, knocking him out upon impact. His head went under the water a second later, and you panicked. A shout of his name did no good, and you struggled to get to him. You weren't going to let it end this way for him, not when it was your fault you were both in this mess to begin with.

You didn't stop trudging through the water until you were by the rock. The water was pressing his body against it under the stream, and it took all your strength to heave him up. You clung to him, and the rock, looking to see how far you were from the edge of the water. You heard a soft squeal from behind you, and saw Grogu sitting by himself in a patch of pine needles. He was more than happy to see you, given that a moment ago he thought you were about to die. He was so distraught, but seeing you now, his mood was cheerful as ever. You paddled over and grabbed onto an overgrown weed, hauling yourself as high as you could. It was difficult, carrying all the extra weight in your other arm, but you managed to somehow get both of you ashore.

You rolled him over, hoping he would wake up, but he didn't, and you weren't sure what to do.

Tags: @icanbeyourjedi @castleallherown @mysticalgalaxysalad @princess-prettyy @67impalagirl13 @agingerindenial @childrenofthewatch @insomniac-nerd-posts-things

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violettelueur · 4 years

Text

RYŌMEN SUKUNA || LITTLE CAGED ARTIST

| featuring : ryomen sukuna ft. itadori yuji

| warnings : mention of emotional abuse and murder as well as grammar errors

| form : imagine

| word count : 1691

| published : 22 december

| request : Hello, idk if your request are open but feel free to ignore, but just, imagine another reencarnation au (those imaginw of yours are my favourite) where the reader was a painter and Sukuna's personal favourite so he took her and kinda abused her psycologicaly to the point where she would just draw him and only him and he loved that, and in the future she's still an artist that draws Yuuji bc theyre friends but when she sees the tatoos she again draws Sukuna and he feels guilty for the way he treated her and her art in the pastIf It's angst i would apreciate but it's not really necesary

| barista’s notes : hi there~ i apologies for the extremely long wait for your coffee order but now it is there ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ right now it is nearly 5am in the morning and i have no idea why the hell i am awake, but oh well ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ DONT WORRY THOUGH! after this, i am going to sleep and rest up since today it is Fushiguro Megumi’s and Kageyama Tobio’s birthday today ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ but other than that, i hope you enjoy your order of a cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and i hope you come back soon! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

“Sukuna….please leave me alone...leave the village alone, I beg of you please,” you whimpered to the man that was standing tall and proud with a sadistic smirk painted on his face, while you were on your knees tightly holding onto his large wrist - somewhat slightly covering the black ring marking - as if your weak physical strength could do anything to stop his raising them up and giving a rain upon hell to the people that was residing in the small town you lived in.

You have no idea how you had managed to catch the attention of the most feared curse to both humans and jujutsu sorcerers nor did you know how you managed to become acquainted with the man in front of you. All you knew right now was that the situation you were in at this current moment and time, was not ideal to anyone at all.

You were just a simple artist. A simple village girl artist that was blessed to be hired by the nobility and aristocracy to paint their family portraits with the finest colours that they would offer you, for you to be then paid so you could provide for your village. However, as luxurious as it sounded, you were in love with the idea of just placing a sharped piece of charcoal on a piece of paper or cloth you could find anywhere and sketch your heart designed.

“Leave you alone?” Sukuna questioned you in his deep voice, before slowly crouching down to become face to face with you. “I could never leave you alone, not when you have caught my attention with your craft little one,” Sukuna then stated, as he gently placed a hand on your cheek before using his thumb to caress the soft skin he was touching.

Ever since Sukuna had caught sight of you delicately painting a portrait of a noblewoman with such care and gentleness, he couldn’t help but wonder how your hands were so carefully and how patient you were to make sure every stroke was perfect to your desire. Slowly, he began to wonder what it was like to be the subject of one's view. A subject that someone desired to recreate on a simple piece of paper. However, compared to his past sightings, you were the most talented as well as the most beautiful he had ever seen and once he was able to gain a clear view of the noble woman that you were illustration, he was surprised at how much detail you were able to encapture in your work and just like the noble woman’s reaction, they both were extremely happy with the result of the final product.

“How about this?” Sukuna suddenly asked, causing your head to suddenly shot up leading you to meet eye to eye with the King of Curses, “if you come with me and draw me and me only for the rest of time, I would leave this little village alone as well as the people residing in it. How does that sound, little one?”

‘Come with him? Where? Why? What’s going to happen to me?’

“If you don’t accept this deal, every single person here will die. Burned, stabbed, slashed, any way possible I can. Men, women and even little children’s lives will be gone, and it would be all your fault.”

‘My….fault? But-’

“You know I’m not a patient person little one, I might as well start my massacre while you take your time to think, it will be-”

“NO PLEASE! DON’T, YOU CAN TAKE ME, JUST LEAVE THE VILLAGE ALONE, PLEASE!” you screamed in desperation, as you tighten the grip of his wrist that was within your grasp to keep him down, as you didn’t want to risk him getting away from your sights for the safety and protection of the people within the little town you had lived in since the day your life had started.

With a large cruel grin, Sukuna had somehow managed to pry his wrists free from your tense grip before sliding an arm under your knees as well as an arm around your body lifting you up in a bridal position, while you were just expressing a face of shock and fear, confused and fearful on what you had just accepted in exchange for your life. Where were you going? Was this the end? Were you going to die? How much longer have you had left?

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you, you’re too precious to be slaughtered little one,” Sukuna answered - as if he knew what you were thinking - before placing a ghostly kiss upon your temple leading you to freeze still, petrified on what he would do with you had moved a single inch.

This was your life now.

A caged artist.

ꕥ

Here you were, sitting on a wooden platform outside with a sharpened piece of charcoal that Sukuna had kindly given you, in order for you to sketch a portrait of him. The second you placed the charcoal upon the paper, Sukuna couldn’t help but stare at the light movements of your hand as you lightly stroke a few lines to create an outline before watching your hand suddenly pause, causing the King of Curses to switch his view from the sheet to you, only to find your look at him with such a frightened look.

“I’m sorry…..I shouldn’t look at you, should I? I apologise deeply,” you softly muttered before quickly turning back to the portrait that was right in front of you - you didn’t want to do anything wrong in his eyes, you knew he could go back on his words and harm the people that you cared about. However, it seemed like Sukuna didn’t care at all, he had managed to trap you into his life and had the power to demand you to draw him every time he would mention he could go back to your little village and burn it to the ground. He relished in the idea of being the subject of your attention.

This is what he wanted.

His little caged artist.

ꕥ

1000 years later and here you were.

Here you were sketching a picture of your best-friend Itadori with a picture of him that you had managed to capture on your phone. Itadori first came into your life shortly after you had enrolled into Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Techincal College around the same time as your other classmate Kugisaki did.

You have no idea what drew you into the boy with the pink hair, but something within you pulled you towards him causing the blooming and somewhat hilarious friendship to start, even causing Fushiguro and Kugisaki to wonder what was going on in your mind to somehow relate to the boy - yet, they didn’t mention their questions since they didn’t really think you knew the answer yourself, and they were correct.

However, as you continued to smoothly glide your pencil across the page, applying different pressures to construct some definitions as well as shadows within the photo you were copying from, you began to suddenly realise that you were starting to draw marking upon his portrait. Markings that were so familiar to the ones the person within him had.

Ever since that day at the Eishu Detention Centre, the sight of Sukuna standing in front of you with his shirt ripped off showcasing his black marking caused a trigger of unknown memories to suddenly flood into your mind, causing excruciating pain that was so unbearable, you thought you were going to pass out from the intense pressure, maybe as even close to dying from the immense pain.

From what you could even recall from the sudden flood of blurry images that appeared in your mind, there was a picture of you drawing with a piece of charcoal with the infamous King of Curses seating right beside you, watching you draw will whispering in your ear the threats that he would bombard you in order for you to make sure that you were only drawing him and him only.

Slowly but in a shaking manner, your drawing hand continued to sketch in Sukuna’s markings that would appear on Itadori’s body as you were somewhat extremely afraid of what the King of Curses could do to you if you didn’t - just how you left 1000 years ago.

Although unknown to you, your best-friend Itadori was standing right behind you, having a clear view of what was happening to you as well as the drawing right in front of him. Seeing your shaking figure with slow but clear teardrops landing on the sketch book as well as the drawing evolving from him to the curse residing inside of him, made him realise how damaging Sukuna was to not only him but also to the people around him. Carefully, Itadori placed a hand over your hand that held the pencil, causing you to flinch before finally noticing that it was your friend that was holding it and not the special grade curse.

Within his Innate Domain, Sukuna also had a clear view on what was happening to you and slowly but strangely began to feel something drop to his stomach with the feeling of his throat closing up at the sight of you slowly breaking down into a small state of insanity. This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want his beautiful little one to become lifeless and paranoid like you were now.

Even after 1000 years after your death, your incarnation was carrying the feeling of fear, despair and numbness that you were weighed upon the second you had given your life away to the King of Curses for the sake of your village. Even though you had more freedom then you did then, you still left trapped and lost within the metal cage that Sukuna had enclosed you in. Even with the small hint of guilt that was manifested within the cruel curse’s heart.

You were trapped with no escape out.

You were trapped forever with no key to open the door that was clearly right in front of you.

Forever his little caged artist.

2K notes · View notes

yellowocaballero · 4 years

Text

Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut.

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him.

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary.

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content.

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you.

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat.

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure.

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports.

“Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head.

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed.

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest.

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally.

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while.

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted.

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock.

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.”

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere.

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot.

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads.

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.”

“Uh, guys,” Martin said.

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin’s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said.

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”.

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said.

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes.

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes.

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise.

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain.

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses.

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar.

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did.

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said.

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other.

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it “ - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness.

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them.

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other.

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself.

****

This plan had a few complexities.

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss.

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia.

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back.

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had.

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them.

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually.

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it.

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair.

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit.

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.”

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him.

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip.

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug.

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don’t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation.

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon.

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise.

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred.

Then the Archivist began to speak.

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug.

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality.

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands.

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone.

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world.

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell.

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots.

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time.

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true.

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect.

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing.

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great.

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss.

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse.

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time!

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said.

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said.

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned.

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed.

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating.

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion.

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard.

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed.

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly.

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too.

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them.

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green.

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed.

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten.

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge.

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama.

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon.

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face.

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one.

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long.

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well.

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse.

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway.

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder.

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate.

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense.

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider.

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing.

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly.

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug.

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable.

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too.

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing.

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically.

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed.

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth.

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel.

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias.

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about.

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too.

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful.

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly.

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk.

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms.

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered.

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug.

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped.

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out.

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor.

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested.

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing.

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen.

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs.

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel.

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red.

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew.

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.”

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths.

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert.

Then the pain abated, and was gone.

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion.

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest.

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway.

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around.

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

#i know I say 'this is the stupidest thing i've ever written' EVERY TIME BUT #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #tma fanfic #tma time travel au #crack #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #martin blackwood #elias bouchard

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