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theunsinkablesappho · 1 day ago

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Harding Week 2025 Short Fic (Prompt: Free Day!)

@datvcompanionweeks

Upfront Notice: This little short fic is specifically set within my unreasonably massive and complex multi-Protag universe (all 6 Wardens + Hawke + all 4 Inquisitors + all 6 Rooks exist here). Why does that universe exist? Because I hate myself. I can't remember if this specifically mentions the other Rooks, but if it does... that is why.

Word Count: 1,711

Lace lay in the grass staring up at the night sky. A blanket of the purest black she had ever seen, empty and endless despite the countless shimmering lights that filled it. There was not a single cloud in the entire span of darkness, a true rarity in Ferelden. And the moon was turned away from them on this night, meaning the stars could spread their tiny pinpricks of light all the brighter. The vastness of it never failed to bring her awe. Whatever the stars might be, wherever they might be, the comforting consistent mystery of them reminded Harding that no matter how big the world felt there were parts of it none of them would ever touch. No villainy or heroism would taint the stars. Not even Elgar’nan, who had moved the sun, had touched the stars. Even he had limits. And even he had an end.

It was all finally over.

“So what do we do now?” Harding asked the question into the stillness, but it was full of hope not despair. How long had it been since she had felt like this? Where an uncertainty was not tied up with a sense of doom and powerlessness? Instead it felt like freedom. They could do anything, go anywhere. The Crossroads were still open to them, to all of the Veilguard. And there was more of it to still discover. Who knew how far it could take any of them? Did they continue to explore? To push? To find more answers, for good or ill? Or did they accept it as it was, leave the unknown to the unknowable? Harding knew what she wanted to do right at this moment, and she was doing it. She was going home.

And Rook was coming with her. The Grey Warden-former Grey Warden?-lay in the tall grasses next to her. Lace did not bother to turn her head to look at her. In the darkness she would not be able to see her. It was okay, because she could see Jadal clearly in her mind whenever she wanted. The proud tilt of her lips, the way the dwarf woman constantly stood with hands on her hips like she was posing for a painting, the broad span of her strong shoulders. Jadal’s sword-calloused hands that were so soft when they touched her, the warm sun-kissed brown skin, soft blue-green eyes, and the way her night-sky black hair would curl so tightly that it held itself up above her head when not restrained. And the way Jadal looked at her like she was everything she had ever wanted. The way she never shrank away, even when Lace could not control her powers.

The way Jadal loved her. Harding reached over in the darkness, feeling around in the grass until she found Jadal’s hand. Rook turned her arm so that Lace could slip her fingers into Jadal’s, locking their hands together easily. It would be wrong to say it was easy between them, with everything that had happened it was complicated even now. But loving Jadal was easy, and being loved by her felt right. There had been times in her life when Harding wondered if other dwarves would ever understand her, but Jadal understood. Jadal had a lot of the same questions, in truth. Both raised on the surface, surrounded by humans and elves, both Andrastian-whatever that meant now-, both of them severed from what little was left of their people. Except that now she was reconnected in a way that almost no one else was.

“I don’t know,” Jadal answered, her voice deep and rich, that Anders' accent proved to be just as stubborn as the Anders people. Harding found it quite pleasant, even if Taash had sometimes complained they could not understand a word Jadal said. “Maybe for right now we don’t have to do anything. We can just… be here.” That sounded nice. Jadal obviously did not mean this exact spot. Tomorrow they would pack up their bedrolls and finish the long walk to Ma’s farm outside Redcliffe. She was finally coming home without the immediate expectation of leaving again. The Veilguard had agreed to take turns keeping watch through the Lighthouse, and for most of them it was a lot faster and easier to get home than it was for Harding. Ma’s farm was over a day’s travel by foot from the closest eluvian they had found so far. And the others had made it very clear that Harding and Rook were free to stay in Ferelden for as long as they needed, almost to the point of bullying them out of the Lighthouse.

“I’m not sure I know how to do that. But I’m willing to try.” It had been ten years since she really stopped. Maybe their friends were right. All of them had been through so much, it did not feel right for the others to argue that she and Jadal had somehow had it “worse,” but maybe they had a point. There was still so much to just… absorb. The Titans, the Evanuris, whatever the truth of the Maker and Andraste was. What the Blight meant now, for the world, and also for Jadal specifically. Was she still a Grey Warden? Were any of the Grey Wardens still Wardens? And what about her? Was she even really a dwarf anymore? Or maybe she was more of a dwarf than anyone else, except Valta. Or something else entirely new. As much as they had talked about all of these things, there had been the constant pressure to put it aside and focus on the evanuris, on Solas. The world was burning down around them, it just was not that important to sit and think about these existential questions.

And then she died. Or something so close to it she did not know how to make a distinction. With her free hand, Harding touched her stomach. She could still feel the way Ghilan’nain’s tentacle had pierced her so easily. The shock and pain of it. And the successive blows, each one feeling less and less as she slipped away. What happened after she did not know. There was simply nothing there. The next memory in her mind was waking up on Tearstone Island in the middle of what she could vaguely describe as a crater. Like the earth had exploded around her. She had been covered in her own blood, but not a single new scar, and glowing blue. It had taken hours for the glow of her powers to fade, for her to feel strong enough to crawl out of the crater. It was not exactly the first time it had happened though, if she was honest. She had not told Jadal about it, not just yet. But when she first grabbed the dagger, when she fell from the cliff. She was certain she had hit the ground. Only to suddenly find herself next to Rook on the cliff again, glowing blue and full of confusion.

Neve’s words echoed in her head. Was she immortal now? If she couldn’t die, that’s what that meant, right? What would that mean for everyone else? Harding could feel the questions starting to pile up in her head, making her heart race a little. No. Not now. These were questions she could answer later, after she had talked to Jadal about it more. They had the time now. And the freedom to really seek out answers. It could wait until tomorrow. All of it could wait until tomorrow

“Well, maybe we just need to practice a little,” Jadal’s voice cut through her thoughts like a merciful dagger. Harding caught herself smiling with relief. Then Jadal’s hand slipped out of hers and she could hear her moving. Harding looked over, even though she could not see more than a few inches in front of her own face in the darkness. Maybe not even that. The rustling of grass continued, and then she felt Jadal’s presence much closer to her. A knee bumped into her side. Harding held still. If she moved in the wrong way in this kind of dark she might accidentally headbutt Jadal in the face. Not that she had any experience with accidentally breaking noses while making out in a dark barn as a teenager. It didn’t matter though, because a heartbeat later Jadal’s hand was on her stomach and moving up. The warrior’s confident hand continued up until it came to a stop on her chest, between her breasts.

Harding’s breath hitched when Jadal’s hair brushed feather soft over her cheeks. Everything felt more intense in the dark, although she could see the shape of Jadal by the way she blocked out the stars above them. Before Harding could think too much about it, Jadal leaned in the rest of the way, and kissed her. It still took Harding’s breath away every time. The softness of her lips, the heat of her breath, the way Jadal’s tongue would play against her own. The way Jadal was utterly unafraid of possibly being poisoned with lyrium again. It was still a slow exploration, touching Jadal. She could touch everyone else just fine. Well, sometimes she got a little bit of a charge when she touched Taash but that was not important. Touching Jadal had a tendency to still make things go haywire, in both her brain and her body.

But not this time. Jadal’s hair fell around her face, teasing and tickling, as the kiss was drawn out. Harding lifted her head from the grass just a little, trying to taste and reach more of Jadal. It was Jadal who broke away first. They shared the air between them as they both inhaled. If this was practice, then she was ready to practice until dawn. That thought made her grin. Jadal was worth it though. Her brave Grey Warden. Her very own Hero of Ferelden, like she had daydreamed about as a girl, growing up on Leliana’s famous song. Who would have thought such a fanciful girlish fantasy would come true?

“I love you,” Harding said softly into the shadowy form that was Jadal.

“And I love you, Lace Harding. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Just the way you are.”

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sorrelchestnut · 3 years ago

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Eddie wishes he can remember the first time he met Steve. Wishes it was suitably weighty and dramatic, some grand portentous moment he could point to and claim that yes, he always knew this one was going to be important to him. That this one was going to be everything.

But nope, Eddie can't remember jack shit. And not in the usual way he can't remember things, like his keys or his wallet or what time he's supposed to show up somewhere, but in the more generic, too-young-to-stick kind of way that always annoyed the shit out of him when his dad tried to claim some long forgotten acquaintance that cooed over him once in a stroller. Whatever first encounter between the two of them that must have occurred in some playground or parking lot is lost forever to the mists of history, unrecorded and unremarked-upon. Eddie's first clear memory of Steve Harrington isn't until high school, an annoying little freshman horsing around in a too-big jersey on game day when Eddie was just trying to get to his fucking locker, but by then they'd been vaguely aware of each other's existence for time immemorial. That's just how it works when you grow up in the same twenty square miles.

Steve doesn't remember either; Eddie checked. Steve's first clear memory of Eddie is a little earlier - apparently there was a very contentious game of Red Rover that almost came to blows while Steve was running laps, Eddie remembers the detention if not the observer - but he already knew who Eddie was just the same as Eddie knew about him. That Harrington boy, that Munson boy, one grade apart and opposite sides of the tracks but still trapped in the same little rat maze of existence just the same.

It doesn't bother Steve the way it does Eddie, the not-remembering. But then, Steve doesn't have a feel for narrative the way Eddie does, has no room for poetry in his pragmatic little soul. Steve doesn't really give a damn about how they began so much as making sure they don't have an end, and it's one of Eddie's favorite things about him, how fucking straightforward he can be about shit when Eddie feels like he's in an eternal tailspin - but it's also a little frustrating, too, because it means he's alone in telling a story that doesn't have a proper beginning.

So, he tells it a different way. Ignores all the backstory, two houses very much not alike in dignity, circling each other in lazy unknowing orbit. Ignores the collision, broken bottle and a boat oar, ignores the fun little stroll through a hell dimension and flirting over felony grand theft auto. Picks up right there in media res on their way to the end of the world, with Steve grabbing him by his collar on his way of his front door into a hell dimension, frowning at him like Eddie had personally insulted his mother.

"Hey hey hey, where do you think you're going like that?"

"Um?" Eddie squinted back at him, not sure if he was more taken aback by being summarily scruffed like an unruly dog or how weirdly unthreatened he felt by the entire experience. "I don't think someone dressed like an extra from Top Gun has room to insult my fashion choices."

Steve made this hilarious little squinched-up face, like, what? And then promptly ignored him. "Zip that shit up," he said, releasing Eddie in order to gesture to his shirtfront. "Those layers won't do jack shit if you leave it open."

There was a lot to unpack there, not the least Steve's beleaguered single-mother-of-four tone, but Eddie focused on the most important part. "You remember my part in the plan, right? Hard to play a badass guitar solo when I'm all bundled up, dude."

Steve hit him with the most unimpressed look Eddie had ever seen on a human face, and he'd been in and out of detention since grade six. "Hard to play anything with your guts ripped out, dude."

That… was a compelling point. Eddie looked guiltily down at Steve's middle, the bulk of makeshift bandages just visible under the thick fabric of his t-shirt, then shifted his spear to his other hand in order to zip up his jacket. At Steve's expectant expression, he sullenly zipped up the vest, too.

"Happy now?" he said, spreading his arms for inspection. "Do I pass muster, my liege?"

Steve just looked him up and down, like he was actually checking, and then gave him an absolutely shithead grin that Eddie remembered from high school and clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll do."

Dustin eyed him with hilarious skepticism as they emerged from the trailer, but kept his mouth shut until Steve and co. were venturing off into the woods. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said, "You look like Rambo screwed the Stay-Puft marshmallow."

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie said gratefully, and then Eddie played a concert, and Eddie played the hero, and Eddie didn't die. And that's why he starts the story there, right in the middle of everything: because it was the first time Steve took care of him when he needed it.

It definitely wasn't the last.

#stranger things #steddie #fic #i have a lot of feelings about growing up in small towns okay #and how easy it would have been to save eddie by ZIPPING UP HIS FUCKING JACKET

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sevensided · 3 years ago

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I was going to do a whole meta post but I'm actually too sleep deprived, so have this instead:

Vecna didn't create the Upside Down nor is he the master of it. The version that Nancy is currently trapped in is a fascimilie of Vecna's 'mind palace', which is connected to the Upside Down. It's another layer, or version, of the Upside Down, which is shallower and closer to the surface of Hawkins. This would explain the breathability/survivability of the Upside Down as experienced by the Scooby gang, in contrast to previous seasons where the Upside Down was clearly hazardous.

When Will went missing in 1983, him 'falling through' to the Upside Down was the connection point between an abstract, nebulous dimension and the reality of Hawkins. That's why the Upside Down has 'snapshotted' Hawkins as it was in 1983, because Will is the node between them.

As far as we know, Vecna hadn't had any contact with Hawkins prior to 1983 and after 1979, when he was banished to the Upside Down by El. El didn't even create the proper gate to the Upside Down until after this fact, so it stands to reason that Vecna was trapped in a shallow layer of the Upside Down until such time that he was powerful enough to break back through.

Sidebar: I know here some people might say that it's bad writing for this not to be explained, or that there should have been foreshadowing of this moment... this is a classic problem with almost all television shows in that at some point they will need to retcon their own world-building because they didn't yet know the story they wanted to write. Again, doesn't make it bad writing. It's hard to look into the future and have an entire story mapped out ahead of time. It's like how Eddie/Robin/any other side character wasn't mentioned until their moment of arrival... because the writers didn't know they existed yet.

At this point I will posit that Will is central to the Upside Down closing forever - and he has been since the start of the show. He is the touchstone, the contact point, between reality and the Upside Down - he is the conduit through which reality shifted and the dimensions collapsed/blurred over each other.

It is significant that despite a running theme in S4 being that Hawkins is 'cursed', the Upside Down doesn't exist as such until the gates are opened. Peter has powers without the Upside Down. This is where we have to draw the distinction between Peter/Vecna's mind manipulation powers and the Upside Down as a standalone entity. For example, the place where Nancy is currently trapped? It's stated in the show that this is Peter's mind - it's not technically the Upside Down. It might all be connected, but it's more like they're running around a giant skull dome instead of the Upside Down ether encountered in previous seasons.

This demonstrates that:

Peter/Vecna has complete control over his 'layer' of the Upside Down, with our characters 'pawns in a game', running around his game board. (See: the chess metaphors in S4).

Whatever the Upside Down is beyond Vecna's mind palace, it is more foreign, uncontrolled, and unknowable than anything they have experienced so far. The closest approximation to this evil/Big Bad is the Mind Flayer, who is frightening purely because it has no agenda, no 'villain monologue' to explain its purpose. It heat-seeks towards Will for a reason we do not yet know, and it is precisely this dumb destruction, this blind power that makes the Upside Down and the Mind Flayer at its core the most terrifying aspect of the show.

So, tl;dr Vecna/Peter is an embodiment of the danger, but he is not THE danger they have yet to face. He is quite literally a form - in every sense of the word - of evil. He is the unconscious. The Mind Flayer could be the subconscious.

#st4 #st theory #st4 theory #st4 spoilers #stranger things 4 #*#meta

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junova · 4 years ago

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𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞.

notes: howdy guys, it's been a while. i've been taking a break and finally starting writing again, yay. it's been a rough few months and still treading through it, but i hope you enjoy a piece of my heart with this one.

if it's any consolation, my heart broke while writing this. </3

pairing — boxer!steve rogers x fem!reader

concept — steve has to come with terms of you not wanting him just as much as he wants you.

wc — 6.7k+ [yeah...]

warnings: 18+, themes alluding to sex, emotional cheating, soft!steve, heartbreak, kind of unrequited vibe going on, over all ✨ angst ✨

Even if it was the thousandth time to watch his body move in the ring, you still were memorized by the way he moved. You were in complete admiration of how his hips flowed so fluidly through his punches. Just like always, he was aware of your presence as you stood next to Sam and Wanda, both of them with proud smiles on their faces as he defeated yet another opponent.

Watching as they raised his arm, declaring him as the champion, something he’d been striving so intensely for, the past few months. Even if his body was bruised and littered with the hits Rumlow had been able to mark his body with and not to mention the busted lip, making him taste the blood with nearly every swallow.

It didn’t matter because he had followed through with what he had set his mind out to do. The looks Rumlow was giving him after all the smack talk he had served him was satisfying enough. Even if he didn’t think you did, he saw you standing there alongside his friends, celebrating the win of his life.

He couldn’t but smile proudly at your presence, even if the disapproval you have against his lifestyle was well known between the two of you and everyone else in your friend group.

Steve knew you weren’t a fan of the injuries you brought home in your shared apartment, the nights you actually stayed there. With Jordan’s absence from New York, you’d been staying there more consistently than ever.

He would never admit it out right, but it made his heart full. With you home, he could protect and he worried wherever you weren’t there. Even if he knew you were fully capable of defending yourself if need be, it would always make him feel better when you were close to him.

Just like him, you could confess it even to yourself, but when you were back in the apartment you shared with Steve, you’d always felt safer.

He went straight to the locker room, to clean himself up as best as he could without making his friends and Tony wait too long. He’d usually go straight to them but the group took notice he held himself back when you were around.

The first match you went to and he came up with bruises running along both rib cages, a bloody nose accompanied by a busted lip, he immediately took notice of the way you cowered away from him. Barely even looking at him as you congratulated him. From then on out, he realized how much it bothered you to see him physically injured.

When you’d come, he’d always make sure to clean himself up before. It really worked out on the days he didn’t want to be around many people. Only the stragglers from the crowd would be left, and his friends who supported him nearly every time.

As soon as he made his way over to the group, he was met with Sam’s warm smile pulling him into a warm hug. You found yourself wincing as soon as Steve did. “Easy there big buy, bruises are still fresh.” Sam let up just a tad, before everyone was congratulating him. You stood back with Tony, watching the proud smile grow on his face as he watched his prodigy surpass his monumental goal.

“You should think about coming to more matches. He fights better when you’re here watching him.” You twisted your neck so you could see his coach more clearly who was standing right beside you. “I’m sure he plays just as well when I’m not here. I still watch them everytime, just from home when it’s too much for me to stomach.”

You looked forward away from Tony, Steve coming into your line of vision as Sharon, his ex who had surprisingly shown up to corral by his side, someone you’d hadn’t seen near him in the past few weeks since she’d been out of the country for work.

“His technique and endurance is the same, but his intensity always rises higher when you’re here. I’m not the only one who notices, maybe the only one bold enough to say it to you.” Tony spoke as watched the man he took in when Steve was just sixteen.

Truly, it made his heart swell with pride to see him reach the level of success he had been dreaming for him since the pair had met. Knowing Steve for the past five years, also made him hyper aware of the girl he never seemed to shut up about, not that you’d ever find out.

No matter how much Tony was dying to let the words slip off his tongue.

“I’m just happy to be here for him.” Keeping your words short as you watched Sharon move closer to him, her hand resting on his chest and he didn’t even move away from it. You tried to ignore the ugly shade of green rising in your chest, but with him it always seemed to show.

Not that you’d had a right to, you weren’t single or emotionally available by any means, but the thought of him being with someone who had hurt him so much made you more protective of him than you had a right to be.

“C’mon little dove, have you thought about why you’d rather stay in the dinged up apartment with Steve than be with your boyfriend of three years across the country?” He pressed harder, making sure you were careful of your response. “My friends are here and so is my family. I can’t just leave everyone I love behind.” Your gaze never left Steve’s as he finally was out of Sharon’s grip.

“Steve’s here, too. You sure it has nothing to do with him?” Part of you couldn’t stand there with Tony and lie to him because you weren’t sure what was the nature of your relationship with the boxer.

Thankfully, you were saved from responding by the devil himself as made his way over to the two of you. Much to your dismay, he had to get in a few more words before Steve was in earshot. “Just think about why Steve lives with you when he’s had more than enough to move out for a while now.”

Before you could even process the words leaving his mouth, your favorite man in the ring immediately has you wrapped up in his arms. Holding you so close and so tightly, not even caring if it put more pressure on his lungs than he wished.

“Congrats on the win, Champion. I’m so proud of you.” The arms you had around him were placed gently, too afraid to put any weight on the new bruises. Not to mention the old ones which were still healing.

Once he pulled away from you, just enough so you could look at him. He hummed at Tony and with one nod of his head he knew when the young boxer wanted to be left alone. More times than not, it is usually with you.

“I thought you weren’t coming tonight. Isn’t Jordan in town?” Not even when it was the biggest moment of his career thus far did he care to indulge in his victories. Always it seemed to be looking after you.

“Stevie, this is your night. We don’t have to talk about me — we’re always talking about me.” For a moment he almost bought your act until he looked into those dazzling eyes of yours, ones he never seemed to grow tired of in the past few years.

“I’m not happy unless you’re happy. So, if you need a night where we just watch romcoms and chow on cookie dough ice cream, you know I’m all yours.” Unknowing to the two of you, everyone of your friends was watching the encounter and still couldn’t believe you still were with your current boyfriend.

Or that Steve was just waiting for you patiently. Something that didn’t come easy for him around women. Before you, he didn’t really do relationships with women that didn’t end with him in their bed at some point. Somehow, much to everyone’s dismay, he managed to keep his interactions platonic with you.

At least in their eyes.

“No, Stevie. I’m fine. He just didn’t follow through this time. It’s not the end of the world, I��ll be fine. Tonight, I just wanna be by your side and celebrate you.” Although, he didn’t really believe you Steve decided he would let it go.

“Regardless of it, thank you for coming tonight. Means the world to me.” It really did. Even more so, when he felt like he was one of the reasons you were still in Brooklyn and not in California living with your boyfriend instead.

“Oh, hush bubba. You’re getting so soft on me and you haven’t even had a proper drink in you yet. Let’s just celebrate with our friends, yeah?” You kissed his cheek sweetly, before you were off to Bucky and Nat’s place to get properly fed and surely get Steve drunk off his ass.

It really was the elephant in the room you were choosing to ignore. The fluttering feeling of adventurous butterflies traveling to spaces you didn’t know existed. Everytime he pulled you close to his side or kissed your temple.

When Bucky would do something monumentally stupid, he would whisper a line in your ear humorous enough to hear you laugh. Even right now, when you knew he was exhausted, muscles sore and aching — Steve was still tending to whatever you needed.

In this moment, your body nestled between his legs as he draped his arm across your chest, letting him hold you close was exactly what you needed. Even if you tried to remove yourself several times because of the new injuries, he would never let you.

“What’s next, Rogers?” Steve watched as he craned his neck towards Sharon. You’d almost forgotten she was here, she’d been so quiet most of the night.

“A whole lot of rest and then in a few weeks, right back into training.” He spoke with pride because winning the title went hand and hand with defending it. “You should come to the club. Danielle’s been itching to see you, again.”

Steve grimaced, not just as Sharon’s words, but with how stiff your body became. The way you rubbed back and forth with the tip of your fingers against his forearm came to a halt.

You weren’t really sure what to do because now you felt horrible for even feeling like you had a right to be upset in the first place. Because you didn’t. You weren’t single and Steve was. In this space in time, he did nothing wrong.

When you followed Nat back into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine, away from him, it felt like he had made a mistake.

Just watching as you followed Nat up the pathway, in your pretty green dress, as you messed with the necklace adoring your neck. Something he learned you did when you were anxious.

“Why would you bring that up now? In front of her?” He was slightly pissed off she had driven you away and out of his arms. Steve would have you within his grip constantly if you would let him. Not that you did, but it was still a certain something he found himself wishing for. More than not though, someone else always seemed to hold your attention whenever he wasn’t in the ring.

Jordan. Tony. Sam. Natasha. Bucky. Wanda.

Tonight had seemed it might go in a different direction, until Sharon steered your mind elsewhere. One where you were a girl who missed her boyfriend. Or at least that’s what he thought.

Unknowingly to Steve, Jordan was the last thing on your mind, which allowed the guilt to settle in. Maybe, just this one time it was rightfully placed. The thoughts you were having scared you senseless — making you want to do something you knew you shouldn’t.

You just sat there on the padded bar tool as Nat grabbed a bottle of white with a bottle of red. Like time and time again, Nat read your mind just as she often did. “So, why couldn’t he come this time?” She drilled into you, her iridescent daggers as piercing as ever.

“He said he forgot his mother asked him to help her move out of the house. He said he’d make it up to me some other time.” Just like always.

But you held your tongue before voicing it to anyone other than yourself. It’d been months since you’d seen him in the flesh, and it was the first time he spoke to you in days when he informed you he’d been unable to spend any of his time off with you.

“He’s just never here and he keeps asking for me to move to Los Angeles, but my whole life is here. Before, he never seemed to really pressure me. He was always patient with me to travel at my own pace but I think he ultimately thought I would eventually go there with him.” You breathed out, scared of the truth dripping right out of you.

“I just-, you know what? Nevermind. It’s isn’t important.” She was never one to bite her tongue, but she found herself trying to when your feelings were involved.

“Tell me. What is it?” Your curious, bambi eyes peering into your soul, dying to pull the confession right out of her.

“Do you even miss him when you’re apart for so long? I’m not judging but it just seems like you’re okay. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but why don’t you ever go to him or Jordan to you?” Natasha spoke softly, afraid she might be poking the bear just a bit.

“Of course I miss him. I would see him if I could. I’m just a little too busy right now with work and my family.” You attacked back, feeling the need to defend yourself.

“Are you really going to make me say it?” With both bottles of wine on the counter, she went to grab three more wine glasses — for Sharon, herself, and you.

“Say what? What the hell are you talking about?” You pushed her as she put out the bottles of wine as she managed to link the three vines of the glasses in her left fingertips. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She was regretting it now, because maybe you weren’t quite ready to hear the words everyone else knew to be true. Anyone who was around the two of you could see it.

Perhaps, Nat never spoke a word of it because at the very least, she thought you wouldn’t be as naive to see his feelings. The ones he seemed to offer you on a silver platter, whether you wanted to reject or accept the offering, giving it to you wholeheartedly.

Following her out the patio door where the two of you stopped, not moving a step further. She didn’t really say anything either. Letting you bask in the glow before the fall.

He was laughing so hard, his hand clutching his chest as him. Golden hair shining bright by the fire pit, almost as

lively as his smile. Even if it looked like his spirit could have been beaten out of him tonight, he’d never show it.

When he had trouble keeping his eyes open, he’d force himself to stay alert because moments he could spend with ones he loved seemed too precious to pass up. Especially over the past few months — he didn’t even have to think twice about it.

Through the schedule Tony had him on, his life was eating, breathing, living boxing. Training every day in the gym, whether it be furthering his techniques in the gym to Tony making him regret any mistake he made in the ring.

Even some days he was just weight training when Tony told him he could rest. He couldn’t though. Not when he could taste the sweetness of his dreams on the tip of his tongues.

Every day, dawn till dusk, training consumed every moment of his time. Steve thought his body was restless before, but now? Nothing came even close to this.

Leading Steve to be blissfully unaware of what was actually going in that fantastically bold head of yours.

“Just spill it, Romanov.” You pressured her, but your eyes were too weak to redirect your directions elsewhere. Only Steve holding your attention at one.

“Remember when Steve left for Spain for three months with Tony?” Your body stilled, having a feeling you knew where this was going. Regretting you told her what had happened with Steve in the first after promising him it would just stay between the two of you.

“It was the year Jordan and I had split for two months.” The memory of what happened always clouding your better judgement. The way his eyes shined still haunted you. “Steve had already been there a month when it happened and the second I told him he insisted on flying me out.”

Looking at him fondly, across the greenery before speaking so softly as if he was right next to you, “I could never say no to him. I still can’t.” Nat tried to ignore it but she could see through the fog of your first love fading even if you were trying your hardest to avoid the inevitable heartache.

The care you held for him was oozing out of you, bursting and breaking at the seams. When you kept thinking of him more than a roommate, more than a friend.

“Dove, you can’t just keep pretending your feelings don’t exist. The more you try to bury the root deep the more it will grow.” You knew she was right, but you really didn’t want to hurt anyone.

You supposed you were already causing pain unintentionally. “His biggest insecurity is him. Jordan thinks I’m still here because of him.” You confessed, the ongoing fight no secret to anyone, really.

“Aren’t you?” Maybe if you had been a better liar, you could’ve convinced her but everyone could read you like the back of your own hand.

You hated the spotlight she was putting on you, but even more so because she was right. Moving forward with Jordan meant leaving someone else behind, something you couldn’t seem to prepare yourself to do.

“I love Jordan. He’s my first love and I thought he would be the greatest one, too.” You really want to stop the love and admiration flowing out of you, but you couldn’t choose who you love and maybe it was time for you to stop fighting it.

“Then, I met Steve. He responded to the ad I put out for the spare room in my apartment and we met for coffee.” If you had listened to your mother, her wishes of you not to be in the company of a man who was a complete stranger, you’d never meet the most important person in your life.

“He looked more like a boy back then. Clean shaven. No beard. Steve was still muscular, but not nearly as toned as he is now. But his eyes? They pulled me right in. Still do, every damn time.” You should have held some sort of shame, but you didn’t.

“You should do something about it, Dove. He isn’t going to be single forever.” Nat questioned as you followed her lead, back to the roaring fire.

“Nat, I love Jordan. I could never do that to him.” You really couldn’t, but you also couldn’t find it in you to move with him either. “I know you love him, but you aren’t in love anymore.” Growing closer and closer, back to the group, you saw him clearly.

“What do you mean?” Trying to ignore the pain in your chest as Natasha spoke. “I think you’re scared of ending it with Jordan. Dove. I’ve known you for a long time now and I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you do with Steve.”

The words spilling out of her lips left you a little broken — the truth spearing you through. She wasn’t wrong, not one bit. Nat never nearly was, especially when your feelings were involved. Steve had become such an enigma to you in the past year.

The line of platonic friendship and overflowing emotional intimacy was becoming too entangled for you to even comprehend.

“Just think about it. I just want you to be happy.” The rest of the night, it’s all you could think about. A few days passed and it was still in the forefront of your mind.

When Steve was walking home with you this week, you couldn’t stop wondering all the hypotheticals swarming inside your dreams.

He could tell, too.

You’d never been so quiet, not ever. He’d like to hear you, especially when you were drunk. Like you seemed to be now, at least to him but tequila that lit a fire in your chest a few hours ago was beginning to wear off. Just when the feelings you kept trying to avoid would seep there way back in like your furry, fat cat Thor when he wormed his body through the gate into the apartment.

“What’s wrong? You’ve seemed off this week.” You felt his hand kiss yours, but he didn’t bother to find it’s home. He’d been keeping his distance or at least been trying to. You'd been so vulnerable lately and the last thing he wanted to do was exploit that.

Ever since Sharon had made a comment about Danielle, and you escaped with Nat, something changed. You more guarded around him, more than you'd ever been since you met.

Steve knew there was a reason for it, but he didn't want to push you — not when it looked like you would combust into a breakdown at any given moment.

“I’ve just been thinking about where my life is going and where I want it to go.” You confessed, letting your words linger. “Jordan wants me to move with him to California and I’m running out of reasons to say no.” In perfect harmony, your eyes met his at the same time.

They weren’t joyful what his bright blues usually possess, but this time they were indifferent. Not even you could read them.

“Do you want to move there with him?” Steve asked you, his heart on the verge of dropping into his stomach. “If it will make you happy, you should.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, you watched him drift away from you.

“I don’t know. It might.” Both of you coming to a halt, walking up to the apartment the two of you shared.

“He’s insecure about you. It’s why he’s pressuring me.” The two of your bodies so close but so far away as you stood in the doorway. With a confusing gaze and pouty lips, practically guiding you into temptation.

“He used to always tell me you were in love with me. He was fully convinced, still is. I never thought so. You were just my best friend, that was it. I just never really thought about it unless Jordan brought it up.” You would have loved to blame your sudden outburst on the alcohol, but it was something you'd been dying to do.

Before you never had the guts, but you a felt a pull towards Steve lately, like maybe there was something more trying to burst under the seams.

“I thought Tony was bullshitting me, fucking with me, but I didn’t ever give it a thought. Then, Nat brought up Spain.” Nights you told yourself were a mistake, but deep down it was the probably the safest you felt in a long time.

“What are you talking about? What did Tony say?” Fetching for the key, he slid it in before opening the door for you and following you inside. “Steve, why do you still live here?” Blushing cheeks and a string of incoherent words was all you could make out from him.

As he headed for the small couch, trying to make up an excuse good enough. One which you’d actually believe, he hoped.

“You make four times as much as me, if not more. For some reason, you’ve decided to stay in this shithole apartment — it doesn’t make sense.” He wished you would make sense of it, that way he didn’t have to say a word.

“Do you want me to move out?” He questioned, watching your movements. If you wanted him to move out, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

It was the last thing you wanted, but the line between your friendship with him was always blurred. Only now, when it was vaguely pointed out by the two people close to the both of you — it became more apparent than ever.

“No, I just, I guess I’m asking why. You know you’re more than welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, but this place is a dump, Steve. Why on earth would you wanna stay here?” When he looked up, where you stood above him having a hard time biting his tongue.

Because you’re here.

It’s what he wanted to say, but he didn’t have the right and he would just be an asshole if he put you in a compromising position. He already felt guilty enough with his feelings in the first place, he didn't need to pile on.

“I guess it’s just easier to stay. It’s so close to the ring and I’m maybe a tad too comfortable.” You sat next to him on the couch. Finding yourself trapped in the green of his eyes. “Don’t you want something better?” Maybe it was him or maybe it was you. Neither of you could tell.

The two of you inched closer until Steve was caressing your thigh, just with the tip of his thumb. “I’m more than happy with where I’m at.”

“Well, I’m asking because I need to go to California. Just for a bit. I need to see Jordan, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him.” He didn’t stop touching, not even with the mention of his name.

Even if it pierced him every time you talked about him. Or when Jordan came to town, he felt like he didn’t exist to you.

He didn’t blame you, not at all. Jordan was your highschool sweetheart, and you wanted so badly for it to work but something was holding you back. Something you were trying to let go of.

“He loves me so much and wants to start building this whole new life, but how am I supposed to tell him?” Steve said nothing, letting you sink into the ground.

“He’s been nothing, but kind and loving. Always there, always supportive. The best partner I could have asked for.” Steve laced your hand in his like it was the most natural thing in the world, making butterflies erupt at full speed.

You couldn’t really pinpoint a moment when he started, but all you knew is how safe his warm, calloused hands made you feel. Since the moment you met, never failing to comfort you when needed.

“Then what’s the problem, Dove?” Steve questioned you, untangling his body from yours.

If he was going to help you, he needed to think and being so close to you wouldn’t get himself where you needed. Above all, you didn’t make any easier when a small whine left your throat — tugging at his heart strings.

“We never talk about what happened in Barcelona.” You watched his body tighten, muscles in his arm constricting.

It made him feel just as uneasy as it did to you. At least you could find comfort in that.

“Dove, there’s a reason for it. You and I both know it.” Steve was right. His self righteous sense of nature always kicked in when you wanted it the least.

“You don’t think about it? Because I do.” Pushing weight on his heart, you were very aware you held. You weren’t too naive to know just how much he cared for you, but coward enough to try and make him admit it first.

“You were broken up, things are different now. We’re home where you have a boyfriend and I have boxing.”

“Yes, where I have a boyfriend who wants me to abandon everything I hold close to me to join him without even bothering to ask me what I want.” You puffed out, exhaustion coming in overflow. “The past year, he hasn’t once asked me what I want.”

The boy with golden locks found himself wanting nothing more than to hold you in his arms, nurse you back to health with all the love he could offer.

But even he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep on spreading himself thin over a woman who was so conflicted, so distraught she was collapsing within herself. If he wasn’t too careful, he might fall right beside you.

“Before we got back together, he asked me.” You confessed, feeling better as soon as the secret flew from your mouth. “He asked you what?” Steve pressed on, a bit terrified of it truly, but even he had to know.

“He asked if anything happened between us the months I was there and I lied. Ever since we met, he’s been insecure. He thinks I’m going to leave you for him and it wasn’t the first time he asked either.” You wish you hadn’t dealt with the two of them so poorly, but with the expression on Steve’s face you knew you had.

“He knows I lied and it hurts even more he stayed with me anyways.” Steve didn’t move, his fear keeping him still.

“I don’t know how to be his after you, but I don’t know how to let go of my high school sweetheart either.” You felt trapped, in between an impossible decision. An old love, who loves you past your mistakes, past the hurt and a soulful heart admiring you from where you’re at and nothing less.

“Those nights don’t have to mean anything if you don’t want them to.” He spoke softly, his beautiful orbs catching yours in the moonlight peeking through the window.

“They mean too much to me, that’s the problem.” If he didn’t move as you inched closer to his body, planting yourself in front of him, you could tell he was straining himself.

“Do you remember the first time?” He looked confused, wondering if you truly were bold enough to speak of something you shouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. Your hand found his chest, feeling the pulse of his rapid heart beat. “I was so shy and timid the first time with you, but you guided me so well.” Too fond of the memory of him worshipping every part of your body.

The very thing he wanted to do since the moment he met you, but Steve wanted more than that. Now more than ever.

“You don’t have to remind me, Dove. I remember.” He swallowed deeply, trying to erase the permanent memory of your body writhing beneath him, moaning out his name, begging him for more.

He still found himself thinking about it. Those two months with you had just amplified what he felt even more because now he knew what it was like for you to wake up in his arms, bare skin against his own.

The way you curled into his chest, your arms wrapped around his waist for optimal comfort.

Or when he’d wake up before you, which was most days, he’d find you murmuring his name in your sleep while soft fingertips caressed your skin lulling you into a more peaceful slumber.

“I never forget, Dove. That’s the problem.” With one finger, he pushed back the hair falling in your face tucking it behind your ear. “I tried to move past it, I went on a couple dates with this woman, Danielle.” You already felt your heart clench at the thought of him with someone else.

“She’s kind, smart, and beautiful and she seems to like me. Sharon keeps bugging me to take her out again since she set the two of us up.” Steve was trying to talk calmly, but he couldn’t ground himself. Especially when you only seemed to pull back further from him.

It was weird that Sharon set the pair up, considering she dated Steve not too long ago but it seemed she could put her feelings inside if it was for your despair.

In her daunting eyes, you were the reason her and the promising boxer broke up in the first place. As cliche as it was, she offered Steve an ultimatum after six months of dating — her or you.

Steve picked you.

It wasn’t like he loved her at that point. He did care for her, but you just meant too much to him. When kind, iridescent eyes met his own for the first time Steve never was able to stop thinking about them. Or you for that matter.

Carefully calculated as Steve could be, he managed to trap you between the closed door of his bedroom and his toned body.

“But I want to hear you say something before I do.” His gaze never faltered for a moment as he played with the hem of the short slip dress adoring your taut figure.

Half of your mind was begging you to retreat into your room and forget the last time you’d been pressed up against him like this. The other half wanted to see what he would do once he knew you were in the palm of his hand once again.

You had a feeling he already did.

His beard was grown out and his silky, golden hair that almost reached his shoulders make him look even more deliciously sinful.

“What’s that?” You tried not to gulp loudly, but if you even made the slightest movement, he would notice. “Tell me you’re in love with him.” His soft thumb caressing your side, not sure if he was trying to soothe himself or you.

“Just tell me five years down the line, you see him right there with you. Just say it, so I can move on.” He couldn’t even look at you, he couldn’t take the inevitable. “Tell me we’re just friends and Jordan’s your future.” You met his eyes, the prettiest blues you’ll ever see.

Commanding your attention without even trying — every damn time. You weren’t sure what you wanted, but you knew seeing him hurt was chipping a piece of you away. Watching his arched eyebrows furrowed in distress, fine lines being made in the middle for proof.

Soft fingertips met his skin, smoothing out his furrowed brows, closing his eyes trying to remember what you smelled like. Just like Sharon reached her breaking point, he had too. Steve couldn’t watch you any longer without being the one you wanted without a doubt.

“Stevie.” You softly whisper, before pulling him into your arms.

Even if he was double your size, he let you hold him as best as you could. Comfort him even if you were the reason he’s breaking.

The strong, persistent boxer had been transported back to the sick and thin kid he once was before all the guns and glory came. Steve was right back to where he got rejected by anyone and everyone. A time and many places where no one gave a damn about Steve Rogers, not anyone he wished for.

You watched him untangle himself from you, but you weren’t sure just how much time had passed. A few minutes? Thirty? An hour?

Only time could tell and she wasn’t really on your side at the moment.

“I’ve only found love once. Back in high school, there was this girl, Hazel. She was kind, sweet, eyes that shined like fresh honey. The first person to ever show any interest in me and I was in love with the fact that someone actually wanted me.” Steve felt his heart clench at the memory he wished to forget.

“I truly believed I loved her with every fiber in me and I thought she cared about me too, until I realized she was just using me to get to Bucky.” You watched the distress wash over him again and you wanted nothing more than to make him feel appreciated and loved. Not rejected and forgotten.

“It broke my heart for months because I truly believed I was in love with this girl who I hardly knew.” He sighed deeply, like he somehow already was aware of the soft whisper of goodbye.

“It always kind of stayed with me, not ever feeling like I was good enough for anyone until Tony found me. Graduated high school and I started training dawn till dusk until I couldn’t anymore just to start all over and do it the next day.” He was looking everywhere but you. Even if there was not a thing in this damn hallway, but two pressured hearts.

“Not too long after, I met you and I remember thinking this is the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met in my life.” Now, feeling like an absolute dick because you truly didn't deserve for this wonderful man to be in your life.

“You were so kind to me and you had no reason to be, but I learned it’s just who you are. This amazingly bright full beam, shining their light on everyone else — not paying attention to how much they give even if it’s everything they have.” Your skin felt hot beyond comparison, the passion in the words he spoke deeper than the memory of his skin against your own.

“I always tried to ignore it, how stupidly kind and thoughtful you are. How much you take care of me when you don’t have to. You cleaned my wounds for months without even asking me what I was doing.”

“I already knew you had a boyfriend, one you love very much, but I couldn’t stop myself from being around you. Now, I have to leave. I need to move on for me because I know how this ends for me — how it always has.” He sighed before walking away, leaving you hanging in every conceivable way. You didn’t notice the suitcase by the door before. Until he was walking out of the apartment with his possessions in hand — out of sight and out of mind.

“Wait!” He was already making it to his car, the old beat up pickup truck he couldn’t seem to get rid of when you reached him. “I just need time, Steve.” You’d been sprinting after him, until you caught up to him, making his attention fully focused on you.

“Jordan’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had — I don’t know how to let him go.” You were crying because maybe, deep down you were hoping you could have your cake and eat it too.

“And you’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with, Dove. I can’t keep sticking around hoping you’ll wake up one day and feel the same.” He emptied his belongings in his truck before returning his attention towards you.

“Steve, don’t do this. Please. Don’t leave me.” You’d become so dependent on him, more than you realized. “You’re the only person who truly loves me and not for who they want me to be.” Trying to plead with him, but it felt like you were only pushing him even further away.

“Then tell me I’m the only one you want.” But all he was left with silence because you couldn’t and he already knew what you didn’t. He knew you hated change more than anything, that you’d rather stay in what was comfortable even if you were presented with a different option.

Someone you wanted more.

With tears in your eyes, you looked up at him like he was crushing you and there was nothing to stop the numbing feeling. He sympathized, maybe more than he liked to admit, it’s what he chose to live with over the past year. It started the moment he met you if he was truly being honest.

He knew there was nothing left for him, no matter how much his heart clenched at the sound of your cries. He couldn’t be the one who was always taking care of you, loving you, when you didn’t feel what he felt. It was splitting him open, and you just kept taking pieces of him away — parts of him you would hold forever.

He let you cling onto him one more time, begging for him not to leave you. He let you believe he wouldn’t as he calmed you back in a false sense of security. Until you were asleep in his soft sheets later that night, leaving you lonely in the home you’d been sharing.

With only half of his belongings with him, he pulled up to the project he had just completed. Even now, with not a single hope you would ever see it after he just abandoned you, there was still a light hope you’d be able to at least see it one day. If Steve was ever strong enough to face his heartbreak again.

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warduke · 2 years ago

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a few ants are smashed under a heavy wet towel, and leave behind their imprints on the glassed marble floor. Their comrade in the grout trench fares no better.

A sun reaches a milestone in its life cycle, supernoving whatever was caught in its orbit.

Some stray soapy water splashes up my arm and a lineage of bacteria comes to an end all at once.

I'm transfixed by the idea that massive and unknowable phenomena could end everything at any given time. Not just end my life or destroy my house but completely change the context of everything I've ever known or could still learn.

There are things so much smaller than me that I will never realize they exist. I breathe them in and they are forever changed.

It's not like the personal hand of an immense angry god. It's just the shifting of the weight from one position to another. It's just outside of our context so we never see it coming.

Nothing massive enters the lives of mortals without ruin.

The only defense is that we're quicker. If we stuck around long enough the shift will come, it's only with hope that we can die before the context of everything we know is forever altered.

It's not even very sad. It just kinda is. One second you're whatever you are and before the end of that second you aren't that anymore. Maybe you're dust but maybe you're something even finer.

I keep imagining being crushed completely all at once, but ig there are any number of ways to be completely unmade in an instant. Idk if there's any sensation to that. There isn't even the context to feel it

Even ants are too big compared to us. They can see and feel us in some ways. But what lives and learns in the crust between my eyelids and what happens to it when I'm done blinking?

Is it surprising it hasn’t happened yet?

Maybe where I'm going wrong is assuming that it would be a change beyond knowing that takes place in an instant. Maybe it's slower than we could ever notice, or both.

I have the same feeling about nuclear war. It could just happen and everything I can see is instantaneously atomized. But that is much more tragic. Instead of a natural turn of cosmic events it is purposeful and designed and stupid.

At least there's nothing a dustmite can do when he's caught in a rain drop. It won't be any different for those at ground zero, I guess, but the needlessness of causing that much ruin on purpose is too much to think about. It's petulant.

Ik this is kinda what all modern literature was about, but it really is the most absurd of all industrial violence. It's the end of everything, done with personality and delusion

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pleckthaniel · 4 years ago

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Tell me more about Lovecraftian horror in Warriors it sounds very interesting :O

Okay so like, honestly WC invokes cosmic horror fairly often. Quick terms clarification: cosmic/lovecraftian horror has become kinda popularly synonymous with 'Big tentacle-y gods with hard-to-pronounce names,' but the original meaning and the one I'm using here is 'horror which emphasizes fear of the unknown and the unknowable.' I think with this definition you can kinda see where this tends to crop up: when the cats are dealing with humans, when they're dealing with the dog pack or Sharptooth, arguably also with the smart rats in Firestar's Quest, and to some extent when they're dealing with StarClan (though the Erins tend to downplay the cosmic horror of StarClan lol). But the biggest and most obvious place they invoke it is with Scourge and BloodClan, which is also why those elements have had the lasting power they do.

Let me actually backtrack a little bit here and ask a very relevant question. Why did the Erins get away with having Scourge kill Tigerstar? No other childrens' series that I can think of has done something similar. Can you fucking imagine if halfway through Harry Potter book 7, JK Rowling had been like, 'psych, Voldemort just got hit by lightning and fucking died'? People would have rioted in the streets tbh. And rightfully so! * In the children's adventure genre, which is where both HP and WC fall, as soon as you give us a relatively likeable, easy-to-root-for protagonist (Harry or Fireheart) a reasonably cruel and powerful archnemesis (Voldemort or Tigerclaw) to fight, you have promised the audience a showdown between them. You can't get out without giving them a satisfying resolution to that conflict. So how did the Erins manage to fully avoid doing so?

As far as I can tell, there are two major reasons that it works. One is what I'm going to call the Matt Arnold School of Avoiding Writing Set-Pieces (side note if you're a writer please listen to story break lol it's a good show it makes me think about shit and it indirectly prompted this post by making me think about TDH again). Basically the idea is that if you promise the audience an explosion, you can only substitute that explosion with an equal-or-greater-sized explosion. For example, in Star Wars, the beginning of the movie promises the destruction of an entire planet when the Death Star is introduced. So in order to get away with not blowing up Yavin-4 or whatever the rebel base is called, the planet-sized Death Star is blown up instead. You get to both see the explosion and have the good guys win; a fully satisfying ending for an adventure story. The Darkest Hour does the same thing. It sets up an ultimate showdown between Good and Evil that will determine the fate of the Clans themselves. When Tigerstar is killed, he is literally instantly replaced by another evil cat who also wants to take over the forest. So while the most surface-level expectation that the battle is going to be Firestar vs Tigerstar is subverted, the promise of the premise is still fulfilled.

The other reason is that BloodClan doesn't come out of nowhere. No their existence was not hinted at in previous books, but that's because they don't really come out of the world, they come out of Tigerstar's arc. In short, Tigerstar is an incredibly effective villain; he's incredibly charismatic, has no short supply of honor to his name to lend him a lot of credence in the eyes of the general population, and is completely ruthless in his pursuit of his goals. BUT, he has an ego on him. An ego that gets significantly worse over the course of the series. When it starts, he's just making derisive comments about kittypets. But by the time The Darkest Hour starts, he has tried to take control of a feral, vicious, barely-restrained dog pack and is also currently plotting to make himself the new god-king of the forest.

So BloodClan? They're just an escalation of the same internal tendency the dog pack represented. Tigerstar is so driven to succeed that he is willing to meddle with forces that should not be meddled with. Forces that are almost unknowably powerful compared to the Clan cats... forces that one could call... cosmic? So even though we don't get our classic Good-Vs-Evil showdown with Tigerstar, his arc still ends in a satisfying way, and honestly in a much better way than just fighting Firestar would have been, because we see that he planted the seeds of his own destruction with his hubris. He's transformed into the classic Level 1 human villain in cosmic horror, the cult leader who summons the actual tentacle-god and is promptly destroyed by it.

And BloodClan themselves, the reason they stick out in so many kids' minds as the most iconic part of the series, the reason Scourge is one of the few characters from Warriors to transcend fandom spaces and become semi-recognizable in his own right, is because they are goddamn scary, not in an edgy or gory sense, but because they are the cosmic horror, because their power is presented to us as beyond comprehension, to the point where they wear the teeth of the last cosmic horror in the books (dogs) for fun decoration. To the point where Scourge literally eviscerates the villain that had been built up to for six books at this point in one fell swoop, while also personally undermining the only piece of magic that currently canonically exists. To the point where their forces are presented as essentially infinite and undefeatable unless they are first demoralized by the death of their leaders. None of those things are traditional horror (even other horror scenes within the series or book itself, like the Bonehill scene, rely more on traditional horror elements) but they are instead about the terror that is inspired by encountering something that can literally crush you like a bug and might not even notice doing it.

Incidentally, this is also why I really don't like Rise of Scourge. It's a good standalone, I know it's a lot of people's favorite WC graphic novel. But when you tie it back to Darkest Hour, it completely undermines what that book was doing. I think what the Erins were trying to do was the classic like, tyrants are just humans too, type of theme. And I'm all for that! It's a good theme, normally. Obviously it worked really well for Tigerstar in arc 1. But it doesn't work for Scourge because Scourge isn't the tyrant archetype. He's not an evil dictator like Tigerstar was, he's fucking Cthulu.

* some have argued that the way the final battle between harry and voldemort in HP book 7 is kind of a cop-out ending, but i would point out that while it isn't great, it still isn't random nor out-of-character; it fulfills the promise made at the beginning of the book, that there would be a showdown and one of them would be defeated; my point is that the lightning scenario would not.

#scout talks #anonymous #wc meta #warrior cats

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misterghostfrog · 5 years ago

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So I was reading someones post about what if Jon went back in time to save everyone, and he managed it. He kept Martin away from Prentiss, he Kept Sasha alive, Tim never even know the unknowing existed and he never had Jons paranioa to ruin him. But They never knew, there was never those moments of bonding between the terror. Martin never had that moment when he realized Jon wasn’t just his shitty boss. And sure the assistants were close, but there was no room for Jon. And it gave me thoughts.

Under the cut bc I started to Ramble and it got Long, warning; its Big Sad Hours down there. No happy endings here.

Jon solves all these problems before they start, he fixes it without anyone ever knowing. The assistants are blissfully unaware, maybe he stops sending them on ‘real’ statement followup. The archives are a normal, safe job for all of them. Sometimes it gets too much, pretending he doesn’t know them. So he’ll record, mostly for himself. Sometimes for them, though he’ll never share. He sticks them all in Gertrude's old storage locker, where he knows they’ll never be found.

And then something goes wrong. He knows the unknowing can’t work, of course it can’t. But Nikola doesn’t, none of the avatars know. And Nikola still wants her skin. She still wants his skin, actually. And she’s not afraid to play dirty to get it, she’s hands-on like that. Because why stop at the archivist when he’s got so many lovely ignorant assistants?

So he fixes the problem before she can make good on her threats, she can’t be killed that easily. He knows. But she died during the unknowing, and there are some pretty simple steps to follow to replicate that result. He knows the easiest way to make sure it works is also a death sentence for him. But that’s a simple choice to make. Alright no, it’s not. He’s terrified of death, of dying. He doesn’t want to die, but he can lie to himself. He can delude and say maybe he’ll get another chance. And just in case, he makes sure the assistants know they can quit now.

Tim, Sasha, and Martin don’t know what to make of the news that their boss died mysteriously in an explosion. They know even less what to make of the notes he left them.

Clearly the ramblings of a very unstable man. They all knew Jon was a bit off but this... Well, they all know there’s something weird about the job. But the apocalypse? Really?

Sasha believes some of it, she’s worked in artifact storage. She’s seen what this stuff can do. But, well. Jon’s never come off as the most stable person, and with no proper proof to back up any of this there’s no reason for them to follow suit. After all she’s known lots of people to quit the institute, she even knows for a fact that Eric Delano did it when she was rooting through employee records for perfectly rational legal reasons.

Then Martin gets called up to Elias’s office, and gets the news he’s the new head archivist.

He tries to turn it down, but he’s offered a pay-raise and a promise that he can step down anytime if he doesn’t feel suited to the position. Elias just sees so much potential in him.

Martin tries to feel flattered and not thoroughly terrified by the way Elias says potential. He takes the promotion, after all, he can always step down if it’s too much.

He offers as much when he finds out Sasha probably should have been given the position, but she turns him down. It’s not his fault their boss is a sexist old bastard, and at this rate he’d probably just turn around and give it to Tim.

Things are normal for a few months. Until slowly a strange noise starts to be heard around the archives, a weird sort-of squishing sound with no source. Along with a metallic scent of meat.

An infestation, of course. They’re getting the problem worked on, or so Elias says. But aside from the occasional exterminator coming in to ‘take a look’ nothing ever seems to change. Weird statements start showing up on Martins desk, surrounding meat and twisted up things, eaten alive and wrong. Suddenly he understands how Jon went off his rocker so easily.

It’s hard to believe all this supernatural stuff as it’s suddenly getting crammed down his throat, after so long of the archives being normal in almost every sense of the word it’s like missing a step on the staircase. The more awful statements he finds- that Tim and Sasha confirm -the more he realizes how much his boss was hiding from them.

He wants to quit, he thinks about it, he tries to think about it. But he just, can’t.

It’s another or two month before it happens. Meat and bone and gristle erupt from the floor, taking on horrible mangled shapes of almost-humans reaching out with hands full of teeth and hungry.

They all survive, though Tim gets eaten up a bit more than the rest of them. And they’ll all have nightmares for the rest of their lives. They’re alive.

And they find Gertrude’s body, though none of them know how to feel about it. They’ve realized by now there’s something to Jon’s nonsensical ramblings. And they’re long past regretting not quitting before this all happened.

There’s a section of document storage that got uncovered during the cleaning,an old cot that was shoved behind some of the shelves, and a box that had a few sets of clothes, an old teacup, and a key. The cleaners say they burned the clothes, but the cup and the Key are given to Martin for him to keep to return to whoever left their things in the archive.

Neither of those items belong to Tim or Sasha, so they all assume they belonged to Jon.

They start following Jons footsteps, they find out he was a suspect in an arson case surrounding Carlos Vittery’s old apartment. Nobody was there except one unidentified body. He was arrested for trespassing on a dock, though no charges were filed. There was an incident that ended in the near arrest of one Jude Perry, though no charges were filed and she soon fell off the grid. And then he exploded using C4 he had no way of getting, Nothing concrete, no proper genuine evidence except a series of weird encounters their dead boss had.

Martin Decides to try and hunt down Jude Perry, it takes some time. He has a very nice cup of tea with one Micheal Crew. Who points him in a general direction and is just a bit weird about tall buildings.

Martin finds Jude, and asks her about Jon. She laughs at him, of course. But she tells him anyway. Jon was trying to have her arrested- no, not arrested. Killed. Officer Tonner would have seen to that, he knew one of the Hunt could do her in, well. At least of Officer Tonner’s sort anyway. Jude resisted, naturally. He escaped her clutches only barely, by running. Like a coward. And she escaped the policewoman by playing innocent. She’s still on her tail though, damn dog. It’ll be a long time before she’d rid of her, but she knows better than to run. Oh, he doesn’t know what any of that means, does he? Oh he really doesn’t, how sweet. Just a little baby archivist- she was going to kill him after this. But watching him stumble into his own ruin will be so much more fun.

She sends him on his way with a burn.

Martin is terrified, he genuinely tries to quit. Almost manages it before his computer shuts off. The others try too, and then they all have a lovely freak-out together.

They decide to try and talk to Detective Tonner, which proves easy. She’s the partner of the one who’s been interviewing them. She comes to the institute, and they ask her about Jon. She tells them they believed he was responsible for killing Gertrude, seeing as he was next in line. Martin accidentally Compels her into a statement, and then into admitting she's mostly just saying he killed her because dead men don’t put up fights.

She threatens him right then and there, though Basira comes in and intervenes before anything happens. He files a dispute with the station, and avoids the police after that.

Basira brings him some of the tapes, she says it’s an apology. He’s pretty sure she’s just trying to get him to drop the dispute in the weirdest way possible. He does learn some about Gertrude though, and through her what he’s dealing with. And something about an ‘unknowing’

A man named peter Lukas visits the institute, one of the doners. Elias says he wants to see how the archive runs, Lukas says a few choice words about it. And Martin tells him in the most polite of terms to shove off. Lukas threatens him, and very briefly makes him forget everyone he’s ever loved. And then tells him he got off lucky, and that Elias should have picked a better archivist. You can hardly trust someone so childish to run something as important as this now can you.

Daisy visits him in his home, and threatens him in much more physical terms now. She tells him if he tries to do what he did to her again he’ll get more than a scar.

After that it’s a bit unclear how he gets marked by the next two (Curruption, Stranger.) but he does.

There’s a delivery, a few weeks after the stranger mark. It’s not supernatural in any sense, just a young woman dropping off a small box in the archivists office. She says her name is Georgie, and no, she doesn’t know what’s in the box. She just had an old friend tell her to deliver it if he didn’t check in after a bit. Then she found out he died on the news, and then she hadn’t wanted to deliver them- clearly whatever was in the box was going to get someone killed. And she wasn’t scared of it, she wasn’t one for fear, but the thought of putting anyone in danger made her skin crawl. But she didn’t want it in her house, and she refused to be haunted be this box forever. And there was no reason to defy the poor guys apparent final wishes- wait, why was she saying all this again?

In the box was tapes, a dozen or so of them. All addressed to ‘the next head archivist’

It’s Jon’s voice, on the tapes. Talking to who he apparently assumes to be an entire stranger, explaining the fears. And how Smirkes 14 wasn’t wrong, but wasn’t right either. It tells the next archivist to avoid eyes, paintings, doodles, abstract representations, and to keep playing dumb. There’s a lot out there, and the more you know the worse it gets. There’s no fighting, don’t struggle the nets already around you. There’s a way out, but you’re not going to like it.

It gives an odd image of Jon, the man who awkwardly tried to make small-talk int he break room, only to shuffle away after it fell flat. Carrying this world-ending secret on his shoulders. Stiff, awkward Jon. Grim, sad Jon. not so far apart but still so far outside of what Martin had known about him.

What had Martin known about him?

Tim decides to quit, Sasha stays. Elias hires Melanie. Who turns out to be another connection to Jon.

Melanie says he was kind of a prick, he belived her about her Sarah incident, but refused to give her library access. Probably because he was sexist, or maybe just a dickhead. She’d been trying to learn more about her encounter for ages. And this was finally her chance. They try to explain the way out but she won’t listen.

Martin starts following Gertrudes tapes, things about the unknowing have been popping up on his desk lately, and it sounds like Jon was right about an apocalypse. He goes to america, gets a bit kidnapped, and meets Gerry. He offers to help, and then asks about the unknowing. Gerry points him towards the storage locker. And when he gets back He and Sasha and Melanie check it out.

It’s mostly empty, apparently somewhat recently cleared out. Though in the corner there’s a large box of Tapes. There has to be dozens of them, and when they pres play it’s Jon. Talking to them. Except it’s not them, it’s another version of them, and something this version.

And there’s another Jon to add to the mystery of a man he was. The jon on these tapes isn’t stiffly awkward or forcedly professional. He’s open, sad. He cries, he laughs at memories they don’t have. He apologizes, a lot. Too much really. He talks about time travel, about forgetting faces and losing friends.

“Sometimes I-I think- I can’t help but be a bit... upset. At how unfair it all is. You’re all happy and laughing and together and i’m-

i’m alone.

I suppose it must be some sort of- cosmic Karma, I doomed the world so in this new one bright an new I pay my penance in isolation.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. I doom the world- suffer its horrors, and get a little bit of time to taste what humanity would be like.

Or maybe i’m just not that likable without an apocalypse.

Probably says a lot about me either way.

Is it bad that I- I sometimes consider letting things play their course? W-without any of you dying of course I just... I suppose it is bad, to want to end the world because you’re lonely. Just because i’m a bit sad doesn’t mean the planet should suffer, no... maybe i’ll try and reconnect with Georgie, it’s been... well. No. Perhaps best not.”

Sasha says that if she knew she would have at least brought him out for drinks or something.

But they did sort-of know didn’t they? Not about the apocalypse, but about the loneliness. After all, nobody chats so awkwardly in the break room because they have a thriving social life.

“I’m going to kill Nikola tonight- i’m not going to die. I’m not. I didn’t die last time, a-and there’s no reason for that to change. T-there isn’t. I’m going to try and be a safe distance from the blast this time, too. But... Well, it’s not like I have anyone to miss me if I do go.

I suppose... Martin, if you’re listening to this- I... I miss you. You always did say I should be more open with my feelings, and it’s weird. To miss someone who’s right there. T-to look at a face and see a friend and a stranger. To love someone you’ve known for years who doesn’t even really know who you are.

It’s all very stranger, ironic really. Considering what i’m about to do.

I love you, and I miss you. I know you’re not listening, even if I did die you’ve probably long since quit. I hope you’re happy, whatever you’re doing. Happy and safe. All of you.

And maybe you are listening, maybe... maybe we do become friends, maybe you actually choose to talk to me someday. Maybe I tell you about all of this and... And you don’t think i’m mad. Maybe you let me take you out to dinner and we’d be together again. We’d never be like before- not that that’s a bad thing what with the eldritch horrors. There’d be bits missing, memories we don’t share- but, it would still be you... It’s always been you, I think. And maybe I've decided to give this to you as some sort of silly romantic gesture.

A-and in that case. I love you, Martin Blackwood. More than you’ll ever know.

[HE SIGHS]

When I come back, i’m recording over this.”

[CLICK]

But he didn’t come back. He died that night. He died loving Martin, who never even really knew him beyond passing awkward conversation. Martin doesn’t know how to feel about it, besides guilty that is.

The tapes point them towards Georgie Barker, the woman who delivered the other set to the archives.

Georgie doesn’t really want anything to do with them, she knows whatever they’re stewing in got Jon killed. But she tells them about her encounter with The End, though she’s tetchy afterwards. Martins finally starting to understand this whole compelling business and is feeling pretty sorry about it. He redirects, he starts to ask about Jon. Who he was, really. What she knew he was like.

They talk, Martins curiosity is part Eye and part knowing that someone loved him, really, really loved him. And feeling like he missed out, like he skipped a train he hadn’t known was there. And wanting to know what kind of person would- could love him the way Jon did. And why that kind of person could end the world.

They talk, Georgie explains why they broke up (clashing ideals, he didn’t believe in the supernatural and her trauma was so inherently tied to it. He was a sleep-clinger and she kicked when she dreamed) And why it took so long for them to break up (Jon was funny once you learned to get his jokes, the Admiral loved him, he had a weird way of caring that was really sweet) they talk about things, Georgie lets him hang out with her as long as he promises to keep the supernatural out of their conversations. And how is Melanie doing by the way?

Sasha has a hard time splitting her time in the archive and helping Tim. He can manage himself of course but it’s hard knowing he’s sitting in her flat alone, he’s getting back into publishing though. Sleeping easier now he knows that not only is he free of the eye, but Jon very much killed the thing that killed Danny. He only wishes he could have been the one to pull the trigger. Sasha is getting more involved though, the eye has it’s own grip on her.

They finally confront Elias. They know it won’t do any good, Jons tapes explained what he was, who he was. But they’re frustrated. Low on options. Jon never really explained what the apocalypse was- if Martins learned anything from the other tapes it’s probably because he forgot, thought he did somewhere and didn’t.

Elias isn’t entirely surprised that they’ve figured it out, he knew something was going on. Though he wasn’t quite sure what. He claims he knows what oncoming apocalypse Jon was talking about, and that he was likely underestimating the amount.

He sends them to Ny-Ålesund. And Martin views the black sun. Gets briefly taken hostage by Manuela. And gets “saved” by a man who pops out of a door to stab her.

He says his name is Micheal, and he’s not there to help. He does his whole distortion bit, confuses them. Stabs Martin when he tries to take his statement. Says he was going to kill him, but what happens next might be much better than death. And leaves after stating that he’s very excited to watch how the rest of this plays out.

They go back to the institute, and Elias says he must have been wrong. Oopsie. Anyway the web is planning a ritual you should go check out the spooky house from all these statements.

They meet Annabelle in person, Martin gets marked by the web.

This continues on for the end the slaughter and the buried. They finally confront Elias again about these wild goose chases, he claims innocence but he’s done it enough times they don’t believe him. They stop trusting Elias. Not that they ever really did, but they stop listening to him.

Melanie isn’t as angry as she was. Though she is still angry. She didn’t go to india so no ghost bullet, but she’s still trapped. Though she knows how to quit, it’s been a scary idea. But the longer she stays the more she realizes how low she is on options. So she quits.

Martin is angry, he’s exhausted, he’s confused. Nothing makes sense. And another one of Elias’s goddamn doners is visiting. A weird old man who, when he shakes his hand, makes him feel like he just dropped off a rollercoaster at a million miles into empty nothingness. He laughs when Martins regained himself, and says that that tricks better than a buzzer every time.

He visits Georgie again, he’s thinking about quitting. But he can’t figure out what the apocalypse he’s supposed to stop is, because according to Jon it’s pretty bad. And he’s the one who can stop, or maybe start, it. But he doesn’t know what it is.

He talks to Georgie about Jon some more, it’s funny, to grieve a man you already knew. Except four years too late. There’s a sort-of helpless frustration to it, every time he talks about Jon he wishes he could be learning this first-hand. Not from someone who hadn’t spoken to him in years before this.

He also finds himself glued to the tapes, he can relate, in a way. To Jons loneliness. To have a person so, so close but so far away. He wishes he could meet the Jon on the tapes now. Then neither of them would have to be lonely. But Jon is dead. And Martin... Martin might love Jon. Jon, who died years ago. A dead man who apparently loved him enough to consider ending the world for the chance to have a real conversation with him.

He goes back to work, frustrated and so, so lost. A million questions that genuinely can’t be answered. There’s a fresh statement on his desk. It’s a statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding stopping the apocalypse.

Certainly a goddamn roundabout way of giving Martin information, but he’ll take it.

He reads the statement.

The world ends.

Sasha, Tim, Melanie, and Georgie all get their own domains. And wander free in the hills of suffering. Martin is alone, well and truly alone. He ended the world, because he was too stupid and sad to read a few extra paragraphs before starting the tape.

But Jon went back, didn’t he? He went back in time and stopped this once. Maybe Martin can too. Maybe he can stop the flesh from attacking, maybe he can stop Melanie from joining the institute. Maybe he can meet the real Jon.

He goes back, he does it. Nobody remembers but him.

Nobody remembers but him.

And things keep happening he can’t have predicted.

Worms, Sasha is gone, Gertrude. It’s all wrong. And Jon isn’t the Jon he knew, he doesn’t know Martin, he doesn’t even like Martin. Nobody is the person he knew before.

He is alone. And things keep happening he can’t have predicted, worms tables and paranoia. He starts recording. Trying to follow in Jon’s footsteps and leave information behind, easier to access this time of course. In his flat, and he’ll have the key sent to the archives if something goes wrong. He’ll record until Jon trusts him enough to believe him, Maybe he’ll even stop him before it’s too late and he’ll never need to find out what happened at all. Maybe he can't get close as he was to everyone, but he can keep them safe.

He doesn’t get to finish his recordings, he wasn’t careful enough. Jonah catches wind and half the tapes are destroyed when he dies in a mysterious housefire. But what’s left does get delivered to the archives.

And the cycle continues.

#jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma #angst #writing #ghostly scribbles #Tma is a tragedy and so is this #not a proper fic more like a really weird outline

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ushibug · 5 years ago

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Stupid Brain.

Katsuki Bakugo

Summary: you strive for being the best. But when that doesn’t happen you began to fall in the dark fog of your brain and Bakugo hates it.

Warnings: anxiety, mentions of starving (?), depressive thoughts, Bakugo being soft.

A/N: basically another comfort fic for my over achieving anxious girlies.

It was like any other day, a anxiety filled mess. It was the fear of failure bitting at your heals and the over comparing yourself to your classmates. The idea that “if you weren’t number 1, you where nobody.”

It was clear on your face during your training in the Gym Gamma. The scowl, the grimace, the distaste for every little move you made. It wasn’t up to your own standards. Why weren’t your kicks going the way they where? Why did your quirk not hit the middle of your target? Why why why why.

You’ve been training for years. Dieting, starving, not sleeping, learning, putting in extra hours of cardio, workouts. So why couldn’t you be at your standards? Why wasn’t it all coming together already?

Why does Bakugo even stay with someone unable to even achieve the simplest things to get to the greater ones? It was true, you had both found comfort in each others odd need for competition and success. Both unknowingly sneaking away to get an extra training session by the P.E field at the same time. At first, head to head for the space soon, or more like months, finally learning how to share and train with eachother. Which lead to opening up about each others self ideals, dreams, emotions that where more than anger and thoughts deeper than those around you should ever know. Both wanting to be strong for yourselves, others, and each other. But if you where this pathetic, how could you do that for anyone. How could Bakugo see you as a strong partner when your breath began to shorten and your fingers twitch in fear as you fail once again during JUST training.

Breath. Just breath. Your brain yelled, but the tightening of your chest squeezed tighter and that feeling on the bridge of your nose that was a sign that the dam of tears is going to spill growing stronger.

A gasp left your mouth at the sudden grip on your forearm. Instinctually you twisted your arm to get away from the grip, pushing yourself away from whatever body had snuck behind you. Your eyes immediately latch on to red ones that stared at you in a furrowed expression. Immediately, that protection stance of yours felt silly. “Ah.” You whispered, relieved it was Bakugo and not one of the teachers testing you in combat.

“You idiot!” You said as your tense muscles relaxed. The 10ft you had created between the two of you shortening as Bakugo strided towards you. “Your the idiot.” He barked, his hand flexing up as 10ft became 1 to flick you in the head. “What was that for?!” You whined at the sting, glaring at the boy.

Only noticeable to you, like a dirty secret, his face softened, and eyes stared more intensively into yours. He knows you too well, seeing you train for a year now outside and inside U.A, being with you during it, he knows when your inside your head. Stuck in this pit of a self conscious mess. And he hates it. Despises that your own self can’t see how truly great you are. Hell you even fought head to head with Todoroki and could match up with Bakugo himself, but your acting as if that never happened, that your skills don’t exist. “You’re acting stupid.” Ahh, good words Katsuki

Your eyes widened. Embarrassment pricking at your skin. Had he seen you practicing? Had he finally seen how truly pathetic you are? How weak you are? That anxiety was back, the one that always was near by, never truly leaving. Attacking you when you thought you where safe. “I know.” You whispered, clenching your fists. “Sorry.” Apologizing for your self.

Katsuki noticed the damage of his words, cursing himself mentally for being unable to portray what he truly wanted to explain. “Tch. That’s, that’s not what I meant.” His voice soft, face contorted in worry. A deep breath and setting aside his own cockiness, before glancing around to make sure no actual idiots where close enough, he reached to graze the red mark his flick left. “You are stupid for thinking you are not worthy of what you deserve, that you can’t achieve what you want. Your head is lying to you woman. You can’t let that extra do that to you. You control it Y/N. The only way you’ll be number 1 is if your brain believes it too dumbass.” His hand reached for yours, rubbing his thumb against the raw calluses. “You work hard, these are proof.” He makes your fingers dance against his. A symbol of unity. “We are proof.” His face covered in a blush, he intertwined your hands together.

Your eyes are wide, dumbstruck even. A little envious that Bakugo has had more obvious character development but more proud than anything. But even more than that feeling was the warm flow of love, admiration and happiness. “AH! Why are you crying now woman?!” He exaggerated, pulling away in disgust and confusion. “Thank you.” Was all you could say to the man who helped you grow strength. “I really appreciate your spikey headass.” You smiled widely, a laugh leaving your lips as you voiced your little insult. “There she is.” He mumbled, a smile tugging at his own lips. And as Bakugo does, he fought it, but you could tell he was smiling in his own way.

Anxiety was always going to be your coworker, but it didn’t mean it had to be your superior. Sometimes you forget that, and you where so thankful for Bakugo for pulling you out of that toxic work environment when that happened, making sure you where controlling yourself. It sure took him a while to figure that out too, but he always reminded himself about your little cheers under your breath he’d hear just meant for him, the big speeches you’d make to him when he was being a utter ass, and the hugs you’d give when he was a mess on his own. I guess having each other balanced it out, with a couple pushes of course. It was a true understanding with each other. Achievement starts within, how else will you make “failure” just a word?

Like two dumbass inlove, you stood in the middle of Gym Gamma smiling at eachother idiotically. Unknowing to the eyes that stared occasionally.

“Why can’t I have that?” Denki sighed, leaning against Kirishima goofily who muttered something along the lines of ‘loving someone is so manly’“They’re in the way.” Mumbled Todoroki, who also gave attention to the couple feet’s away from them. “Let them have their moment!” Mina retorted as she passed by. Todoroki sighs.

“Ah yes! Young love! Very plus ultra!” All might belted, making everyone jump, including you two, who scattered from eachother faster than the speed of light. Just for now though.

#boku no hero imagines #my hero academy fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha imagines #katsuki bakugo headcanons #bakugo x reader #bakugou fluff #mha fanfiction #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #Bakugo x you #Bakugo x reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #MHA x you #bnha x you #bnha x reader #boku no hero fanfic

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skiitter · 4 years ago

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Tea.

He tastes of tea.

it's bitter, of course, because there is nothing good in her life not inextricably seasoned with a bitter, sordid aftertaste. Still, that does not make it inherently bad. There is always an upside, there is always a silver lining, no matter how dull she feels, no matter how blunted the edges of her identity become, even once she sends him away. This slice of optimism is all that keeps her afloat, in the dark and dismal days to come.

it was a mistake to want him, absolutely. Though her time amongst her people, that beautiful and cruel impressionable youth, were cut expertly short, Sylvie learned a thing or two about repercussion. If she stole her sister's toys, her father would chastise. If she turned the honeyed mead of dinner into a vile sludge, her mother would rampage. Mother was always a force to be reconciled and secretly, in that yet unknown and underdeveloped aspect of her heart, Sylvie relished the thought of driving her mum crazy.

Only;

There is no mum, not anymore. There is no mother that she clings too, fingers white and bandaged and scabbed and freckled. She misses her mother in the way she misses her childhood bed. Always that beacon of security, there to carry her through every dark and scary night.

Not anymore.

The TVA stole that. They stole all of it. They stole and stole and stole until she was without purpose, without people, without history, without name. Therefore, in the name of survival, she learns to steal too, adopts the TVA's methods as her own in an act of self preservation, and the first thing she takes is a name. Sylvie, barely legible on the first piece of detritus that skitters across her path, a fragment of a reality she will never truly know for she is an invader in this unbeknownst timeline, the first of many she finds herself hiding within. Who or what a Sylvie is she cannot say, but it is that mystery that draws her to it. The TVA cannot destroy that which they do not know. In truth, in the harsh and ugly aftermath of her kidnapping, Sylvie fits better than Loki ever could, for she was not the wide-eyed babe her father christened that warm autumn day. She doesn't even remember her father's face anymore, just an afterimage of warm hands and a heart too big for his station.

For years and for decades there is only the chase, the hunt.

The manner and means through which a person develops when permanently and endlessly subjected to the concept of being unmade festers and shapes into the most interesting of wounds. She is fifteen, running through endless timelines, quite literally for her life. She is twenty-six, hiding among crowds of strangers in decades and eras and universes too innumerable to count, the only commonality being their unseemly and inevitable anarchistic end. She is thirty-one and tired, oh so very tired, of the dance that this heartless Judge has permanently lead her in. Lifetimes span the spaces between, the moments not spent sheltering inside every apocalypse she can find are awash in moments she's too detached to understand.

In short, it's a terrible and inhumane way to grow up.

It is all she knows.

Until him. Until he explodes into her life and upends her well laid plans, rendering her existence into that of the mouse she so violently hated to be. He challenges and prods and bothers. Where she'd expect devotion, understanding, abject absolution, she instead finds obstinance and difficulty. He is that which she could never be, that which she will never understand. What is so vehemently his past can never, ever be her memories.

In every place where they are the same, they are different. Through all the self-aggrandizing wounds of lives she'd never lived and yet come to know the way a child knows the touch of it's misguided hope, there is a solace she's never before been able to actualize. He upsets the balance, he disrupts her focus. There should be hatred, in her, where there is instead affection.

They march through it all, together despite their differences, as one regardless of their matching faults, and in the end, she must once more sacrifice the thing she holds most dear for that which she must take. Theft, oh familiar and gracious thievery taught to her by the miserable monsters of her dedicated TVA, takes the crown, as she always knew it would. This person, this He Who Remains, is representational of the sum total of her life. To destroy him is to fulfill the most ardent of glorious purposes.

And, as she--and as he--have come to find out, there is no Loki without a Glorious Purpose.

To kiss him, to taste the forbidden fruit of her unknowable identity, is to court death and failure and all manner of distasteful outcomes. Still, she wants it and there is little, if anything, that the shadowy and illusive Sylvie truly, wholly wants. So she takes it. One moment, a few heartbeats, a lifetime of pressing her soft and unbidden lips to his. It's selfish in the way that her mission is not, but after all, she was born a Loki and such creation comes not without it's due.

He tastes of tea, like her mother once taught her to drink. He speaks of trust, like her father once taught her to know. There is a thread of commonality between them, but it frays just when the story begins to grow interesting. Where he thrived and flourished and withered and killed, she was forced to survive on just the memory of what it meant to be beloved, to be more than what she hated to be. He shirked such banal attachments like so many expectations whereas she craved them, ached for them, destroyed for them.

She cried for that life unlived, every night, beneath some doomed and broken moon.

Whatever comes next, be it salvation or satisfaction or successful annihilation of the only monster left hiding beneath her proverbial bed, there is one thing Sylvie knows with acute and visceral certainty: he tastes of tea, her most favorite and beloved of those lost indulgences and, were they different people in timelines utterly unfamiliar and bereft of cruelty, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she'd kiss him again.

#loki spoilers #loki #sylvie #sylkie #yes i go here no i dont want your judgement for it #loki episode 6 #i literally finished the episode and IMMEDIATELY wrote this #im suffering thanks #but seriously MASSIVE spoilers #sylvie x loki #Skitterfics

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years ago

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Heat Seekers I

Genre: Dark Cyberpunk AU Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Words: 5k Fic Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. I’m serious people. If any of the chapter warnings are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please do not read this. Do so at your own discretion. Lots of angst and hurt, eventual smut. Chapter Warnings are below the cut. Author’s Note: There are some specific things in this fic that I’ve personally experienced, and some that I have not. Please understand my intention with this fic is a way of healing not just for myself but hopefully for others who unfortunately have experience with these types of situations. I did a lot of debating about whether or not I should even post this fic, and have spoken to a few individuals about it. Ultimately, with the intent of healing and moving past such trauma, it’s been decided OK to post. Please take my warnings seriously.

Chapter Warnings: Metaphoric descriptions of statutory rape. Assault, sexual assault. Gaslighting. Attempted murder. Brief mentions of substance abuse and prostitution. Minor character death.

You always believed there was no such thing as Heaven, but surely there was Hell. Several iterations of the grotesque and horrific afterlife; because humanity is a plague and that is what each of us deserved.

Perhaps in your younger days, you didn’t know it… no, even then you knew. Deep down inside you remember nothing of happiness or blessing. No memories of a person’s presence, actions, or words doing anything considerably good for anyone else. Certainly not without a motive. Certainly not out of empathy.

Before you could walk, throwing yourself into the repetitive ease of programmed machines and technology brought you peace. Technology is predictable and massively accessible to anyone. Technology is your comfort.

Electricity became nearly free and unlimited after the revolution that ended the War on Power in 2045. So long as the sun rose every day, there was never a shortage, and the resulting surge of technological advancements that boomed, as a result, have made most fairly new tech obsolete.

Sustainable, economic, and eco-friendly power became the way of the world. Wind energy became the norm. Buildings were now made from fiberglass solar panels, stronger, taller, and widely available, so every surface collected energy from the sun. Window glass collected heat to use in the winter, eliminating the need for natural gas heat altogether. More room for technology to grow. More surface area on the ground for parks and forests. Resorts built above an ocean’s surface harnessed the energy of the currents moving below their supports. Anything that wasn’t hovering in midair could collect energy from earthquakes and natural disasters alike, as long as humankind was lucky enough to have built something that could capture the energy and withstand the storm. The earth was well on its way to healing by the time you were born in 2051, and although humankind flourished along with it, the world was still a dangerous place. Corporations rose even higher and politics declined, dissolving into a place wrought with criminal activity and fear. Yes, humans were healthier, stronger, lived longer if they were lucky. But was that really such a good thing? Your parent would throw anything she didn’t find valuable at you whenever you locked her out of the apartment, and she was too weak to force her way inside. You were smart enough to know you would be no match in the likely event someone tried to break in, so you had to defend yourself. You wear wary of the men she brought inside, always idly wondering if any of them were your father, but so few of them ever returned.

You don’t remember ever knowing you even had a father before that, unknowing until she told you about sex and what makes a human child when you were four. Not that you’d asked and not that she would care to speak to you when she was anything other than suffocatingly drunk.

In a room that was barely such, the feeble plywood walls held together as if by magic and the curtain strung up as your door sagged so low it only served to be a nuisance to your agenda. Outdated machines and technology stacked high around the walls, most were scrap parts for your projects.

You dedicated every day to sitting in the same spot, surrounded by computers and machines, and learning what makes them function. The finite possibilities, yet the scope of their differences, is something that brought you peace and kept the gears in your own head turning. Sometimes, you would pretend and daydream as if you were an android yourself. You were not lucky enough to be born as one with artificial intelligence.

You attended virtual school whenever you felt like it, or at least you knew the basics. Your parent didn’t care. She nearly pretended like you didn’t exist, which suited you just fine. From the time you were five, she began leaving you alone at home. You knew how to pull the cracked plastic stool over to the counter and get yourself some goldfish crackers or something else simple. You weren’t allowed to use the stove even though you’d repaired it twice, but the microwave was fine.

You knew how to bathe and how to use the restroom and clean up after yourself because you had to. There was nobody else for a long time. Days came and went when you weren’t sure if she would ever come back, only for her to come banging on the squeaky front door or crashing through it slurring her words and waking you from a fitful sleep to wipe at your tear-stained cheeks in the middle of the night. The notion of your tears on her behalf was always something unpredictable and confusing to you. Why would you cry over such insignificance, you sometimes wondered to yourself.

If she stopped coming back one day you would figure it out. The nice man across the street from your apartment building ran a tiny tech store and he always had a smile for you and something that needed fixing. Most days he would ask you math problems as something he called a “lightning round” of questions for an extra quarter for every right answer. Surely the three dollars he gave you for what your fixed every time was enough to put what little food you needed in your stomach.

By the time you were eight, the habits you and your cohabitant fell into became routine. You became accustomed to sleeping during the day while she was out, setting your school live feed on record so you could watch it later. At night, while trying to drown out the sounds of her screaming or sex or shattering bottles, you would work. In the world you knew, the industry wasn’t as slow as it used to be. Too fast-paced for most new phone models to make it past their six-month mark before it was time to stop manufacturing and making capital, moving onto the next one. From what you understood, a new model of home security cameras could go on the market one day and be in the clearance pile before you got your next paycheck. Security tech became your playground after a few years, and you didn’t have enough money to buy anything. It never bothered you that you were always a step behind the latest tech because you had to wait a week until the latest model began showing up in dumpsters. It was never your intention to be faster than that. By the age of ten, you knew your priority was survival and in order to do that, you had to protect yourself with whatever means necessary. You had six different checkpoints in security on your living space not long after you became familiar with it. An additional four security cameras had been installed by your own two small hands around your building as well, at the entrance, elevator, your floor’s hall, and in front of your flimsy front door. All secretly controlled by you, without the knowledge of the outdated model of AI that ran your front desk, passively named Al- born of the building owner’s lack of creativity or care. Probably both.

You spent your days alone, in the tiny, insufferable hole in the wall place called your ‘home’. Where, as the years propelled to 2063 on your twelfth year, you chose to ignore most of the other inhabitants of this world. On a worn-out and broken faux leather armchair, perpetually stuck in the reclining position. Where you sat to work and where you slept and where you held your breath at the groaning sound omitted from its cushions every time you moved. You kept fixing it whenever it would break, dumping you from the side of it with a ‘plunk’ as the bars jumped off their tracks. You scowled every time they snapped the tracks completely. You worked to hone your skills in the world of technology, tinkering and learning every detail of every machine you could get your hands on from the dumpster behind your building. Sometimes if you were lucky, the building owner would forget to pay the trash removal services and it would pile up for weeks. Heaps of smelly trash were a small price to pay if it meant you could hit the jackpot and take several trips up and down the rickety old elevator with your arms full of tech.

Those were your happiest memories. Your body felt like jelly by the time you finished sorting through it all and bringing it up to your stash, carefully removing casings of microcomputers or game cartridges to get to the gold inside.

Everything was fine and although you couldn’t say you were content with your life- you didn’t hate it. You loved the freedom to be left alone and the peace of your tinkering tech. Perhaps a little impatient to grow up, but with every passing year, you celebrated quietly to yourself during the days you had been told your birth date fell. Somewhere between these seven days, you pulled up the same app on every smartphone you had in your possession and ran quickly around your makeshift room trying to blow out twenty digital candles in one big breath- careful not to trip over small piles of tech as you went.

It became a blur after you turned twelve. Somewhere along the timeline not long after that, a man started showing up to the apartment and threw off the balance you had so carefully maintained. You never knew his name, but you remember his face, his cologne, and his voice, and the way his eyes sparkled with something that sank in the pit of your stomach the first time you laid eyes on him. Most of all, even now, you remember him in your restless nightmares and the raw feeling of vindictive rage that in your weakest moments, reminds you that you’re alive, if only by the boiling heat of your blood rushing through your ears. In those moments, when your vision goes fuzzy with the desire to see him suffer and rot miserably in the deepest pits of hell, preferably bleeding and screaming.

You remember him from a time past, standing in the kitchen with your parent, one of her arms curled around his thick neck and the other raised in the air, his fingers closed around her slim wrist. The suit he wore looked expensive, and their bodies were slowly bending over the kitchen table in a strange dance, waiting for her back to snap and flatten against the wooden surface. Their eyes flashed to yours for less than a heartbeat as you walked to the refrigerator, laughing at something that lulled in the silence.

The next time you saw him he had fed your cohabitant something so toxic she passed out on the floor beside the couch. Then he spoke to you. In his deep baritone, he sounded like he smoked too many cigarettes too often. Or drank a bottle of razor blades.

“Pretty little thing ain’t ye?” he asked, dipping his head through the curtain that thinly veiled your world from outside eyes.

You ignored him, choosing to pretend as if the headphones situated on your head were actually producing audio. So he hit you.

Then he hit you again, screaming at you for ignoring him and calling you a bitch, whatever that meant. You heard it slung at your parent enough to know it was derogatory.

You didn’t even scream, you remember. Very clearly you sat shocked, but tears spilled down your cheeks from the pain alone. The heat you felt on your cheek, swelling and rough as if you’d fallen off a motorized bike and gotten road rash on your face.

Your fingers rose and you can recall them vividly, shaking as they reached to touch at your cheek and the hiss of pain as you recoiled from yourself.

Then, you try not to visualize it, but it won’t go away. You remember the feeling of his hand grabbing yours as it froze in midair, yanking you from the protection and warm affection of your old faux leather chair. It growled as he ripped you from its grasp in protest, pulling you so hard the force nearly dislocated your shoulder while he simply tossed you on the floor.

You remember the feeling of his fingers pulling at your clothes and then pain. Extreme pain, so brutal and fast it took your breath away. Your face throbbed as his palm fit perfectly across your whole skull, pushing your head onto the rough wood planks below.

You screamed, but you don’t remember if any sound came out, or if it was just that nobody cared that you did so. You screamed and cried, trying to crawl away as he grabbed at you. There was a ‘whoosh’ feeling as the air was ripped from your lungs when something burning sunk, forcing itself a home of darkness that never should have been between your soul and your corporeal form.

And then nothing.

You remember waking up to the sharp scent of blood, confirming it when you saw it on the floor around you, glistening and wet in the faint glow of computers. You remember the pain that shot between your legs as you tried to sit up properly, groaning as fresh tears worked down your cheeks. The cry that left you rippled pain across your face, too, and you remember crawling yourself over to your beloved chair and leaning against the comfort of its worn fabric as you reached for any of the smartphones you had.

For the first time ever, the brightness of a screen made you flinch back in the darkness. Persevering, you opened the camera and turned it to selfie mode, inspecting your face in the digital reflection. Your right cheek was fat and red, and two purple circles were clearly left in the wake of where his gaudy rings hit your skin. The stain on your skin crept up below your eye.

You made yourself calm down enough to quell the sobs wracking your chest to softer whimpers and tears to help the pain in your cheek stop.

It happened again some unknown weeks later. Your parent so stoned and drunk she passed out blissfully somewhere else and he came to you again. Your begging did you no good, and you were no match for his strength. Why hadn’t you run the moment you could stand on your legs again after the first assault? Why hadn’t you hauled every piece of your tech and saved dime from your bank account or gone to the nice old man across the street for help? Deep down, you knew. You were confident enough to know he would find you and smart enough to know he would kill you when he did.

The second time, you wished you had a gun or a knife. Not just cameras to catch him in the act. Or something that would make him stop and leave you alone. It was just as bad as the first, except this time you didn’t pass out. You did your best to stay still, compliance your only weapon in hoping he goes away that much sooner if you let it be over with. It still hurt just as bad, and he still left you in a puddle of white and red wetness on the floor. The scent of blood made you dizzy.

For the first time in your life, you begged. You begged the adult that raised you and fed you until you could do it yourself. For just once you desperately wished to talk to her and confirm. To make her do something to save you. You were terrified you wouldn’t be able to save yourself, and if this were the last thing she would ever do for you, if it were the last time you would ever see her, you would be grateful if she would just do something to save her daughter.

Hopelessness and an unending free-fall of terror are what you received. You were stronger than she was, and nearly her height by now, with a young healthy body not wrought with substance abuse. You forced her to sit still and keep her eyes open. To keep watching the video even though you couldn’t watch it yourself, barely able to weather the sounds coming from the captured footage.

When it was over, you hadn’t realized you were crying. Your vision blurred when you opened your eyes, with wet cheeks that felt the rush of air as you maneuvered in front of her and gingerly knelt on the floor to beg at her knees. You gathered her hands in her lap, struggling to hold them as you repeated your pleas.

She ignored them, literally shaking and gasping for breath and telling you it wasn’t real. Telling you it never happened. When you forced it upon her and threatened to go to the police with it she pulled your hair and screamed at you. Screamed that you were an idiot and that he would kill you both because didn’t you know who he was? Didn’t you know the power that man held over so many? No, you didn’t.

And it suddenly dawned on you, she was just as scared. She was scared and terrified and unable to grasp any semblance of control over what that man did anymore. She was a fool to think she ever did, and you were a fool to have a sliver of faith in her. So you left to clear your head, much to her cries not to. Born out of anxiety, fearful you would go to the police.

You walked farther than you thought you could as you attempted to regain the strength in your legs. Slowly, and by the time you returned the sun had fully set, but an orange glow caught your attention from the rooftop, one floor above yours. Wisps of smoke, too. Odd, nobody ever went up there.

A single stray cord and a plastic piece of backing laid on the floor between the elevator and your door, and your heart sunk back down all fourteen floors. You were out of breath and the pain between your legs was searing by the time you shoved your way through the metal door to the roof.

Sitting on the ledge was a gaunt, familiar face. She was smoking a cigarette, watching the flames and smoke from three rust-stained barrels. Inside of them was most of your tech. Your cameras, a few handfuls of smartphones, seven computers, gaming consoles, tablets.

You barely remember what happened after that, but you know it was a lot of screaming and a burn when you attempted to kick one of them and stomp out the flames. That day was the catalyst that made you take action, planning to escape from hell. If there was no chance to be saved by someone else, you would have to do it yourself.

Racing the clock on a high of anxiety, you only prayed that for three days he wouldn’t show up. You only needed three days.

On the afternoon of the second day, you hadn’t realized you were alone in the small apartment of your old and outdated building. You were too busy working like lightning to beat an imaginary deadline on your heels. You hadn’t noticed she had left until you came out shortly to use the restroom and find some crackers.

There he was at the kitchen table, the cheap metal legs of the chair bowing under his mass. You froze, watching him in shock and briefly you let your eyes wander around the living room to realize she wasn’t there. His voice was low as he told you she passed out in the elevator hours ago.

The chair made a horrible scuffing sound as he stood up, and you flinched. It didn’t matter once he took your wrist in his grip, and he made you suffer once more.

Something unhinged him this time, and even through the pain and nausea and the attempt to make yourself faint just to not have to live through it, you felt it. Felt the psychotic shift in his brain as he laughed at your pain.

It broke something inside of you. Escape. Do not let him do this to you. Definitely do not give up and let it happen. Retaliate. Fight. Get away. Run. Live.

You barely recall how you came to the conclusion, or how you stomached the grotesque way, when he leaned over your back, you turned your head. How you took the easiest thing to reach- his right ear lobe- between your teeth, and mangled him for all you were worth.

The gratification was immediate as he sprang from you, shoving you forward and holding his head. You remember no pain in that moment, and smiling with adrenaline, breathless but with lungs full of oxygen at the same time. You bolted before he could come back to his senses, grabbing your bag from your chair, thankfully nearly complete, and ran out, fixing your clothing along the way.

He tried to get up fast enough to stop you, lunging for you with one hand as you made it into the hallway, but whatever adrenaline you were on was potent, and your senses were razor sharp. You ducked his hand, hearing him barrel into the wall with his momentum as you made for the elevator.

You watched in slow motion the hopeless rage morph onto his stubbled face, knowing he wouldn’t catch you in time. Letting go of his ear, you saw it maimed, the bottom half missing, an obvious mouth-shaped crest bleeding heavily onto the floor as he reached instead to procure a gun from his jacket.

Although your heart leaped at the sight of it as the metal door creaked open behind you, his hands were messy, and the gun slipped from his bloody grip.

Turning to get on, you hesitated for just a second when you saw her there, passed out in the corner of the elevator. You shoved the button for the lobby as hard as you could, planning to rip the wires from the panel behind Al’s desk the moment it reached the bottom. It would give you enough time to get away as he descended the stairs.

You remember watching her sleep, but an eerie sense of foreboding grew in the intimate space the lower the elevator went, despite the beauty of golden hour cityscape from the window that served as the back wall of the capsule.

It took a few moments for you to realize the sun looked odd against her skin. Her hair didn’t catch the rays, nor did her lips hold the same color or fullness of your own, a feature you had in common. She looked sick.

An unfamiliar emotion welled in you. Some concoction of fear, sadness, and a heavy sense of solitude congealed in your chest and your throat as you crouched beside her quietly, afraid to make a sound.

Hesitantly, you touched her shoulder, immediately recoiling at the unnatural stone of her form, refusing to be pliant under the gentle press of your fingers. Swallowing the bile that rose in your throat, you grasped her shoulders, shaking her. Her body slid further down the wall when you let go. It remained there on the floor in an unnatural and rigid stillness, heavy.

You tripped as you receded backward, falling against the smooth metal of the door. Terror overcame you and a bewildering sense of lonely unknown stood towering before you in your mind’s eye. Not that you expected to ever see her again. Not that you expected to care, you hated her. But you hadn’t wanted her to die.

“Mom,” you remember choking up her title in reverence, the one and only time in your life you’d ever said the word.

You groaned with pain, suddenly powerless without the adrenaline that was just coursing through your veins. Everything hurt. Your vision, your head, your body, your heart. You were going to throw up. But you’d be damned if you did it before you escaped. You were so close. Just a little further.

Your mouth watered with the impending expulsion of your gut, but you managed to fall backward out of the elevator and stumble to your feet, feeling heavy as you trudged past Al’s inquiry of your health to the panel, ripping every wire out with your fist.

Just once you threw up beside the revolving door of your building before entering. You staggered through it after, feeling a rush of fresh air that told your very soul it was over.

You did it. Now you just had to make sure you survived, but you were good at that.

_________________

April, 2072

You pursed your lips, scowling at the bitter, sour flavor of the lollipop settled on your tongue. Leaning to the right, you lifted your hand from the grip of your bars, reaching through the thickness of your helmet through the open visor and whipping the candy from your mouth with a grimace.

You slowed, unable to afford a littering fine if you just threw it to the wind behind you, even though you wanted to rebel in that way. Too many high-tech cameras on the city streets to get away with anything unless you had the money to pay off the cops.

Which, unfortunately, you didn’t.

Twisting forward to squeeze the brake, you let your bike lull into a quiet purr as you pull off onto a quiet road, looking for the correct receptacle. You let it crawl forward, along the curb, and over a storm drain so you can lean over and drop the candy into the trash. For a moment, you lick your lips, pulling your backpack around to rummage through the bag of lollies inside for a better flavor.

While you search for a strawberry- your favorite- you weigh the pros and cons of just buying a bag of strawberry flavor instead of the assortment. Price, for starters, you scoff to yourself, remembering to pluck the sour apple wrapper from your pocket to toss into the trash. Exclusive flavor bags are more expensive, but you don’t waste as much by throwing out every god damned green apple you pluck from the bag.

Frowning when you come up empty-handed, you take the second-best choice, unwrapping the dark red of a cherry lolly when a presence catches your attention. A man, tall and thin, clothed in dark colors standing still against the bustle of the city. There’s a black baseball cap on his head, pressed down over dark red curls that peek out at the edges.

He’s wearing square, dark-tinted sunglasses that block out his eyes, with ears that bow out from his skull, and you briefly register that he’s built the same all around, in large proportions, from his hands to his face to his towering height.

Even in the late afternoon, his visage glows with artificial color as he basks in the light of a large television displayed in the storefront window. Although his attire tells you he’s trying to conceal his identity, he doesn’t seem to stick out, going ultimately unnoticed by the people passing by him.

His face is turned towards the television as a news channel covers a fire at a large corporate building from last night. It shows impressive plumes of flame and thick smoke, even darker than the night sky, glowing faintly with billions of lights.

The man watching the television bounces a short stick between his teeth, but you can’t tell what it is from this distance. You notice his face moves, the apples of his cheeks rising high as he smiles wide, easily a head above the crowd.

The sound of sirens from the recording of the fire dins away to the sound of an audio clip taken from a phone call. A man’s voice, clearly distorted with an autotune. Raspy, dark laughter, and a bitter promise to chase someone to hell.

A small part of you is smug, rooting for the villain even, and his vicious words to whomever the message are, or was, intended.

The sun is starting to set, and you hate having to watch the skyline glitter with the golden light as you drive on. It’s an unwanted and unnecessary memory, unforgiving in the distance of your timeline.

Luckily, you enter the undercity just as the light grows intense, escaping into the sleepless neon of your world. Into the black market and the tech industry, rife with people who thrive on a never-ending night, as if their veins are made of glass and filled with inert gases to make them glow just as brightly as the buildings here.

You’ve got a lead from a friend of sorts. Someone who you’ve got a history with from your days at the bordello, and who kept you alive once upon a time when you first came to the undercity, terrified but determined to forget yourself and be born as someone stronger, smarter, better.

He’s never given you bad intel before, so long as you could get to it before a clan or a faster loaner. Luckily, you have a natural gift for hacking and the latest model of ‘unhackable’ Hyperbikes are no exception to your deft fingers.

You pull up outside Blue House, scanning the digital bulletin for the job he mentioned. You press your finger to it, holding your breath for the marquee to inform you whether it’s still up for grabs, or if it is unfortunately for you- in progress.

A smile cracks your lips when the green light pops up, and you whip your glove off when the prompter asks to scan your left thumb. A second passes as the soft blue light moves across your finger, chirping in confirmation when it’s done.

You don’t even care what the job is- but Chan promised it would be something you could do. All you remember is hearing a payment sum that could put good food in your stomach for a month straight. The only question you had was why a tech hacking job was showing up on a brothel’s bulletin board.

Ultimately, what was one more undercover prostitution job? You were familiar with the work that came through the bordello, and its basic services. In the last two years, you’ve moved away from it little by little, having made some waves with your work as a hacker in the undercity. Your moniker started to be whispered across the shadows as the underdog, a genius ‘for the people’ hacker that put bad men where they belonged. Only Chan knew you by two names. The rest of the world only knew one.

The name Maneater.

#heat seekers #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fanfiction #dead dove do not eat #exo fanfiction #chanyeol angst #exo angst #chanyeol fic #exo fic

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uwua3 · 4 years ago

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a3! as genshin impact characters

🌸🌻🍁❄️ all troupes

author’s note: all twenty-nine (29) playable characters are included in this post! some boys have two characters associated with them ✺(^▽^✺) ✺(^O^)✺ (✺^▽^)✺ (if you’d like me to elaborate or anything, please ask!!! this was so hard ╥﹏╥)

word count: 5,012

🌸 SPRING 💗

1. SAKUMA SAKUYA

♡ RAZOR + TRAVELER — the heroes who will save the world with their love alone

everything they do is out of love. to destroy or create, it all has the same source: the pure love from their hearts

they work hard every day to protect the ones they love no matter what. they’re the first to stand in front of you, ready to sacrifice their life to make sure you see another day

would go to the ends of the earth to save you. no continent is too big for them to travel across. if they can find you, all those years would be worth every moment

they wouldn’t hesitate to assist a stranger in need even if it cost him their life. friend or foe, they are a friend to all because they only see good until proven wrong

has the natural ability to make everyone want to root for them. you can’t help but believe in them against all odds!

has the biggest heart to take everyone in despite having their own burdens — has lost everything but still loves unconditionally because they never want anyone to experience the heartbreak they did

believes in lupical = fated family (knows family comes first at the end of the day, blood-related or not)

2. USUI MASUMI

♡ DILUC + XINYAN — the outcasts who would do anything for their inner circle

the first to run into battle for the people who have earned their lifelong loyalty

longs for the embrace of parents who are never coming back for them. even if the parents left first, a part they desperately try to hide wishes that they’d prove them wrong and come back. it’s a hopeless case...

despite presenting themselves as standoffish and blunt, the general public still admires them for their natural skill & ability. it doesn’t matter what they do, their background actions are more than enough to redeem their somewhat problematic attitude

devoted to mankai/mondstadt’s safety even if they won’t admit it. they’re the last to verbalize their concerns because they’ll fix it without telling anyone

difficult to get to open up; expresses their loyalty through meaningful actions instead of words

finds comfort in music regardless of how popular/trendy it is. as long as it makes them forget the judgmental world around them, that’s all they need

challenges prejudices by being upfront and confrontational about their opinions even in the face of criticism

3. MINAGI TSUZURU

♡ MONA + JEAN — the prodigies who have something to prove to themselves

extremely talented but receives little to no recognition for it/taken for granted

overwork themselves to find worth in their existences; see their actions as proof of deserving good things — if they’re not working, why would they deserve to take care of themselves?

would rather pass out before ever asking someone else for assistance; their independence is both their greatest strength and weakness

are always involved in any type of situation because they’re insistent on finding a solution (automatically feel responsible for other people’s problems). as a result, they often pass boundaries without realizing because they’re too curious and care too much

regardless, they’re a person of their word and can be counted on at any given time. they can have a full schedule but they’ll still put you on top of their list

the older sibling type who can scold their subordinates very effectively (listening to them lecture is tiring, but all of it is true and they always mean well) — can play the guilt card too well and becomes satisfied when people admit they’re right

becomes uncharacteristically quiet and at a loss of words when they realize they’re necessary to their company (people often forget they’re real people just like us)

4. CHIGASAKI ITARU

♡ ALBEDO + KAEYA — the two-faced mysteries who keep running from their past

no one will ever truly know who they are past their facade, and that’s how they want it

their past is indistinguishable at best, they’ll take the secrets of their harrowing and misunderstood history to the grave

no matter what their reasons are, they’re an enigma. they can adapt to any social situation possible with ease and charm everyone in the room to take the side of a stranger. it’s a blessing and a curse to be so well-liked and unknowable

their relationships are mainly acquaintances; it’s nearly impossible for people to maintain close contact with them. they’re like impersonal ghosts who appear right when you need them (they’re there at your worsts and bests, but no where in between)

whether it’s at the top of dragonspine or down below in mondstadt, you can always find them in isolation, where they dedicate themselves to a hobby of theirs to ignore the voices of their past. yet, oddly enough, no matter how caught up they are in their work, they’ll always sense when a person sneaks into their room

their words are carefully chosen and rarely are they impulsive, unless at their wits end and exhausted from maintaing a mask all this time. if they do happen to break character, they’ll apologize the best way they know how to: insincerely

it seems like nothing can crack their carefully formulated exterior, until a genuine act of good is done for them, then you might be able to catch a true smile from them

5. CITRON

♡ AMBER — the story-teller who is a friend to all no matter what

it doesn’t matter if you’re an outsider or not, you will always be accepted by them for who you are

they’re the type to cheer the loudest for you at an event you’re losing in, because there’s never a doubt in their mind you’ll win

always updated on intel and information on every person around them for some reason. the stories they tell are sometimes so strange, bizzare, and far-fetched that it’s hard to believe. yet, it’s often true because they genuinely have no reason to lie

prepared to take on any challenging task due to their unstoppable efforts! for any obstacle they face, they’re doing it with unparalled energy and enthusiasm (even if they do it wrong)

popular with strangers and has the special talent of making people warm up to them quickly. they’re easily recognizable from people you’ve never even seen before on the streets and they never forget a face! they have no problem recalling names with a big smile

used to doing things by the handbook and often requires assistance when making decisions not based on rules. can unintentionally cause problems when acting on impulse, which only further encourages them to explore more

despite being a friendly (albeit naive) person, they’re extremely capable and much more perceptive than anyone would think. they catch details first but misinterpet them depending on the person. they’re just too blinded by their belief in everyone!

🌻 SUMMER 💛

6. SUMERAGI TENMA

♡ XIANGLING + DIONA — the passionate hot-heads who will beat any challenge

watch out for them because they’re ready to burst at any given moment or time! anything can set these firecrackers off; they’re a fuse that’s always lit

in no way do they intend to hurt other people’s feelings, but their competitive streak and fatal flaw of doing anything on a dare make them problematic to some

yet, it’s hard to dislike them when they’re so skilled and talented. whatever they set their mind to, they execute it the best and add their own flavor to it! they impress crowds with their fiery nature and bold approach to life, they’re a force to be reckoned with

it’s even more impressive considering how young they are. they’re so sure of themselves and present their ego confidently, knowing what they like and dislike. it’s such a convincing act, almost everyone would buy it

while these constant competitions to better themselves may make them seem self-centered, it only proves they can’t win it all. when they try to care for others, it comes off as awkward when out of their field of expertise. if they can’t offer advice on their speciality, it’s suddenly foreign to them

they seek your attention and validation, even if they know they’re good. they offer to escort you home even if there are street lights and become quickly embarrassed and in denial if you bring it up. they’re trying their best, they just don’t know how to be a good friend when they’ve been a great entertainer their whole life

they’re doing their best no matter what! they are always working on being the best versions of themselves even if they jump into challenges head-first. they do so because they know they’ll win, it’s a confidence that burns red hot

7. RURIKAWA YUKI

♡ KEQING — the skeptic who never settles for less

their standards are the highest anyone has ever seen, yet they pass them every single time

as a perfectionist, they will never do less than their fair share of work for as long as they live. they expect themselves to be ten times better than the average human because they know their own capabilities

they’re relentless and unmovable, as solid as a rock. they won’t stop at a task, no matter how big or small it is, until it’s perfectly complete and ready to be presented. they take pride in their work and demand others to be respectful of their efforts

they live honestly and in the most straightforward manner possible. there’s no question about their beliefs or values because they wear it proudly like a badge

even if their society looks down on them for it, they’ll always speak their mind and will never be silenced. they expect others to do the same and have a distaste for fakeness in all forms

aren’t afraid of self-reflection and instrospection; although it may take a bit, they’ll eventually admit their inaccuracy and will do anything to correct themselves if proven wrong

use their downtime by shopping and exploring what the shops have to offer. they know exactly what they’re looking for and hardly get distracted from their to-do list at hand

8. MIYOSHI KAZUNARI

♡ BARBARA — the “perfect” idol who can’t let go of their inferiority

adored by all, they can make anyone feel energized again just from the thought of them alone!

ever since they were young, they made people smile with their bright optimism. everyone claps when they perform, they’ll always receive a standing ovation from friends and strangers alike

they work hard for every accomplishment they’ve achieved, but they often feel like a fraud or imposter. like they truly don’t deserve or haven’t earned the success in their life

their inferiority complex is hidden carefully behind their helpful actions and entertaining theatrics for others. as long as they can make someone laugh, they’ll believe in themselves for a moment, too

despite struggling with depression, they have never once gave up on their hopes and dreams! even if they’re certain they’ll never compare to everyone else, they still beat every monster with a smile on their face

although they dream of becoming the most popular person around, they bury it deep inside. all they want is for people to like them... but sometimes, they question if others like them for who they are or their image

9. SAKISAKA MUKU

♡ NOELLE + SUCROSE — the hard-workers who are held back by their own insecurity

though they’re not the most dependable of people, they still commit themselves to learning more and more!

made of big dreams and an even bigger heart, they’re certain they’ll make everyone proud one day with their hard work and perfected skill

they often lose themselves in fantasies and find their mind to be the most entertaining place to be in. in their imagination, they can be anyone they want to be! a knight, an alchemist, an actor, anything is possible! of course, they’ll do these things in real life, too, but a little self-indulgence never hurt anybody~

incredibly curious and can find themselves in strange situations simply because they couldn’t resist learning more. luckily, they can always save themselves in the long run

polite & professional, they’re stubborn in their principles and can stand up for their own rules if need be. while they may come off as weak at first, they have it in them to defend anything they care for

has a habit of stuttering around others — nervous and humble, they find confidence to be intimidating and hard to approach. they respect leaders and could never imagine themselves in such a position (despite being fully capable of doing so)

the only person holding them back is themselves! if they believed in themself, they’d be someone their childhood selves would admire!

10. IKARUGA MISUMI

♡ KLEE — the energetic dreamer who’s a kid at heart

energetic & outgoing, they are always found running around, looking to make every moment of their life fun and interesting (though... they might be followed by a worried friend who fears the worst)

filled with childish youth and spirit, they live in the moment and wish to make friendships wherever they go!

when you meet them, all you want to do is make them happy. they’re innocently naive and remind you of how much good is in the world. they wear their heart on their sleeve and no one could ever be so evil as to break it

they do everything and anything to make their friends proud, such as following any rules they set in place. they become genuinely guilty when they make a mistake, so please comfort them the best you can!

they’re terrified of losing another person in their life. that’s why they treat everyone nicely when seeing one another, they’re scared of every meeting being the last

much more capable than they appear. they can take down anything in their path even if they seem a little lost & confused half of the time. they’re every team’s secret weapon as long as they’re with their friends!

as much as they are a handful, they always mean well and will be a friend until the end!

🍁 AUTUMN 🧡

11. SETTSU BANRI

♡ CHILDE — the fragmented weapon who is always picking a fight

when meeting them for the first time, it isn’t until they leave that you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding

always front and center, their power is unmatched and is present in every unpredictable move they make. under their mask of youthfulness is an aged soul traumatized by reasons unknown

they’re willing to be any person you want them to be, as long as they get what they need. so one minute they’ll be smiling and laughing away, next they act like they didn’t even know you

wildly unhinged and deceptive, they imitate the wind of freedom but are truly restrained by their own private thoughts & feelings. their nonchalance and “i don’t care” attitude is a fool’s act

rarely feels alive — only feels the effects of a challenge when at the verge of death. it is only then that they let all hell reign loose. though, that rarely happens considering they barely have to try before being crowned victor

despite their moral ambigiousness, they are as straightforward as can be and are true with their word. if they say they’ll do somethig (at a price, of course), they’ll do it quickly and efficiently. they use any method possible to finish a task, as long as it guarantees results

isn’t used to others playing them at their own game. if you trick them (which can be done if you inflate their ego), they’re sure to have a grudge against you for an exaggerated amount of time. they may not admit it, but they expect others to be as honest as them (it stings unpleasantly when they realize they do not have the upper hand)

(it’s okay though, because they’ll never show their rare moments of weakness to anyone)

12. HYODO JUZA

♡ QIQI — the wronged ones who were reborn for a better life

all they ever wanted was a second chance at life. now that they’ve got it, they’re going to do everything they can to make it right

despite the world being so cruel & unforgiving, they cannot give up on it. they do their best to live proudly and happily, to heal their inner child who wasn’t so fortunate

has fascinations with the littlest things in life. in their rather monotone voice, they express their want for anything sweet (such as “cocogoat” milk or candy)

though, it’s hard to tell their mood based on voice alone. but, their eyes light up at the thought of anything that makes them happy. they will always have that childlike wonder no matter how old they get

quiet & reserved, they are oblivious to any amounts of attention on them and prefer moving in solitude. they find comfort in strolling far away from the human eye and take things one step at a time

their strength is unprecendented by every mean! just because they’re on the quieter side, doesn’t mean they can’t hold their own in a fight. in fact, it’s a rather hilarious sight to see an unassuming person staring down at someone with a blank expression (only they can order themself to cause such violence, however)

give them a moment to process you if they seem to have forgotten! they firmly believe it is better to forget. forgetting painful memories is a way of releasing

13. FUSHIMI OMI

♡ GANYU + BEIDOU — the gentle giants who could end the world, but choose not to

despite being capable of violence and causing bloodshed, they have left that life behind to be a regular person of society

though their past is tarnished by unsavory acts, they work to redeem themselves and bring comfort to others instead. whether it be taking on a larger share of work than necessary or preparing homemade meals, they’re an essential coming back after a long, hard day

therefore, their favorite way of group bonding is laughing over drinks and food with each other! they have no problem spending money on a feast as long as everyone comes to have fun

because of this, they have a great amount of appreciation for anyone who does a good thing for them. if it’s food, they’ll eat it all even if on a full stomach. if it’s an accessory, they’ll wear it at all times even if it clashes. they wish to take care of anything with sentimental value from now on

their faith and loyalty can be considered blind, but they have immense trust in others. they’ve lived far too long being suspicious of others, they want to live believing in good even if it stabs them in the back later on — yet, this doesn’t mean they’re naive in any way. in fact, they have no fear towards powerful entities that most would usually run away from. they’re confident in who they are after years of training and strength-building

due to their many years of experience in every predicament possible, they have a talent of reading people easily. tiny changes in facial expression are nothing to them and they can tell good from bad right away

so if they consider you a close friend, you have a strong ally besides you that will always do the right thing

14. NANAO TAICHI

♡ BENNETT — the unlucky unwanted ones who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders

no one expects them to be the oldest sibling, but they are! they have the responsibility of taking care of those around them, whether it be younger siblings or elder adventurers

although it becomes quite exhausting and difficult the older everyone gets, they never complain about their duty and will always see it through. sure, it’s more trouble than it’s worth, but if they don’t do it, who else will?

seldom do they feel discouraged, but when they do, it’s not long before they get back up and try again! their tears never last long because they’re never giving up. they can’t lose when so many people are relying on them...

they’re used to doing everything by themself. whatever you need to get done, they’ll do it with one more band-aid on their face! they’ve acquired so many skills that they’re a jack of all trades (and a master at none)

because of that, they’re always smiling no matter what life throws at them. there will always be tomorrow if today is bad, and they’ll do even better! so you better believe it!

even though it seems like they’re “cursed” with bad luck, you can often hear them say, “i’m the luckiest boy alive!”, when anything good happens. those little things keeps them going throughout all the bad

after all, how can they possibly have bad luck when they have so many great friends? they haven’t given up on them, so they’ll always do their best!

15. FURUICHI SAKYO

♡ NINGGUANG + ZHONGLI — the businesspeople who can never have enough money to feel secure

growing up with absolutely nothing, they refuse to go back to a time where weakness was all they had. therefore, even “dirty” money is considered a blessing these days

some may call them “frugal and cheap”, they like to put it as “saving money wisely”. they accept money isn’t permanent and anyone could lose it, even themselves. excess extravagence is a luxury even they won’t indulge in (for themselves especially, but others have a higher possibility)

everything they’ve earned has come from hard work and perseverance. they’re self-made and continue building their empire from the ground up. they’re never comfortable and are always seeking good opportunities to expand their wealth

even as they reluctuantly take on assistants, they’re still uncomfortable with the thought of asking for help when they’ve done everything by themself for so long. they hate to make themselves seem like a parasite and compensate fairly through other means

they’re not afraid to get into debates with just about everyone and see arguments as a way to solve problems and move forward. they’re relentless when speaking the cold truth and hard facts, but they do it to get the hurt over with. they’re not intentionally mean, they’re just cut-throat

they believe their past their “prime time” of experience and encourage others to aspire for more. they act as if they’ve lived several lifetimes (it is questionable if they have) and speak with wisdom so certain, no one thinks to disagree

they can bargain and negotiate for hours; it’s what they know best. should they lose this money... that is simply not a possibility. money protects them and they use it to protect others as well. any loss of money is a sign of danger to them

❄️ WINTER 💙

16. TSUKIOKA TSUMUGI

♡ XINGQIU — the booksmart leads who commit to doing good

at first, they are perfect students. their nose is always in a book, they retain information like its water, and are always gracing others with their polite manners and elegance

they were born with potential and promise, with the knowledge strong enough to change the tide. parents were envious of their achievements and clear excellence and often compared their own children to them (much to the dismay of their inherent humbleness)

yet, beneath their picture-perfect status is a much more curious, troublesome side. their thirst for knowledge grows more and more each day, they have to know. ignorance is not bliss at all

despite their constant learning, they never do it in an underhanded method. they’re honest if their principles are on the line and they believe in upholding morals & ethics

if they do not adhere to these righteous ways, how can they expect anyone else to? as long as they’re doing the right thing, that’s what matters

therefore, it’s more often than not that they give credit to others. they hardly take time to put their name on a project first and pass their own hard work to others. they find it much more rewarding to see people get praised than to receive it himself

though, if you want to thank them, it’ll be much harder to find them to begin with. they can disappear for days at a time before coming back. do not ask why, because the only answer you’ll hear is, “a moment of solitude”

17. TAKOTO TASUKU

♡ CHONGYUN — the ice-cold actor who does everything to conceal his secret side...

stoice & composed, it’s nearly impossible to get a reaction out of this serious person. unless...

they can become two completely separate people if the case calls for it. blame it on whatever you want, whether it be congenital positivity or acting, but they can become friendly and illogical if their job or roles requires it

this is always an entertaining sight for their friends, but it’s extremely embarrassing for them personally. they will apologize again and again, but it’s bound to occur in the near future

regardless of their quirk, they have strong ambitions to be the best in their business and will continue trekking down the long road ahead to do so

in order to be at the top of their game, they have immense self-control and follow a strict routine all for self improvement

they can get up early in the morning and work late into the night with no problems. their endurance is like no other and there is no limit to how far they’ll go for perfection

though anyone can be intimidated by their talents that go beyond the normal standard, they’re just a normal person at the end of the day who has a lot to work on

18. YUKISHIRO AZUMA

♡ LISA — the brains & beauty who make sure no one underestimates them

despite being the smartest and most self-sufficient of their group, they’re simplified to their appearance and charismatic personality at first glance

while they’re used to being objectified, they’ve figured out a way to use it to their advantage. because of this, no one can ever make them react genuinely. they have a calm, composed persona that never fails

hard to read and a master of charm, the only way you can tell they’re visibly not pleased is when the air crackles with electricity. the tension they can create is unfathomable and only they can dispel it. so, better to make it up to them quick or the uncomfortable atmosphere stays!

even if they appear as languid and slow as a cat, they do everything flawlessly. nothing is out of place wherever they go and their attention to detail is second to none. no matter who scrutinizes them, they’ll always exceed every standard with high remarks

yet, they can become easily bored. they need many things to keep them entertained for extended amounts of time. once they get their hands on something, they’ll study it so much until there’s nothing left to learn. if you have any questions, they can explain it in the plainest terms possible

please do not ask them to go do a task, however. they avoid troubling work that has the slightest possibility of giving them wrinkles. they’re lazy by nature, and it’s something they will not change

while they are confident they can handle any situation, they choose not to. more work is something they can never accept on their own terms

19. ARISUGAWA HOMARE

♡ FISCHL — the robotic wanderers who have no place to call home

disguising their true self behind frivilous words and outlandish theories, they almost seem like they’re not from this world at all

due to their odd behavior, they rarely have friends that go along with their roleplay and require translation half the time

regardless, they speak in poems and rhymes for the fun of it. if it makes them happy, so be it!

they take comfort in literature and fantasy stories and project onto characters they love. if they can become a story protagonist, they’d be able to do anything

because of this reliance, it’s hard to meet anyone who can get past their eccentricies. not to mention their family who attempts to be supportive but ultimately grows confused by their grand demeanor

yet, they’re unapologetically themself and refuse to break character for anyone. they don’t compromise their words or actions and are authentically themselves

they’re writing their own story and will never let anyone else decide it for them again

20. MIKAGE HISOKA

♡ XIAO + VENTI — the land-bound souls who wish to be relieved by the wind

there is more to them than that meets the eye; no one has ever dealt with more loss than them

the pains of their mysterious past have made them seem like they’re ancient; moving slowly with the weight of their forgotten responsibilities and promises upon their shoulders

their piercing gaze and ability to be dangerous is a rare sight, though you would be extremely lucky to even survive long enough to see it at its worst. its like muscle memory to them, their violence is like an instinct when threatened

due to experiencing so much in so little time, they now have no fear of others’ judgment whatsoever. they won’t hesitate to mock anyone when prompted and doesn’t need other people’s approval anymore

that is because they can still hear the voices of those they could not save. the dead haunt them whenever they sit idle for too long, so they escape their reality through many means, whether it be sleeping or drinking

they attempt to live freely, like their losses should’ve. they live the life they know their ghosts would’ve wanted and uphold the price to pay for surviving

“it shouldn’t have been me, not them”, you can find them saying in the latest of hours. nevertheless, they fight on. they have an eternal debt to pay to god knows what

(catboy)

#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #mankai a3!#mankai company #genshin impact #spring troupe #summer troupe #autumn troupe #winter troupe

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smallheathgangsters · 5 years ago

Text

Habits | M.G.

A/N: So, I combined my submission for @maggiescarborough‘s writing challenge with a request that I got. It’s pure angst, but I still hope you enjoy. Also, I’m glad I’m back to uploading regularly!

Pairing: Michael Gray x Reader

Word Count: 1649

Type: angst

Summary: Michael leaves for America and when he gets back, there is nothing left to save.

Tag List: @livingforbarnes @multi-fandom-iimagines @lovemissyhoneybee @peakyblindersengland @lucillethings @callmesunshinexx @simonsbluee @anyasthoughts @sophieshelby

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You had never met Henry. You had never met the sweet, innocent boy who knew nothing about guns and murder and violence, who knew nothing about the Peaky Blinders and their business. The boy that had helped his foster mom pick apples from trees and his foster dad cut the lawn. The one that had worn colourful ties and light brown trousers with suspenders.

But you had had the privilege to meet Michael before everything went south.

You had helped him find his mother’s home after he had escaped from the country. Birmingham was big and easy to get lost in. You had run into him while he had been wandering cluelessly around Small Heath, a piece of paper with an address in hand.

“May I help you?” you had asked him.

There had been uncertainty in his eyes. “I’m looking for my mother.”

“Is that her address?” you had said, pointing at the note between his fingers. Michael had nodded and passed it over to you. Only a quick glace was necessary for you to realise who he had been looking for.

You had huffed surprised. “Polly Gray is your mother?”

“That’s what the man had told me …”

His voice had been a little shaky. You had quickly noticed that he was from the city. “What man?”

“He said his name was Thomas Shelby.”

You had inhaled deeply when the two last words had left his lips. If this young man really was Polly Gray’s son, then he clearly did not know what he was getting himself into. And of course, Tommy had made sure to take this boy away from his foster family just to expand his army. At least that’s what the Shelby family seemed to have become.

Still, you explained the way to Mrs. Gray’s home to the quiet stranger in front of you. Though, you couldn’t hold back a comment. It had hung at the tip of your tongue. “Be careful …”

He had noticed that the unawareness of his name was the reason for your pause.

“Michael.”

“Michael,” you had repeated. “The Shelby’s are living a very dangerous lifestyle. You don’t seem anything like them. Don’t get caught up in their business. It’ll ruin you.”

You had saw him gritting his teeth. Probably not what he wanted to hear from some random girl on the street in an unknow city.

So, he had simply thanked you for your help and took off.

After that, you didn’t see Michael for a while. And you had almost forgotten about the handsome country boy, when one day you spotted him walking towards you on the street. You were on your way to get some groceries at the shop nearby, planning on baking a lovely apple crumble for your family.

At first, you were unsure if you should keep your head down and ignore him. Walk past and act as if you didn’t recognise him. But your eyes wouldn’t obey. They kept moving to the young man, now dressed in a clearly expensive suit. His hair was slicked back, making him look like a million pounds.

You cursed under your breath for being so captivated by him and tore your gaze away with much effort.

Since Michael was not born yesterday, he had spotted you looking at him. He stopped in his tracks just as you were about to pass him and greeted you kindly.

“Oh, hello Michael.”

“How have you been?”

You shrugged. “Normal?”

Michael chuckled at your response.

“What about you? Have you settled in with your new family?”

“Well, technically they’re my real family,” he corrected you promptly. “But yes, they have been very welcoming. I even got a job in Tommy’s company. Since I went to school the longest, I’m pretty good with numbers.”

“Sounds great,” you said. You felt uneasy knowing he was a Shelby now. The ones who people avoided when they went to the pub or walked down the Small Heath alleys. The ones that made their blood run and their heart beat faster. That made deals with men even more fearsome than themselves.

“Are you on your way home?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I’m going to the store to buy a few things for dinner tonight.”

“I could accompany you, if you like,” Michael offered, giving you a gorgeous smile. You frowned at his proposition. “Don’t you have to be somewhere? You look rather put together to pick up some groceries.”

He laughed. “I don’t mind. And I’m sure waiting half an hour won’t hurt John either.”

Michael went with you to get groceries and escorted you home. He “accidentally” bumped into you the next day again and you had lunch together in a café just a few blocks from your home. Michael invited you to the Garrison one Friday evening and introduced you to his family. He made sure you felt comfortable around the men that intimidated you so much. He started telling you more about the work they did and slowly but surely opened up to you about the aspects that obviously clashed with your morals. He understood and accepted the fact that you could and would not identify yourself with the illegal side of their business.

Nevertheless, you fell in love. You fell in love with Michael because he cared about you so much. He was attentive and gentle and interested in hearing about your day. About the things you liked to do and were passionate about. He was there when you were feeling down and he was there to enjoy the days that simply could not get any better.

You didn’t believe in soulmates, but if they were real, Michael was yours and you were Michael’s.

Then he left.

Fucking America.

Fucking Wall Street.

Fucking stock markets and money and drugs.

He left without an explanation that would help you sleep at night. That would help you with getting up in the morning and going to work. That would calm down the burning anger you had towards the Shelby family.

With Michael leaving, you decided to leave the Shelby’s. As kind as they had been to you, they did not bring any positivity to your life. Not anymore.

Michael did not call. Michael did not write. It was as if he had never existed. But your heart was aching so much, you knew he wasn’t gone. Your heart in his hands, fingers squeezing tightly around it. Almost stopping it from beating.

You had noticed him changing. You had felt his touch getting colder and his words getting fewer. He came home later and went to work earlier.

As foolish as you were, you told yourself to ignore the signs. And in the end, whatever you were trying to save, came crumbling down.

You had counted the days after he’d left. But you eventually stopped. How many years had it been? Two? Three? Four even? You had lost track of time. And just as you thought you were over Michael Gray, he was back in Small Heath.

With a woman.

You tried to push through the busy crowd of a sunny Saturday morning after accidentally locking eyes with him. You wanted to get away. Erase the images that were now spinning around in your head.

Just as you thought you had saved yourself from an unpleasant encounter with the man you had once called yours, a strong hand placed itself onto your shoulder.

“Please wait …”

You spun around, holding the handle of your basked tightly, as though it was giving you the support you needed in this situation.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you spat. Against your own expectations, you didn’t look away.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back his hand awkwardly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about if you did it willingly and on purpose. And since you’ve never officially broken up with me, I take your new girl as an indication that our relationship is over, eh?”

You were never one to mince your words, but you knew where to draw the line. Usually. Whereas Michael, standing right in front of you, seemed to be triggering the worst in you. You would not try to be nice. You would use words that hurt. That would stab into his chest and rip out the little of a soul he had left.

Michael winced at your remark. You could see that this conversation was painful. Too bad, he didn’t understand the pain he had put you through when he left you. “I never meant to hurt you–“

You rolled your eyes.

“You know that this business changed me, Y/N. You knew I wasn’t the same man you met when I asked you about Pol’s address,” he continued.

“Oh, how romantic, referring to that day?”

“Please don’t be like that,” he begged. You knew he tried to sound pitiful. It wasn’t working. You were over and done with this theatre.

“It wasn’t the business that changed you, Michael. You yourself decided to change. And you decided to be cruel,” you told him, the tone in your voice harsh. Merciless even.

You watched him close his eyes for a moment, most likely annoyed at your unwillingness to talk this through, maybe even come to an understanding.

There was not one fibre in your body that was having any of it.

“I can’t change the man I am deep inside,” he tried explaining his behaviour. You huffed and shook your head in disbelief. “You’re an asshole, Michael Gray. And just for the record: Cruelty isn’t a personality trait. Cruelty is a habit. And you deliberately made it your habit.”

Then, you turned your back on your former boyfriend and began walking away. Taking the largest and proudest steps possible.

“Where are you going?” he shouted after you, baffled by the outcome of this dialogue.

“Home. To bake a fucking apple crumble.”

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #michael gray #michael gray x reader #polly gray #thomas shelby #Tommy Shelby #John Shelby #Arthur Shelby #Ada Shelby #finn shelby #isaiah jesus #michael gray one shot

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mygalfriday · 4 years ago

Text

Things you always meant to say but never got the chance

Coaxed you into paradise and left you there

{ao3}

Despite the many interruptions, he hopes he has actually managed to salvage the first night of their honeymoon. The unwelcome reminder – in the form of their future selves – of how finite their time together is has only made him more desperate to make this evening perfect. River deserves that and more.

She’d changed despite his insistence she never needed to, exchanging her prison uniform for something flouncy and flirtatious that makes his fingertips itch. She’s close enough to touch but he doesn’t, twirling his top hat between his hands and watching out of the corner of his eye as she helps herself to some more chips. The stars are set to appear any moment now and her gaze is pinned to the sky, waiting for the impressive show he’d promised her.

It’s a marked change from the woman who had been so determined to seduce him in the TARDIS and he fidgets anxiously, secretly wanting a bit of that back but unsure how to get them there. River has always been the instigator and he’s at a loss now that she’s so terribly young and it’s his turn to lead. He grips his hat in one hand and lifts the other to straighten his bowtie, inching a bit closer where they’ve settled on a massive tree branch.

Clearly still as alert to his every move as she’d been as Mels, River glances at him out of the corner of her eye the moment he so much as twitches in her direction. When she notices him hovering, she places a protective hand over her chips and says, “I told you to get your own, sweetie.”

He frowns. “First of all, River Song,” he says, wagging a finger at her and refusing to soften at the way her eyes light up when he uses her name. “I wasn’t trying to steal your chips. And second of all, are you telling me you wouldn’t share? On our honeymoon?”

She whirls to stare at him, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders and her eyes wide. “Honeymoon?” She laughs once, strained and nervous. “We’re not married.”

He squints at her, fearing for a moment he’d picked up the wrong River. But no, he’d gotten her on her first night in prison – she’d said so herself. So she must have already done Area 52. “Of course we’re married.” He waves a hand, gesturing between them. “There was a bowtie and a kiss-”

River interrupts him in the middle of his kissy-face impression, still eyeing him incredulously. “Yes, where you were a robot. In a timeline that no longer exists. I’ll hardly hold you to it, Doctor.” She smiles when he merely stares at her, the expression somehow unbearably sad despite the softness in her eyes. “You think I didn’t notice in all my research of you how often you get married and swan off, never to see your poor lovestruck bride again?”

“I haven’t swanned off,” he points out, wounded despite the truth of her words. River is different. Surely she knows that. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Of course you are.” She reaches out a hand, patting his bowtie fondly. “I’m the child of your best friends.”

He stares at her. “You think I married you out of guilt?”

“There are worse reasons to get married.” With a shrug, she turns back to the night sky spread out before them and her hand drops from his bowtie to reach for another chip. “But it wasn’t a real marriage, remember? You’re off the hook.”

“River,” he sighs, tugging at his hair. Why is she making him do this? Doesn’t she know he’s rubbish at this? “I don’t want to be off the hook. I want-” Blimey, what does he want? Twelve hundred years old and he still has no idea. He just knows that whatever this is – sitting here, bickering and pretending he doesn’t want any of her chips – he wants every last terrifying moment of it. With her. “I want -”

The sky lights up over their heads, brilliantly illuminated with the glow of a billion stars. It brightens their surroundings like sunlight. Ordinarily, this natural phenomenon wouldn’t be enough to distract him from the issue at hand but River tips up her face to stare at it like she’s never seen anything so wondrous. Her eyes widen and the most beautiful smile bursts to life on her face. It’s a thousand times more distracting than any star has ever been. The Doctor finds himself caught, gazing at her like a new Time Lord staring at his first planet.

Without looking away from the view above, River nudges the plate of chips toward him. A peace offering. The Doctor grins and ignores them, leaning in to press a smacking kiss to her cheek. She swats him, turning her head to seek out a proper snog. He sinks into her with a sigh, fingers finding her wild curls, and doesn’t stop to wonder why he feels like he’s forgotten to say something important.

He knows what he feels. He has known what he feels for far longer than he’d ever admit to any version himself. He hasn’t said the words since he was a young man on Gallifrey, unburdened by loss and the weight of ages. He might have said them once or twice to Susan when she was a child. The point is, it has been so long that the words don’t even feel tangible anymore – nothing but brittle bones and dust taking up space at the base of his throat. He worries if he tries to say them now, nothing will escape but ash.

He isn’t stupid enough to do nothing and merely hope River understands through osmosis but those words aren’t enough. They’re imaginary and ephemeral, easily lost and forgotten in this wide, unknowable universe. So many days he and River will spend apart, separated by space and time – yearning across worlds. He wants River to remember, even when she forgets everything else. He wants River to have more than brittle words.

So he gives her memories. Big, flashy, unforgettable memories that could cast a giant neon sign across the universe in 50 foot capital letters. You. Are. Loved. Stevie Wonder sings it for her under London Bridge; mysteriously inspired poets pen her sonnets; da Vinci sketches her likeness in La Scapigliata. Sunflowers remind him of her and he scatters seeds all over the fields of Spain so every summer people flock there to admire her beauty; he goes back in time and leaves notes throughout history for her to find during her excavations; he takes lessons with Julia Child and Fernand Point so he can make all her favorite dishes. He makes love to her at the start of the universe and the end of it so their love is a bookend to the beginning and the end of everything.

He never asks her if she understands what he isn’t saying. Instead he smiles when she finds another of his surprises and drinks in her laugh when he spins her around another ballroom, hoping she sees it for what it is. Not a showy distraction from a magician, but the last precious coin from a penniless man. All he has to offer. Someday, he might dust off those meagre words humans so love to abuse and see if he can make them shine again – make them pretty enough to deserve her – but for now, surely all this is enough? It must be.

Despite her hesitance around them, children gravitate naturally towards River. He thinks it must be the hair. There is no other possible explanation for why they’re all gathered around her when he’s the one sitting by the bonfire introducing these people to the roasted marshmallow about ten thousand years too early. Considering himself a bit of an expert on the subject, he appoints himself the overseer of their technique, teaching the locals how to get the outside nice and crisp without making the insides a gooey mess.

Most of them are understandably fascinated but every time the Doctor looks up in search of his wife, he finds her sitting just to the left of all the excitement and surrounded by a group of tiny humans. A few of them sit at her feet, two sit on either side of her, one stands behind her poking curiously at her hair, and another seems to have made himself a nice comfy home on her lap. To her credit, River isn’t as horrified by all the attention as she used to be when she was younger.

She seems to be telling them all a story, judging by enraptured looks on their faces and the way River keeps leaning in close like she always does when imparting a secret. Unable to conceal his grin, the Doctor puts the nearest villager in charge of marshmallow roasting and slips away to investigate. As he gets closer, the soft murmur of River’s voice becomes clearer until he can make out exactly which story she’s regaling her audience with.

“And of course, because he’s a man he thinks he always knows exactly where he’s going but he never does. None of them do.” She offers them all an exasperated look, as though inviting them to commiserate with her on the hopelessness of men. Every single little girl in the group nods sagely. “Now, who do you think actually found the gemstone and restored the High Chancellor to his natural form?”

One of them ventures confidently, “You did!”

River beams. “And don’t you forget it.”

Shaking his head and biting back a smile, the Doctor folds his arms over his chest and attempts to look cross. “Just so we’re clear, I did know exactly where I was going, River Song. I was… testing you.”

She glances up, apparently unsurprised to find him eavesdropping. “And the part where you twisted your ankle in the mines and I had to carry you for five miles back to the TARDIS?” She smiles innocently. “Was that part of the test too?”

“Yes. No.” He scowls, dropping his arms to his sides. “Shut up. Dear.”

River grins and he leans in, bopping her fondly on the nose. She turns her head coyly away when he tries to kiss her, teasing, “Not in front of the children, honey.”

“Ah. Right.” He turns to their rapt audience, pasting on a nervous grin. “Oi you lot, you’re missing out on all the sweets.” He claps his hands together, watching them scramble to their feet. “Off your pop, before your parents eat them all.”

Only the little one on River’s lap refuses to budge, curled up there like he belongs. The Doctor sighs, giving up on stealing a kiss for the moment as he settles onto the log beside his wife. Elbows on his knees, he peeks at her through his fringe and confesses, “I wasn’t actually testing you.”

River spares him an exasperated glance, preoccupied with the toddler currently clinging to the front of her shirt. “I know, sweetie.”

“And the whole carrying me thing was a tiny bit…” He risks a glance at their tiny audience and whispers, “Sexy.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know, sweetie.”

“Right. Good.”

He thinks about offering to fetch her a marshmallow but the sight of her hesitantly dropping a hand to stroke the little tot’s hair from his forehead stops the Doctor in his tracks. Despite her reticence, she’s a natural with kids. She always knows what to do, even when she doesn’t seem to trust her own instincts. He’s sure her hesitance must come from her own unusual upbringing and the complete lack of parental figures who didn’t have an eyepatch and a villainous agenda but he finds himself wishing she would give herself more credit. She knows what kids need – even if only because they need the things no one ever gave her.

Elbowing her gently, he says, “You’re good with them.”

River scoffs, glancing away. “I’m really not.”

“Could have fooled me.” He shrugs, studying the boy with sleepy eyes still clinging to her. “He seems very fond of you.”

River glances down at the boy, biting her lip. “I probably just look like someone he knows.”

“Someone else with this hair?” He plucks at a curl fondly. “Impossible.”

River swats at him, adorably and uncharacteristically flushed. The Doctor chooses not to mention it, watching in silence the way she cradles the boy to her and bounces him a bit in her arms to nudge him gently to sleep. Not for the first time, he thinks she’d probably make a brilliant mother if she wanted to be. He wonders briefly if she does want it. Maybe she does and just hasn’t said anything. What if he brought it up? Would she want it, if he offered?

Could he offer?

No. Of course not. It’s a terrible idea. The universe would come after any child of the Doctor and River Song. It would hardly be fair to ask a tiny little being to carry the weight and hatred of an entire universe. Besides, their lives are hardly the right environment in which to raise a child – what with the running and the prison and the timey-wimey-ness of it all.

But… if River really wanted it he might consider it in spite of all that. He might even sort of fancy the idea. He can’t ever see himself sitting still long enough to have a proper family life but the image of a miniature version of him and River asking for bedtime stories and refusing to eat their vegetables and begging for another trip to the intergalactic zoo? With anyone else, the very notion would send him running far and fast but with River it’s… Well. He’s grown to like all sorts of things so long as River is involved.

“Matteo?”

The Doctor lifts his head, snapping back to the present just in time to watch a woman – the boy’s mother, probably – lift the sleeping tot out of River’s arms with a murmur of thanks. River nods stiffly, watching the woman cradle her baby and sway with him toward the warmth of the bonfire. The ache of her longing is clear in her eyes.

The Doctor swallows, wanting nothing but for that look to disappear. Wanting her to have everything it’s within his power to give her. “You know, we could-”

“Doctor? We’re out of marshmallows!”

He sighs. “I warned them about rationing.”

River turns to him with a smirk, oblivious to what he’d been about to offer. “I’ll fetch some more from the TARDIS.”

“Thanks, dear.” He finally steals that kiss he’d been after, smiling as she slips away. The courage to ask her what had been on his mind goes with her. He never finds the nerve to bring it up again.

After they lose her parents, River spends most of her time in her study writing the book that will start it all. He knows he isn’t strong enough to be of any assistance to her, far more apt to make suggestions like taking the manuscript and pitching it into a black hole, but he also knows River would likely rebuff any offers of help from him right now anyway. She’s avoiding him.

The Doctor can’t blame her. He’s hardly been desirable company in recent days. All these centuries knocking about the universe and he’s still that same selfish old man he’s always been, mourning the loss of his Ponds as though he’s the only one who has lost something. River deserves far better than a selfish mad man like him but apparently she isn’t going anywhere despite his many faults and foibles. It’s this strange, terrible combination of guilt and gratitude, contrition and devotion that finds him standing outside the door to her study holding a cup of tea and listening to the soft click of typewriter keys coming from within the room.

“River?”

Balancing the cup in the palm of one hand, he raps his knuckles softly against the door. The typing doesn’t even pause. He sighs, nudging the door open with his hip and peering inside. The hinges creak but River doesn’t glance up, typing away as though he hasn’t interrupted. Reluctant to intrude on her space without permission after all the things he has said and done recently, the Doctor hovers in the doorway and wraps his fingers around the warm ceramic of the mug he’d brought her.

“I made tea.”

Again, she doesn’t look up from her notes. Pencil between her teeth, she taps her fingers against the keys of her typewriter and says, “Thanks.”

Figuring this may well be the closest he’ll get to permission to approach, the Doctor shoves off the doorframe and picks his way across the floor – careful not to step on the crumpled wads of paper scattered everywhere that River must have tossed in various pits of pique. He settles the mug on the corner of her desk, within reach if she wants it but not so close she’ll accidentally knock it over with an elbow. His job done, he lingers beside her desk uncertainly. She hasn’t asked him to leave but she’s hardly rolled out the welcome mat either.

Squirming, the Doctor touches a fingertip to a stack of field journals and ventures hesitantly, “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” comes the short, clipped reply. “I’ll be done soon and then I’ll go.”

He lifts his head from scrutinizing the contents of her desk, frowning. “Go?”

“Hmm.”

River lifts her glasses from the top of her head, relocating them to the bridge of her nose. Usually the sight of her in them does funny things to his insides but today, he only feels a cold knot of dread beginning to tighten in the pit of his stomach. Why hadn’t he noticed how tired she looks? She isn’t dressed to impress anyone today, wearing a pair of leggings and one of Rory’s old jumpers. He thinks the fuzzy socks on her feet might have belonged to Amy once. Her wild curls are piled on top of her head but keep spilling over her forehead every time she bends to peer at her notes. There are new lines of weariness around her eyes and mouth, a dullness to her gaze he has never seen before. And she still hasn’t looked at him.

The Doctor swallows, inching closer. “Actually I wanted to ask if you were hungry. I could cook…” He brightens. “Or we could have dinner somewhere. Anywhere you like, Professor Song.”

She shakes her head. “I need to get this done.”

He scoffs. “There’s plenty of time to finish it-”

“Not if you want me out of your hair sooner rather than later.” She sighs when he goes still, staring at her in silence. Her eyes remain locked on her half-finished manuscript. “It has to be done now.”

Studying her clenched jaw and the tightly contained way she holds herself – so very still, as though the slightest wrong move might make something explode in her face – the Doctor begins to understand he might have buggered things up quite a bit more than he’d realized. “What makes you think I want you out of my hair?”

Despite her every attempt to appear unaffected, the words slip out with an incredulous huff of laughter. “You mean besides your every word and action in the last week?”

He flinches. “River, no. I didn’t mean-”

She sighs, the bitterness slipping away like it had never been. At times it alarms him how easily she forgives his transgressions. Taking off her glasses and letting them clatter to her desk, River pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes for a moment. Gathering patience, though she probably thinks he doesn’t know what she’s doing. As if he doesn’t know all of her little tells by now, even the ones he pretends he doesn’t see.

“I know you didn’t,” she says, and the sound of her voice is more familiar to him now. Soft. Warm. Forgiving. He really doesn’t deserve her. She lifts her head and finally meets his worried gaze since the first time he walked into her study. The utter lack of light in her eyes scares the hell out of him. “But it’s clear you need space. So I’ll finish the manuscript and I’ll go.”

“Stay,” he insists, bracing himself with his hands against the edge of her desk. He leans in toward her, forcing a smile. “We’ll pay Vastra and Jenny a visit. Or we’ll go to Egypt and see how the pyramids are coming along, eh? Get married again while we’re there – how’s that?”

“Doctor,” she begins, and he hates it when she says his name like that. It sounds like no. “I’m not going to stay just because you don’t want to be alone.”

He pushes off her desk with a low growl. “That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” The amount of resignation in her patient voice is maddening. “It’s alright, honey. We’ll go our separate ways for a while and I’ll pop round to see how you’re faring after I get back.”

“Back?” Pacing to her bookshelves across the room and preparing to pout a bit and possibly make childish comments about the amount of archeology texts she owns, the Doctor scowls and prods irritably at a scroll wedged between suspiciously authentic looking manuscripts of Macbeth and The Importance of Being Earnest – stolen, no doubt. “Back from where?”

Already sliding her glasses back on and returning her attention to her notes, River mutters absently, “I got an invitation to lead the first expedition to the Library planet. Thought I might go – get my mind off things.”

The Doctor goes cold. That slowly growing and widening knot of dread in the pit of his stomach yawns open like a black hole. He grips the edge of a bookshelf until his knuckles turn white and the wood begins to creak beneath his fingers, threatening to splinter. With his back turned to her, River doesn’t see the way the blood drains away from his face. The way his mouth can only silently form no over and over again until it doesn’t even feel like a real word anymore. It screams in his head anyway, blaring like a siren until it loses some of its power with repetition and he feels just as helpless as he had the day he watched her die.

No.

Not yet.

He just watched an ending unfold right before his eyes. He cannot – will not – do it again. He will not lose another precious person to this goddamned thief called Time. The pain of losing the Ponds is still raw and fresh in his mind, reminders of them at every turn and memories lurking like ghosts out of the corner of his eye. It hurts now; and it always will. He has lost companions before. It always feels like this; like being ripped open and left to bleed out. It heals eventually, despite all his best intentions to cling to his grief. Another scar to bear in his long, lonely life.

But this, he knows, would break him.

“Don’t pout, sweetie,” she says, mistaking his silence for something else. Still typing away like she hasn’t destroyed his whole world. “Far better we have some time to ourselves than stay together and say more things we don’t mean.”

He won’t lose her. The only solution is to change it. The Doctor lifts his head, resolve slipping down his spine like cold steel. Not one line echoes in his head but he pushes it away with a grim smile. “I meant them.”

The typing stops. “What?”

“What I said when we lost Amy.” He doesn’t turn to look at her yet, struggling to school his features into something expressionless and cold – the mighty Time Lord instead of the devastated husband. It’s easier when he can’t see the look on her face. “If you hadn’t told her to go -”

River’s voice grows brittle. “She’d be here and miserable without my father.”

“She’d be here.” Clenching his jaw, the Doctor forces himself to turn from the bookshelf and face her properly. River sits utterly still at her desk, staring at him like he’s a particularly bad dream she’s waiting to wake up from. “And that’s really what it comes down to in the end, wife. If not for you, my Amelia would still be here.”

In the silence of the room, he can hear the hitch in River’s breath.

He directs his gaze elsewhere before he can see her eyes begin to water, glaring at a spot in the carpet instead. His hands tremble and he clenches them into fists, forcing the words out around the lump in his throat. “How can you expect me to look at you, knowing you’re the reason we lost them both? If you’d been quicker or cleverer or just… more. I expected better of you.” He stops when he sees her flinch out of the corner of his eye, unable to bear hurting her for another second with such poisonous lies. His eyes begin to burn and he snaps out, “I can’t wait for you to finish the manuscript. Go now. And take your bloody book with you.”

He stalks from the room before she can say a word and he doesn’t dare look at her as he leaves, knowing the moment he sees her face he’ll drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. So he walks and he walks until his vision blurs and the TARDIS opens a door, letting him stumble into a room at the end of the corridor.

Their bedroom. Of course.

With a growl, the Doctor picks up the nearest thing to hand – one of River’s high heels – and hurls it at the wall. It cracks the plaster and he stares at the split along the wall, his chest heaving and his eyes burning. In the ensuing silence, there is only the rasp of his shaky breathing and the sound of River’s footsteps as she leaves.

It’s only standing in his tomb with her ghost in front of him that he understands he had certainly changed things that day in the TARDIS – just not how he’d hoped. River still went to the Library; she still died in his place and wound up trapped in the data core. The only thing he had changed was letting her die believing he blamed her. Believing he didn’t love her.

Cradling her face in his hands, he looks into her eyes and realizes this may very well be his last chance to tell her all the things he’d never had the chance to say to her before. So many of those things seem pointless now. What does it matter that he’d always considered Area 52 their wedding day or that he would have given her children if she’d only asked? What does it matter if he never once blamed her for what happened to her parents or that he loves her so much he chokes on the words every time he tries to say them? It’s too late for any of it to matter now.

She’s gone and he’s looking at an echo.

River doesn’t ask him to say any of those things anyway. She wants something far more difficult to give. A goodbye.

“Say it like you’re going to come back.”

And it’s this – the thing he wants desperately to refuse to ever say – that he doesn’t have the hearts to deny her. Mouth full of lost opportunities and a lifetime of regrets, the Doctor swallows it all back with a smile. “See around, Professor River Song.”

#drfic #river song #eleventh doctor #river x eleven #eleven x river #my fic

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