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creepling · 4 years ago

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am i not enough? (quackity x reader) - apocalypse!AU

( 。・_・。)人(。・_・。 ) | part of the @quackisinnit 1k event !

THE PROMPT IS . . . “ AM I NOT ENOUGH ? “

pairing: irl!quackity x genderneutral!reader (apocalypse!AU)

word count: 3,306

summary: the reader and alex become a duo while coming across each others paths during a zombie apocalypse. tensions rise as they set up camp in a warehouse, where alex begins to confess how he feels towards the reader. (angst into fluff <33)

tw: zombie apocalypse, blood (ment), cursing, guns, death, eating.

It had been three months since the fallen of mundane life. Three months of complete abnormality, everything known to be in existence that was worth caring about; completely gone. jobs, currency, education were becoming a historic relic. The world was put back to zero. Instead of cavemen and dinosaurs, the new species of flesh-eating corpse’s roamed in packs and seeked for fresh meat. They may have been slow, but they travelled in numbers and they could smell you from a mile away. I learned that your scent became less of a problem when you didn’t keep hygenic. My stence blended with the earth and blood and the roamers didn’t catch us out as much; so we used that to our advantage.

I only had one companion, his name was Alex. He was absolutely dumbfounded when I discovered him. I raided his abandoned home looking for supplies, and when I had to kill a roamer that vacaded in his bedroom; I found him curled up in a ball under his bed. He told me that he had been hiding the whole month when he realised help was to never come; so his only plan was to hide out until he ran out of supplies. That became a problem when I attempted to take them. We made the mutual agreement that if I was to take the supplies, he would come with me. I refused to stay and hide; that is how you get yourself killed. Thankfully he agreed to come with me, and we have been inseperable ever since. However, our bond is nothing close to a friendship, we just had to stick together to survive.

Alex’s main idea was to find a group, hoping by now someone had turned one of the surbubans into a mini civilization. We had travelled between three cities however and we found no sign of good company. As a duo, we have only killed one human within these three months. A man who tried to kill us at gunpoint in hopes of taking our things, to which we scarsely saved our lives by ducking behind a bar table. With one aimless shoot, I shot my gun and it pierced through the man’s chest. I saved our lives, but the sight of the man’s lifeless eyes still haunts me in my sleep.

One night, Alex found a two-store warehouse to shelter in while on a supply run. He suggested we camp on the second floor and catch up on our sleep and starvation, since we eventually got ahold of sleeping bags and tinned food. I agreed, but reminded him the stay can’t be perminant. He agreed also, still fixated on the idea of finding a commune.

While I made a fire and cooked food, I obvserved Alex drawing in a notepad. I failed to make out what he was doing so I asked, “What are you drawing?”

“I’m trying to draw a map.” He said to me, “It’s not accurate, but it will give us a rough idea of the roads until we find a map.”

“I didn’t take you as a smart person.” I said, hoping he didn’t think I meant it seriously. It was rare for me to joke in times like these, but when I did, my humour came off dry. Thankfully, my comment made Alex scoff out a chuckle.

“And I didn’t take you for a fighter.” Alex said. Since being with each other for two months, we both naturally adopted different roles that benefitted us. Alex was the navigator, the finder; he seemed to have a good sense of direction and I relied on him to not get lost. He also had a good eye and was always good at finding things such as second-way exits or food hiding in obscure places. For me, my job was a lot more physical. I was a good shoot, I knew how to make a fireplace, or bandage a wound. When things got dirty, I would get lucky and save our asses.

“Your food’s ready.” I said, handing him his warm can of chicken soup and a packet of chips. He thanked me, putting his notebook down and sitting cross-legged beside me. As we ate we sat in silence, the only sounds in the warehouse being our mouths chewing the food. We hadn’t ate in nearly a week. I tried my best to chew my chips before swallowing so I didn’t end up with stomache pain, but the instant flavour shot through my tongue and I instinctly ate them quickly. Alex finished his food within minutes, licking the chip packet and his fingers; scraping every last bit of soup from the can and into his mouth. I reluctantly did the same, feeling a little embarrassed; I have never felt so starved in my life.

“That was fucking amazing.” Alex sighed out, now heating his hands over the fire. I nodded in agreement, collecting the empty tin cans and keeping them next to our things. They will be handy for traps, tying them with strings and hanging them in the woods while hunting would let us know of intruders. It was the small things like that that has made us survive this long.

“Are you gonna go to sleep now? I could keep watch.” I offered, observing Alex’s bloodshot eyes. If we had mirrors, we would flinch at our reflections. Alex looked rough. He always wore his beanie, which he apparently did even before things got bad. He always had a collective spot of dirt on his nose and cheekbones no matter how clean we were, it’s where it always collected the most. His hands were the most dirty, dirt under his short nails and inbetween his fingers. From the rare occasions we touched hands, I felt the softness of his hands, compared to mine that felt aged and rough. His knuckles were stained with blood. Out of both of us, I was covered in the most blood. When I looked down, my hands had a reddish tint, observing more I could see small cuts on my hands from being idle with my knife when striking roamer’s heads. Without having to see, I knew I had sprays of blood on my face from the amount of times I killed roamers. To think when life was normal we cared so much about our appearence, but now activities like doing makeup, brushing your hair, brushing your teeth seemed so pointless. We were slowly becoming used to primitive life and deep down that scared me. I think it scared Alex too.

“I’m tired as fuck, but I know I won’t sleep.” Alex said in a low tone, looking at his hands full of shame. I nodded my head in understanding, knowing exactly how he was feeling. We hadn’t slept properly in months, instead when one person kept watch, the other just lay down with their eyes closed. We forgot what it was like to dream, or to feel hazy. We were constantly alert.

“Since we have no intention of sleeping. Why don’t we play a game?” Alex said. I cocked my eyebrow up in question. What game could we play that didn’t involve making noise and attracting attention?

“We ask each other 20 questions. Normally if you don’t want to answer a question- you would have to do a dare. But hey, wants the point in hiding nowadays?” Alex said, looking at me contently.

“We should be hiding ourselves more than ever, I think.” I said, adding fuel to the fire to keep it burning. “That way no one knows our weaknesses.”

“So you don’t trust me?” Alex said. His question threw me off. It’s not that I didn’t trust him, but maybe I was unwilling to get to know him. I had already lost the people close to me, and I was still in grieving. I was too afraid to get close with Alex. I always had the thought in the back of my head that one day, I might end up losing him. His intelligence may only get him so far.

“I understand.” Alex said, taking back his question. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, he must have realized what I was thinking. He lost his close ones too. We both lost so much, we had a mutual understanding about that. Yet, I looked at Alex, and he still felt like a mystery to me. He always pulled out jokes, even in times like these. However, in moments when he thought I wasn’t looking, I could see the pain concealed in his face. Sometimes I even heard him cry at night when he thought I was sleeping. Maybe it was about time we opened up to each other, instead of feeling like we need to suffer alone. We could be there for each other not just physically, but emotionally.

“Okay then, since it was your idea, you ask the first question.” I said, hugging my legs to my chest. Alex smiled a little at me, going into thought as he tried to think of a question.

“So, what did you do when life was normal?” He asked first.

I let out a sigh then replied, “I had a very normal life. Lived with my family, did average in school, worked a job to get money. I actually had plans of moving out to the city, I always wanted to go to LA. I never really had aspirations, just wanted to be content.” It sounded boring, but I was happy with my life. I had my ups and downs like everyone else. “What were you like?”

Alex smirked and looked away from me, seeming to become bashful. “I was a twitch streamer.” He said. “And had a Youtube channel. God- it sounds so stupid now that I say it. Like it was all pointless-”

“Were you like- famous?” I asked, trying to conceal a smile.

“Um- I guess you could say that. I had millions of followers.” Alex shook his head, “But I also went to college. I was studying law. I was always staying up late, barely sleeping; both studying and streaming all the time. It took up my whole life, that I just kinda forgot about everything else.”

“Well, you were obviously not famous, because I didn’t know who you were.” I jokingly said, nudging his side. That seemed to make him smile and feel less embarassed.

“So how the hell did you learn how to shoot if you lived such a normal life?” He asked.

“I just learned while doing it. My dad kept a gun.” I admitted, looking at the very same gun I had in the holster wrapped around my thigh. “He would teach me now and then how to use it, but I was never a shooter. The more roamers I shot, the more I got used to it.” Thinking about someone close to me made me chew the inside of my cheek anxiously.

To deflate my melancholy, I asked the next question. “Did you always wear that stupid hat?”

Alex chuckled and rubbed the top of his hat. “Yeah, twenty-four seven. I don’t why, I just find it comfortable. My “fans” would joke that I was bald because I never showed my hair.” He said, “God- saying the word fans sounds fucked up . . .”

“Maybe you’ll bump into one of them.” I said, “Heck- maybe there’s a commune right now dedicated to you, trying to find you and keep you safe.”

Alex laughed again, covering his face with his hands. I laughed alongside him, the first time I genuinely laughed in a good few weeks. Looking at Alex, seeing how I uplifted him, it struck a chord with me. As much as I didn’t like to show it, but he made affects on me that were indescribable. He made me feel just a little more contempt, without him I would probably not be able to cope for this long. We eventually locked eyes with each other, Alex’s gaze being longer than I expected. If it wasn’t for the blood, my face would have exposed the blush forming on my cheeks.

“Have you ever fell in love, (Y/N)?” Alex then asked me, which set me aback. The question was out the blew and I think Alex realised that as he looked away shyly, his gaze fixated on the flames of the fire to avoid my gaze. I still stared at him, almost in amazment, trying to conjuct a reasonable answer.

“I don’t know.” I answered. “I have loved people, yes, but- I don’t think I have been in love. You’re suppose to know when things like that happen, right?”

Alex didn’t answer me, he kept staring at the fire. I found myself admiring his side profile, watching how he slowly bit his lip; concealed in thought. I noticed how the glow of the flames contrasted with the darkness of his eyes, how the light outlined his complexion. When I realized I was staring for too long, I looked away, instead my eyes looked out the warehouse window, my eyes tracing the stars in the night sky.

“I feel like I have known you forever.” Alex admitted all at once. “It’s only been two months, but I have gotten close to you more than anyone I have in my whole life. It might sound crazy but- I believe we were suppose to come together that day.”

My gaze turned back to Alex when I felt his eyes lay upon me. His stare was soft, something I only seen in passing times. I was able to admire him for the first time since we met. In this moment, in the dead of night, away from danger and suspicion; I could look at him with full sentiment. I didn’t need to admire him when he was less suspecting it, afraid of receiving decline or making things awkward. In this moment I realized, I may have developed feelings more than companionship towards him. That excited me. But also terrified me.

“I feel that way with you, Alex.” I admitted, “But . . .”

I decided to choose my words carefully. This conversation was heading in a direction that made me nervous. The world is falling apart around us, and I couldn’t help but question our motives. We should be focusing on survival, not developing a relationship that could be destroyed at any second. Once we step out this warehouse, our chances of losing our lives become high. I wasn’t prepared to damage my mental state, it was already bad enough. I realized my long pause was making Alex shift nervously, so I looked at him in hopes my words would slip from my mouth.

I caved in, muttering lowly, “We should get some rest.” I got up on my feet and was ready to grab my sleeping bag and make up a place to rest, until I heard Alex get his his feet and say words that made my heart sink.

“Am I not enough?”

When I turned to look at him, the hurt was glistening in his eyes. He gulped dryly and he fumbled with his fingers. My eyes shifted from side to side as I was stuck with my words. I kept stammering, and I rubbed my face in stress, ready to plead my case. Until Alex jumped in.

“Don’t think I’m only saying these things to you because there is no one else, (Y/N). I have been thinking about this for a while, everytime I am left with my thoughts. I am certain I will still have the same feelings if we met when things didn’t go to shit. I don’t just think this because we have been the only people for each other. I really really like you, (Y/N). And because of the way the world is, I never want to lose you. I never want you to feel alone ever again. I not only want to protect you because we’re a team, I want to protect you because the thought of losing you pains me so much.”

For a split second I thought Alex was about to burst into tears. That was when I did something I thought I would never do again, which was pull him into my embrace. I hugged Alex so tight that I heard him gasp, freeze, until he eventually wrapped his arms around me and held me just as tight. My face buried into the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth of his body, his soft hands caressing my back and brushing his thumb down my spine in a soothing manner.

“You are enough, Alex.” I said, my words muffled by his body. I reached my lips to his ear so he could hear my words clearly. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to like me, or be forced to like me just because we were brought together. I was afraid you thought you were stuck with me.”

I anticipated the day that once we meet other life, Alex would slowly fade away and forget who I was. Once he meets other people, we would go our seperate ways. I never knew why the hypothetical idea pained me so much, until now. As Alex pulled away from my embrace, looking me in the eyes in a loving manner that was foreign to me, his hands on my shoulders, I realized why that idea made my heart feel heavy. I never want him to leave me, I want him to always be by my side. Alex’s gaze was enough proof that he wanted the same.

Stimulated by his touch, I was taken aback when I felt his hand cup my cheek. The warmth of his breath breezing against my cheek, I inhaled as if oxygene was nonexistent. I never realized the proximity between us was slowly closing in and when I did my eyes fluttered shut. Alex hesitated for a split second before pressing his soft lips against my own. My neck bent slightly backwards and I shifted my head to the side to deepen into our kiss, my blood-stained hands grabbing the edges of his open jacket and holding him dearly close. The heat of the kiss intermingled with the heat from the fire, my cheeks and ears grew hot. Alex’s hands were surprisingly warm as he reached his hands under my shirt, pressing his fingers and palms on the middle of my back before running his touch down my spine. My breath became shaky and I felt my legs grow heavy under me, my hands cupped the back of his neck to keep myself uplifted, and luckily Alex’s arms held my weight and pressed my body against his. It felt like hours had went by between our lips moving in sync, our tongues grazing our bottom lip’s, our hands moving and resting on different parts of our bodies. His touch felt contagious, his kisses ranging between soft and passionate. I didn’t want to stop, I never wanted to let go. Between kisses I would mutter you are enough, you are enough which made Alex smile against my lips.

That night, everything we had to worry about became last priority. The focus all throughout was each other, making up for the days where affection couldn’t be shown. In the dead of night, there wasn’t a roamer in sight. Instead of hearing narls and groans or screams of pain, there was only the faint sounds of nature. The full moon glistened, as if to be a prediction for the emotions spilling between us. I promised myself from this moment on, as I admired Alex, I would protect him no matter what. I will make sure he always feels safe as long as he is beside me. He will always be enough, if not more.

TAGLIST: @momo-has-a-gun @diggorysmalfoy @quack42069 (join my taglist)

#quackity x reader #irl!quackity x reader #quackity x you #quackity x y/n #gender neutral reader #quackity x gn!reader #quackity imagine #quackity fanfic #mcyt fanfic #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #youtuber imagine #quackity angst #quackity fluff #apocalypse!AU #mcyt apocalypse au #quackity apocalypse au

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veryreallyfuckinbad · 3 years ago

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FIRE AND MOSS // Daryl Dixon X Reader// CHAPTER 4

TW: strong language

You tried your best to fall asleep, you were exhausted. Sleep didn’t come easy; especially not after being on your own for as long as you were. Any shut eye was interrupted by the smallest noise- leaves rustling, water dripping from trees, the gentle flapping of a bird’s wings. Every single noise made you jolt up, ready to pounce on anything that tried to come close to you. You were so used to being alone, with no backup, nobody to look out for you, nobody to care for you that spending the night at a safe place felt strange.

You rolled to your side with a heavy sigh. Your eyes hurt and you were sure you had some horrifying eyebags, too. The sleeping bag felt a little too soft, unlike the hard surface of your tent that you’ve grown so accustomed to, you haven’t laid in a sleeping bag since ‘the shit hit the fan’, as you called it. It seemed more appropriate than calling it ‘the apocalypse’, maybe because you never imagined the apocalypse to be so goddamn ugly, bloody and smelly.

You decided to sit up, knowing that you won’t fall asleep anytime soon. You knew that Jake was outside, but you didn’t know exactly what he was doing. You guessed he was running around camp or went to the forest to hang out- it was his first home, after all. He always came back to you by morning though, so you never worried. You suddenly heard the crackling of a fire and poked your head out your tent- it was Daryl. As soon as your head peeked out of the entrance of your tent, you felt Jake brush his snout against your cheek. He couldn’t sleep either, but didn’t leave to run around. He sat in front of your tent like a guardian, watching Daryl’s every move. You chuckled quietly, trying not to alert the man by the fire of your presence just yet. You studied him- his back was facing you, the wings on his leather vest were clearly visible. He was much bigger than you were- in every sense of the word. Taller, broader, heavier; in other words he was deadly to you, physically speaking. The man was like a puzzle, you couldn’t figure him out. He was watching you for God knows how long and you never even noticed, left you a gift, convinced Rick to take you in, yet he never spoke to you unless you were the one to engage conversation. He seemed rough around the edges but had a strange tenderness to him, and from what you’ve heard from the group, you were the only one to see it.

Deciding to stand up, you stretched a little and made your way over to him and decided to speak first, as not to startle him. “Hey”

His head whipped around to look at you and simply nodded in response, his dark hair falling over his icy eyes. He stared at you, waiting for you to say something else.

“Mind if I join? I can’t sleep” you kneeled next to Jake and gave the foxes’ head a small pat, awaiting Daryl’s response. He looked into your eyes but quickly shifted his gaze on something else and hummed in response. You smiled and took a seat on the opposite side of the small campfire, deciding it’s best to let him have his space. A few minutes of silence passed, you were sure Daryl didn’t mind it but sitting across from him and staring at the fire, occasionally looking up at him felt a bit uncomfortable to you. You cleared your throat and noticed his gaze shift from the fire to you.

“Not to seem ungrateful or anything” you began with a nervous chuckle, “but why did you help me out? Not just in the forest, yesterday too. You helped convince Rick to let me stay.” You grabbed a stick and poked the fire causing embers to fly up into the dark sky. Both you and Daryl took notice of Jake jumping up and trying to catch one in his mouth before it disappeared. Daryl let out a small snort that was gone before you could take it in- it was a completely new sound.

“Didn’t want him to go” he motioned to the fox with a tiny smirk, causing you to giggle. He cleared his throat and continued, which surprised you- this was your first real conversation, even if it was just about Jake. “He do any tricks?”

“Yeah, a couple actually. He can bite your face off if you keep treating him like a dog,” you gave him a playful smile, he returned the favor and mumbled something along the lines of ‘lil’ bastard’ and you went on “or my personal favorite. You got an empty can?” He looked at you with confusion, raising his eyebrows but didn’t say anything as he picked up an empty can of beans from the grass behind the log he was sitting on and threw it to you. You caught it and placed it on the damp grass near your foot, in front of Jake. He instantly put his snout inside, getting stuck.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Mother Nature’s perfect killing machine” you announced in between chuckles and heard Daryl snort again. He smiled and shook his head while you took the can off Jake’s face. “And before you ask, I have no idea why he does that” you added while ruffling his fur lovingly. Before long, silence fell between you once again, but it was more comfortable this time. You didn’t expect any more conversation from the man- you were surprised with how much you got already, anyway. He looked at you, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the flames. Daryl’s expression was unreadable, it frustrated you that you couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head. He leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees and spoke up.

“Who ‘ere you with before us?” his low voice now sounded more gravelly than usual, he didn’t look at you. Your breath caught in your throat- you have never spoken to anyone about your previous group. Just now, you realized how much you missed them. If it weren’t for Jake and the others, you wouldn’t be where you were right now. They were the ones who taught you to survive, the ones who took you in when all seemed hopeless, they were family. They were family and when you were attacked, you didn’t even fight, you just ran. You realized your eyes were tearing up and looked at the man with nothing but shame, guilt and despair. He couldn’t see you like this, you didn’t want him to pity you or look at you differently, so you stood up. His eyes followed you, he shook his head gently to get the hair out of his face. He glanced at you apologetically, thinking he must’ve done or said something wrong. He didn’t realize you weren’t ready to open up yet.

“Alright” you chuckled sadly, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject, “It’s late, you’d better go to sleep. Jake and I will take watch”

Daryl gently shook his head and eyed you, the pressure of his gaze being much for you in that moment. You turned your back to him and pretended to look up at the star-filled sky. In reality, you tried to hold back the tears forming in your eyes. You didn’t realize that opening up would be so difficult. Deciding its best to hide from the man for the time being, you stepped into your tent. Daryl saw you fumble and shuffle inside, he couldn’t believe that you actually complied. His attention turned back to the fire, he picked up a stick from the ground and began poking the burning wood with it before his head shot up when he heard you step out of the tent with something under your arm- it was too dark to make out what it was. You stepped towards Daryl and sat beside him, your eyes now red and puffy but dry. Wordlessly, you placed the item you were holding in his lap- your sleeping bag. Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and gently touched the soft makeshift mattress with his fingers.

“Can’t sleep on it, it’s too soft for me” you looked at him, hoping he would understand. You saw something change in his eyes when the words left your mouth, like the light he had while joking with you earlier died out completely. Your mouth turned into a thin line, trying your best to give him a smile but you were sure it came out more like a sad-puppy-look than a friendly grin. Enough was enough, you were just making him pity you more. You were an enigma to him- like a puzzle piece from a completely different box. Despite going through the unimaginable, things that you couldn’t even share with him, you never failed to give him that damn smile. The smile that made him wonder whether rescuing you was a good idea- you were dangerous. Not literally, Daryl knew you couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt him. The way you made him feel was dangerous but most of all, it was completely new and utterly confusing. You were like an elusive animal; afraid only when you absolutely needed to be, defensive yet so trusting, so warm and it frustrated him. He could usually read people like open books, but you were the only exception.

You stood up and didn’t miss the way Daryl’s eyes flickering between your face and the sleeping bag in his lap. Jake followed you to the tent, but you stilled before you entered.

“Goodnight, Daryl”

You woke up to Jake’s squeaks and growls coming from outside your tent, growling as you sat up and stretched. Your eyes landed on a small roll right outside of your tent- your sleeping bag. A heavy sigh left your mouth, but you couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

“Stubborn asshole”, you didn’t even notice the smile forming on your face while you cursed Daryl out. You crouched, trying to get out of the tent and almost falling over in the process. The damn thing was small. Once you managed to get out, Jake greeted you, jumping up and standing on his hind legs, his front paws resting on your stomach. You leaned down to press him into yourself gently. “Good morning to you, too. C’mon, let’s go say hi to everyone else.”

When you made your way to the group’s campground, Glenn, Dale, Carl and Maggie walked up to you to greet you while the rest said their hello’s from their seats. You were happy to see them, glad they didn’t disappear overnight. Shit. Last night’s conversation with Daryl hit you harder than you’d thought. The group was having breakfast around a campfire- theirs was much bigger than the one Daryl made. You stared at them, wondering whether you should join. Jake sniffed the air and made it clear he smelled the meat cooking over the fire.

“Are you going to stand there and stare at us or are you gonna join?” Glenn chuckled and bumped Maggie’s shoulder with his own, “Seriously, it’s kinda creepy.”

You apologized and offered them a sheepish smile while taking a seat in between Carl and Maggie. Everyone looked up at you from time to time, which you brushed off- they were probably just curious about Jake, who sat in the space between you and Carl. Maybe they were worried he would attack Carl?

“Alright, what’s up? Now you guys are the ones being creepy.” If you had to take one more weird look, you’d probably die. Or bury yourself underground.

“You’re uh…” Rick began and fumbled over his own words, “there’s a working shower in the house.” Great, Rick. He pointed it out in front of everyone. You were about to get mad but you took a look at yourself for the first time in forever, examining your clothes- they were covered in dirt and grime, not to mention that your face and arms had dried blood all over them.

“Patricia can wash your clothes!” Maggie chimed in, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that fell upon the group. “Eat something and go wash up, I’ll get you some of my clothes for the time being”

You were perfectly content with waiting for Patricia to wash your clothes, hell, you didn’t mind washing them yourself but decided to take the offer- it was a luxury, after all.

Dale cleared his throat and handed you a paper plate with two pieces of meat on it. You thanked him with a smile and gratefully took the food. Without thinking, you grabbed the larger piece and gave it to Jake, watching as he carefully took it from your hand with his teeth while you began chewing your own piece. The taste was familiar, you’ve eaten that meat before. Was it…

“Squirrel?” you asked and noticed Rick staring at you. Dale simply nodded and looked at you with nothing but confusion painted on his face. You were being stared at again. You couldn’t help but chuckle. “What did I do now?”

“I’m pretty sure both of those were for you” Rick smirked and you dipped your head. You couldn’t imagine eating and not sharing it with Jake.

“He’s hungrier than I am” you reassured him with a grin and pat the fox between his ears. Suddenly, something hit you. There’s only one person who can catch squirrels in this group and he wasn’t there.

“Where’s Daryl? There’s no squirrel without Daryl.” It was a joke, but you couldn’t help but worry about him. He was up all night and he went out, he must’ve been exhausted. Maggie smirked and tried to suppress a snort but didn’t manage to. You weren’t sure whether she was laughing at your joke or at how worried you were, but decided to believe it was the former.

“He’s out looking for Sophia, he should be back soon.” Lori tried to sound reassuring but it didn’t make you worry any less. You tried your best not to show your anxiety, the group probably didn’t know why you’d be worried about him. They were asleep while he took watch, making sure everyone was safe.

“I’m going on a run later today. You wanna join?” Maggie asked, kneeling in front of you. You felt Jake tense at how close she got. You didn’t expect it- they trusted you instantly, while they had no reason to. You couldn’t believe it, but you quickly accepted the offer.

Once you finished your meal, you headed to the house to take your fist shower since the apocalypse began. Of course there was the occasional bath in a river or lake but nothing could compete with a warm shower, with soap too. Maggie led you to the bathroom and smiled at you before you shut the door.

“New clothes will be right outside the door on the floor!” her voice was muffled through the closed door. You shouted back a quick ‘thank you!’ before you were about to step in the shower, but something stopped you. A mirror. You looked in the reflection and didn’t recognize the person staring back at you. Your once lively eyes were now sunken down. Your cheekbones were more visible and your hair was matted and tangled. You found a brush in one of the drawers and began combing it out as quickly as you could- the shower couldn’t come soon enough. Once you were done working on your hair, you stepped into the cold, ceramic bathtub and smiled as you turned the tap and felt warm water wash over you. It was an incredible feeling- the blood and gore washing off your skin, cleansing you of the horrors outside of the farm. You ran your hands along your once smooth skin- it was now bumpy and covered with scars. They were nothing but reminders of the battles you’ve won. The pleasant smell of raspberry-scented soap filled your lungs. It was sweet and reminded you of the world before everything fell apart; sweet and tender, but stung like hell if it got into your eyes.

You closed your eyes and simply enjoyed the moment. It felt purifying. All of the pain, sorrow and grief washing off you and disappearing in the drain. The only thing the warm water couldn’t wash off was the moss that grew on your heart, almost engulfing it whole. Love was a tricky thing, it always was, but in this world it was even worse. You were unable to bring yourself to open up to the group about who you were with before, even about your pitiful life before the ‘shit hit the fan’. You didn’t want to think about your disgusting past relationships, the men you were with being the reason as to why you flinched and ducked whenever someone raised their hand at you or touched you without announcing themselves first. You only allowed yourself to cry in moments like these- alone and comfortable, always afraid of people seeing you cry. Perhaps that’s why you and Jake bonded almost instantly- your hearts were covered in moss.

You quickly opened the bathroom door and dragged your new clothes in. It was a nice outfit; a black tank top and a pair of jeans that was cut with scissors to be knee-length, along with a well-fitted black leather jacket. A smile crept up on your face when you saw yourself in the foggy mirror- you at least resembled your old self now.

Maggie was already waiting for you on the porch, sitting on the steps and smiled at you when you emerged from the door.

“Ya ready to go?” her head swung toward you while she pushed herself up from the steps, standing up. You nodded in response but quickly stiffened, remembering something,

“Can he come along?” you motioned towards Jake, who was standing by your side. Maggie shifted, her eyes flickering between you and your fox companion. She was clearly unsure and she had every reason to be- it was a wild animal. But that wild animal was insistent on following you and making sure you were okay; you did the same for him.

“We’re gonna go on horses, though.” She looked at you sheepishly and awaited your response

“That’s perfect, actually! He could use a good run” you kneeled down next to Jake, who instantly began pacing around you, brushing his fiery fur against you. “Sure has a lot of pent up energy”

You couldn’t remember the last time you rode a horse- it was long before the apocalypse even began. The animal was big, if it decided to buck you off- it would. Thankfully, you were good with animals. The horse seemed calm as it walked beside Maggie’s. It was exceptionally quiet for a while. The only sounds echoing through the empty streets of the abandoned countryside town was the rhythmic hitting of hooves against the hard concrete. Jake trotted along, not needing to run as you weren’t going fast. He clearly enjoyed going out on runs, he was the most adventurous fox you’ve ever met. The only fox you’ve ever met, actually, but you were sure other foxes weren’t this energetic or upbeat. The only weapon you carried was a hunting knife that you borrowed from Rick, who refused to let you go without any way of protecting yourself. Your goal was a small grocery store that was boarded up, which meant it probably wasn’t looted yet. Maggie clearing her throat brought you back from your thoughts.

“So, what’s up with you and Daryl?” she chimed cheerfully. You almost fell off the horse, but quickly composed yourself . What in the hell did she mean? Instead of answering her question, you decided to retort,

“What’s up with you and Glenn, huh?” you sent her a wink and noticed her roll her eyes with a small smile. There definitely was something going on with the two- they came in a bundle. If Maggie was doing laundry, Glenn suddenly decided to help her out. If Glenn was taking watch, Maggie magically appeared near him within minutes.

“Oh, c’mon.” She dismissed your question. Fair, you did the same to her. “If any of us tried to set up camp near the one and only Dixon we’d probably get an arrow in the ass” she laughed and you smiled, but still didn’t understand. If what she was saying was true- why did he let you set your tent up next to his? “Not to mention, he watched you for how long? A week?”

You couldn’t help but let out a throaty chuckle. Daryl was one confusing man.

“Yeah, that one was creepy as shit” you said, giggling like a schoolgirl and looking down, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.

The store was mostly clear of walkers, say for a couple squished together in a bathroom. You and Maggie swiftly took care of them and began looting the store. It was quite intact, with the majority of supplies untouched. You swiped as many cans as you could off the shelves, letting them drop in your duffle bag. Once you packed as much food as you could, you decided to take a look around the remaining aisles. There wasn’t anything of interest- some long expired lotions, condoms and sunglasses. You were about to leave the store with Maggie when you saw something in the corner of your eye. A sketchbook. You smiled a toothy grin and looked at Jake who was busy sniffing every shelf he came across. Quickly shoving the sketchbook in your already-full bag, you bumped Maggie’s shoulder with your own to signal her that you’re ready to leave.

The ride home was pleasant and the scenery was quite beautiful. The sky was turning a pinkish-orange color, the setting sun began giving everything an incredible orange glow. Everything looked more alive, even the abandoned stores and houses. Jake’s fur, which usually looked fiery, now looked like it was ablaze- he looked like a living flame.

When you arrived at the farm, the sky still had that beautiful glow to it. The farm looked like something out of a fairytale. You hopped off your horse and gave it a pat, leading it to the stables with Maggie. Once the horses were in place, you turned to Maggie.

“What did you mean? Earlier, about Daryl?” you stuttered, unsure if you should be asking the question.

“What I mean, (Y/N),” she put a hand on your shoulder and smiled at you brightly. It wasn’t the same smile she gave you when she asked about Daryl on the way to the store- this one was warm, inviting, yet still playful. Quickly, it turned into a smirk, “Daryl isn’t exactly easy to seduce”

What? Seducing Daryl was the last thing on your mind- all you wanted was someone you could trust, someone who would understand you. That person just so happened to be him- maybe because he was the one to save you, maybe because you were both like wild animals, maybe because he liked Jake. You smirked at that last thought and shook your head.

“Maggie” you looked deep into her eyes, placing both of your hands on her shoulders, “Even if I wanted to, I’m about as seductive as a cabbage” Maggie let out an unflattering snort and playfully hit your arm with her fist. You were unsure what to make of the exchange- did you really seem like all you wanted was flirting with Daryl? Just because he let his walls down a little for you didn’t mean anything. He probably felt comfortable around you because he saw how you were in the forest and felt like he knew you already; you can tell a lot about a person solely by their actions, afterall.

“Do I really seem like I just want to get in his pants?” you sighed and looked down in genuine sadness. You just needed a friend. When Maggie noticed how serious you got, her eyes dropped and her voice suddenly became soft, just above a whisper.

“I was kidding, I’m sorry.” She smiled a sad, uncertain smile and went on, “He just acts different around you, that’s all.” Her words made you think. You didn’t know how exactly he acted around others. Of course, he respected Rick and could be an asshole to the group from time to time, but how different could he be around you? This man gave you a headache, no matter how much time you spent thinking about what he’s thinking, you could never guess.

You nodded at Maggie and made your way out of the barn- you needed some fresh air. Deciding it was best to stay away from others to think, you headed to the only place you could think of- the very campfire you were sitting by with Daryl last night. Once you took a seat on a log, you stared into space, your hand stroking Jake’s fur from time to time. Maggie’s words echoed in your head, like someone shouted inside a tunnel, the echo repeating itself constantly. Maybe you should give the man space, maybe you shouldn’t get too close. Last time you did that, people died. All you wanted to know was what was behind those steel-blue eyes. You also decided to apologize to him for last night; he probably didn’t care much but you still felt guilty for brushing him off like that. Suddenly, Jake shot up and turned around, standing still and not moving an inch. Your head whipped back to see what spooked him so bad and saw the very man that you were thinking about. He was covered in small cuts and bruises, probably from running through thorn-covered bushes. His gaze was soft, friendly. Exactly like the one you saw last night when you so casually conversed with him. You stood up, about to say hello, about to apologize. You had to hold yourself back from hugging him- you were glad he made it back in one piece. You opened your mouth to speak but closed it when he kneeled and began shuffling around in his backpack, clearly looking for something. He wasn’t sure whether he should say something or not, maybe he should apologize for prying yesterday. He was definitely not a people person. Deciding it’s best to just let his action speak for him, he pulled out a familiar item out his backpack. Was it-

“Found yer knife. Apology for yesterday” He looked at you with that undecipherable look he had. You were baffled- what was he apologizing for?

“What the hell? Thank you so much!” you took the knife from his hands, “I was about to apologize myself. Sorry for brushing you off like that.” You smiled at him and, deciding to be brave, hit his arm with your fist gently. “Did you cut yourself so bad with my knife?” you gestured towards the many cuts on his face and the ones on his hands and arms, “Thought you were good with blades” You smirked at him. He scoffed and hopped over the log you were previously sat on and took a seat.

“Ya can bet ‘m better than ya"

----

taglist <3

@writers-adversary @kimchiwen @mileysnavely @srhxpci

#daryl x oc #daryl imagines #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #fireandmoss

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xiolette · 3 years ago

Text

Reworking Ansem SoD and Xemnas: Fuck Xehanort

Ansem SoD and Xemnas were interesting characters when they were introduced. Remember that? I’m going to recreate that, because their entire characters being reduced to “bleh Xehanort!” pisses me off!

Xehanort’s plan to take over Terra’s body didn’t work out the way he planned.

He was successful, for a bit, until the fight with Aqua. When Terra took control and turned his keyblade on himself, that was the end of Xehanort.

It was also the end of Terra, unfortunately.

Or, at least, Terra as we knew him.

It continues as it originally did: An amnesiac Terranort is taken in by Ansem and the apprentices. The only name he remembers is Xehanort but it feels wrong. He doesn’t like it. He has a feeling that he was someone else, but its the only name he has so they go with it. It always rubs him the wrong way.

Master Xehanort is dead. He is not an influence on Terranort, besides the little remaining memories that cling to him. The important thing here is that this is Terra. Just... an amnesiac, broken down, more susceptible to darkness after All That Terra.

He takes to being an apprentice surprisingly well! After Ansem and the gang were able to set up some accommodations (I hc that Terra has really bad dyslexia) he’s thriving. Terra is smart, he’s just never had the opportunity to show it. Eraqus saw that he struggled with the more academic side of things and redirected him towards physical keyblade handling because that’s obviously where he thrived. (Which is accurate to an extent, but left Terra with the impression that he’s just dumb and shouldn’t bother with anything else)

In the absence of internal shame and embarrassment and with an instructor that’s actually working with him Terranort soaks up everything like a sponge. He’s guided towards the more metaphysical side of things, latent influence from both Terra and Xehanort being keyblade masters and that knowledge running around deep in his subconsciousness.

Ansem’s fascination with his missing memories and Terranort’s own need to figure out who the hell he is spur the experiments that kickstart the whole plot of KH.

Terranort is being led along by the idea that the heart is important somehow that this is the key to everything. He has bits and pieces that point to something and that something becomes an obsession. This obsession in more than encouraged by Ansem who proposes his own theories and is just glad to see his young apprentice excited about something.

Terranort convinces Ansem to use him as a test subject, because it’s his heart and his memories and he doesn’t want anyone else being dragged into this. (ha.)

The experiment was a success.... to a point. Terranort unlocks some memories, but they’re disconnected and scattered and the lack of context leads to the conclusion that whoever he used to be was not a good person. In fact he may have killed a few people.

This is distressing and Terranort immediately withdraws into himself. Ansem, noticing the change, put an end to the experiments because sometimes things are best left in the past.

The added pieces of the puzzle only make Terranort more obsessed. He’s angry and bitter over who he (thinks he) used to be be and is angry and bitter over the perceived abandonment of his mentor. (A small part of his mind tells him that this has happened before.)

Insert: the recruitment of the rest of the apprentices and the KH1 Ansem Reports.

Curiosity and (mostly) good intentions go horribly wrong and everyone ends up jumping off the slippery slope.

It’s so interesting when you read the original Ansem Reports how he comes across as a well-intentioned figure that just slowly lets the darkness eat away at him until he’s convinced that this is all there is and all there will be. Then he, y’know, causes the apocalypse over of it. ❤️

Lead up is different, motivations are different - end result is the same.

Then on the other side in KH2 you have Xemnas who is treated as a villain, yes, but a distinctly tragic one. Remember when his only motivation was to get his heart back? He may not have cared about anyone else also getting their hearts back, but he wanted his.

Remember when he wasn’t trying to turn everyone into a Xehanort clone and never intended to get his own heart and that despite the supposed amnesia he’s still Xehanort and when he didn’t do everything because of Some Grand Evil Plan?

I’m angry

But the desperate (and Nobodies are desperate creatures) want/need for his heart despite only remembering the negative emotions always struck me. Like, one: It’s better to feel bad than to feel nothing. Two: That’s fucked up man.

I do like to believe that Xemnas cared or at least felt a certain kinship to his fellow Nobodies, but also he can’t feel nor does he remember how to fake empathy and still saw everyone as more of a tool than an individual.

Because that’s, y’know, interesting.

Again, everything is pretty much exactly the same as what happens in the main games. Nothing much needs to change there, because, like I said, they were interesting characters when they were introduced.

Post KH2 reformation we get Terranort again! And he feels like shit! (As he deserves.)

I would like for the protagonists to deal with the fact that the Big Grand Evil Villain was Just Some Dude who was a decent person at first but just went overboard. I would also like Terranort and friends to deal with the fact that this was on him. There wasn’t an evil mastermind brainwashing their friend - it was their friend.

Uhhhh more solid parallels between him and Riku where Terra didn’t have anyone to reign him in, but Riku did.

I should mention in this AU Ansem SoD becomes like a weird sort of father figure to Riku that actually gives advice and tries to get him to see his side while Riku is like, “Dude. You killed so many people.” “Fair.”

Evil father figure Riku has mixed feelings about ❤️

The end result isn’t a full redemption arc, because Terranort really can’t get that. He crossed too many lines to have a fully happy ending. He does get reunited with the BBS dudes, though, and they all have to deal with the aftermath. His memories are never fully restored and, yeah, the Terra they knew is effectively dead and there’s some dude who looks like him in his place.

It’s messy!

DDD who? KH3 what? Real Organization XIII? 13 Darknesses??? I don’t know them. That sounds made up.

(DDD is just the Mark of Mastery and Sora AND Riku both dealing with their trauma. Also the discovery of Aqua and Ven who need help like NOW)

(KH3 is just Sora and Co. rescuing Aqua and Ven and Roxas and Namine and just giving everyone a relatively satisfying conclusion. No need for a grand epic battle. Just people picking up pieces and finding ways to move on.)

(That’s it that’s the end of the series goodnight.)

#i didnt proofread this i die like a man #kingdom hearts

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

Text

flour, sugar, salt

Words: 3.6k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Baking, Gentle Kissing, Light Angst, Safehouse Period, No Apocalypse, cooking and baking as love languages

Summary:

It had gone like this:

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder.

After a moment, Martin laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had a birthday cake.”

----

Jon’s never baked before, but how much harder than cooking can it possibly be?

Things do not go well.

Read on Ao3

Or read below:

The cake is awful. There’s no getting around that, Jon thinks as he scowls at the misshapen lump of frosting in front of him, adorned with little yellow and blue candles that he’d found tucked in the meagre baking section of the village’s shop, right next to the boxed cake mix that Jon had hesitated in front of, his hand stalled halfway to the candles. Just add water! it had proclaimed cheerily, which in no way assured Jon that the resulting product would be anything close to edible. So, he’d retrieved the candles and moved on, collecting flour, sugar, baking powder, and the rest of the ingredients for the recipe. For beginners, it had said, and Jon had felt like a child, but he’d followed the steps anyway, doing everything exactly right.

Perhaps he should have just gone with the boxed mix. At least then the final product would have at least looked edible and not like something one would immediately toss into the bin, like Jon has half a mind to do. But the idea of not having a cake makes Jon’s stomach twist into knots, because he needs the cake. This whole thing is- is pointless without the cake, but the cake looks horrible, and—

And he’s completely forgotten to put the gołąbki in the oven. He does so now, trying to calm the shaking of his hands that is born more of frustration than anything. It really wouldn’t do to drop the main dish all over the lino, after all. Best not to ruin it more than he already has.

It had gone like this:

They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again. Martin ran hot—hotter than Jon, anyway, whose fingers had a tendency to get so cold they burned when warmed between Martin’s hands—and the slight guilt at using Martin as his personal space heater had dissipated entirely at the small, contented noise Martin had made as he’d wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

It had been months since the Lonely, since those first few awkward weeks in the safehouse tucked away in the Scottish highlands where Jon hadn’t been sure if loved was to be taken at face value and Martin wasn’t sure if the little touches Jon gave him were just to stave off that creeping fog that still lingered in the blue-grey of his eyes and the white-streaked curls that mirrored Jon’s own. It had been even less time since Martin had opened the front door, an excuse about needing ‘a much thicker coat, it’s bloody freezing out there’ on his tongue, to find Jon gripping a sheet of official Institute paper in a white-knuckled grip. The words calmly spilling free from his lips were silenced only once he’d slumped bonelessly in Martin’s arms, Martin’s hand still clamped firmly over his mouth and twin tear tracks streaking down both of their faces.

The statement had gone up in flames easily and without fanfare, the small strands of smoke tickling the still-blue sky that, to Jon, seemed like the second most beautiful thing in the world.

Now, there’s just this: sitting curled next to the fire, and taking long walks even as the cold of February nips at the tips of their ears, and getting to know each other through fragments of stories and brushes of pinkies and whispered confessions.

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall on Martin’s hands where they gripped the edges of a notebook, curling script decorating the pages in starts and stops and marred in places with crossed-out lines. They’d established a routine after Jon had admitted one night as they lay in bed, knees curled into his chest protectively, that sometimes what Peter Lukas had said in the Lonely still played on his mind. That they barely knew each other, and that the love Jon felt so potently in his chest and his lungs and his bones was based on nothing more than a construct, something he’d tricked himself into believing was real. It had been hard to think, even harder to say; Jon had squeezed his eyes tightly shut and had held his breath.

Martin’s hand had found his and squeezed it tight. “Tell me something, then,” Martin had said, a tentative smile on his lips. And so, Jon had.

Now, Jon’s hands were relaxed as he played absently with the cuff of Martin’s jumper sleeve. It was one of his favourites, a mustard-yellow one that was slightly oversized on Martin and consumed Jon entirely every time he managed to steal it from Martin’s side of the closet. Martin hummed and closed the notebook, turning his hand over and letting Jon’s hand rest against his palm; after a moment, he laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve never had a birthday cake,” Martin said, sounding a bit wistful as he said it, and Jon leaned back slightly so he could see his face. Martin’s eyes were trained on the fire, and though his lips were still curled into a hint of a smile, his eyebrows folded inward in that way they did when an old wound itched just below the surface, stitched messily shut and stubbornly ignored even as it healed crooked and wrong. “At- at least not one of my own, that is, or- or that I can remember. I don’t know why I didn’t when I was younger, not really, but after Mum got sick, and my dad… well, birthdays just never really seemed all that important anymore, I guess? At least, Mum never seemed to want to celebrate.”

Martin let out a small laugh, the kind born from reflecting on a memory that was quite the opposite of humorous. “And by the time I was old enough to make one for myself, it all just seemed so… pointless, I suppose. You know, that time we went out for ice cream was the first time I’d even celebrated my birthday since I turned 21?” Under his breath, Martin said, “Though I’m not sure you could call buying myself a bottle of Moscato and drinking alone in my flat celebrating.” He drew in a shaky breath before giving Jon a small, embarrassed smile. Not too long ago, he probably would have stuttered out some sort of apology, like it was shameful for him to show the vulnerable parts of himself. Now, he simply said, “It was nice, I suppose. To have people who cared, even if it didn’t seem like it meant all that much at the time.”

Martin had that quietly sad look on his face, the one they both shared when thinking of the easy comfort of those first months in the archives, with Tim bright-eyed and smiling and telling jokes that Jon only understood half of the time and Sasha looking the way she had in the Polaroid Jon had found tucked away in the box of statements and cassette tapes Basira had delivered, clearly meant to be more salt in a wound that had been stitched closed before it had the chance to bleed. Jon squeezed Martin’s hand tighter, and when that didn’t seem enough, brought it to his lips and laid a soft kiss across the knuckles. “Yes,” Jon said softly, feeling that same sadness curling within his stomach and mingling with the beginnings of determination, a plan half-forming in his mind. “It suppose it was.”

It was going to be perfect. Martin had left some time ago to make the longer trip into Inverness to pick up the supplies they couldn’t get in the village, forehead creasing slightly at Jon’s fabricated excuse of ‘not feeling well’ and Jon’s subsequent refusal of Martin’s offer to stay behind and reschedule their trip to a time when Jon was feeling more up to it. Jon had practically pushed Martin out the front door, letting out a small breath of relief when he saw Daisy’s car—now ostensibly their car—trundle down the cratered dirt road and out of sight. He’d had all of the ingredients; he’d followed all of the instructions. It was supposed to be perfect.

At least the gołąbki turned out well, he thinks with a resigned sigh as he extracts the glass dish from the oven, setting it atop one of the electric hobs to cool. The cake sits in his periphery, almost mockingly; some of the frosting has sloughed off the top, leaving the chocolate pastry underneath starkly exposed.

It… it wouldn’t hurt to try to fix it, right? Just a little more frosting to patch up the hole.

Somehow, the middle of the cake ends up collapsing inward, taking a good portion of the candles with it. Christ, Jon can just picture his grandmother’s expression, the stern tilt of her eyebrows and the press of her mouth into a thin line that, thinking back on it, was really more amused than anything as she told him that no, five minutes was not long enough to properly cook chicken breasts in the oven, and no, he could not set the temperature to 260 degrees just to speed things along. She’d taught him how to mince garlic and to make Desi Ghee and to spice dishes without the need for measuring spoons, saying that he may as well put some of his anxious, restless energy to use and that the kitchen was as good a place as any.

The first time he’d cooked in the safehouse, a few days after they’d arrived, when Martin had sat shivering on the couch with his eyes iced over with fog, his stomach had knotted in worry that he wouldn’t remember how—that he’d neglected it for so long, subsisting off of ready meals and tea in the beginning and then mostly statements after a while, and that this knowledge was the kind of nice, wonderful thing he wouldn’t be allowed to keep. But the knife strokes had come easily, almost mindlessly, and he’d filled the kitchen with mindless chatter as he’d worked in the hopes that it would give Martin something to cling to until he could press a bowl of chicken dumpling soup into his hands and gently coax him to eat.

After that, Jon had taken to cooking most of their meals while Martin sat at the table and wrote with his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration, or stood behind Jon and wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin against Jon’s shoulder as he watched him work, or formed a pile of flour and sugar and spices into a bread or a pastry or some other lovely, doughy concoction that Jon just couldn’t understand. Because Martin could cook, yes, but he’d never really liked it, he’d mumbled into his pillow one night after Jon had whispered, “Tell me something.”

“It just reminds me of my Mum,” he’d said, voice small and quiet, and Jon had understood.

But baking seemed to come so easily to Martin, lighting up his face with a radiant joy that captivated Jon to the point where he’d burned several meals just staring at Martin while he worked, transforming the same ingredients into a myriad of different desserts that all tasted light and lovely on Jon’s tongue, even though he’d never been a fan of sweets. At least, not until Martin had pressed a raspberry-filled Paczki into his hand with a tentative smile. He’d made it seem so easy, and Jon had been sure that, at the very least, he could manage a birthday cake.

Clearly, he’d been wrong.

He’s halfway to the bin, having decided that having no cake at all is distinctly better than having the monstrosity of a cake that’s currently balanced precariously in his hands, when the front door swings open, bringing with it a rush of winter air that prickles goosebumps onto Jon’s skin and sends a flush to his cheeks. Though that may be only partly due to the chill.

“Hey,” Martin says, kicking the door closed behind him. His arms are laden with canvas bags of various patterns and designs, collected from a myriad of different shops over the past months, and he’s looking at the floor as he kicks off his boots so he doesn’t see the way Jon freezes halfway to the bin, the offending cake still suspended in front of him in the way one might hold a particularly offensive-smelling bag of rubbish. His muscles lock in indecision, and his mind is a mess of do I throw it away do I hide it oh Christ what do I do he’s going to hate it I have to get rid of it, and then Martin’s looking up from the floor and saying, “Are you feeling any—?”

His eyes alight on the cake, on the stricken expression on Jon’s face, and his sentence trails off into a small, “Oh.” He takes in the kitchen, which is still in a state of disarray because Jon thought he had more time, surely Martin said he’d be out until six. He says as much, because he’s really not sure what else to do.

“It’s quarter past,” Martin says, still staring at Jon with an unreadable expression that’s sending Jon’s stomach into a chaotic mess of nervous butterflies, and Jon’s eyes flick over to the clock above the oven. It does, in fact, read 18:14, and Jon feels his cheeks heat further.

“Ah.” He’s still holding the cake awkwardly in front of him, he realizes, so he pulls it closer to his chest, almost protectively. Martin’s eyes track its movement, and on reflex, Jon says, “I- ah, I made dinner? And, er. A cake as well.”

“Oh,” Martin says again, and Jon still can’t tell what he’s feeling. Not that he’s ever been good at that, but Martin has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, which usually makes it easier.

Nerves loosen his tongue, and he begins to ramble. “I- I know we hadn’t really discussed it, and I- I didn’t want you to think that I forgot about your birthday—which is, ah, tomorrow, I know, but I- I suppose I thought it would be more of a surprise today, and we did make plans for tomorrow already, and you- you said you’d never had a birthday cake of your own, and you’re always baking for me, so I- I thought it might be nice to make something for you, and you always make it seem so easy, but it, ah, it didn’t quite—”

He shrugs helplessly and nods down at the cake, which is looking significantly more pathetic now that it’s under Martin’s scrutiny. “It’s a bit ruined,” he says, trying to convey within his words the entirety of the apologetic mess that’s been tying his stomach into knots. He stares at the floor, eyes fixating on Martin’s boots and the small puddle of water accumulating beneath them as the snow caked on the sides of them melts. The hot embarrassment that’s rapidly consuming him keeps his eyes cast firmly downward.

“Oh,” Martin says once more, and it’s a soft, tender noise that makes Jon’s gaze twitch upward. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the wet shine to Martin’s eyes, the open, vulnerable look on his face where the stunned mask has finally cracked. “Oh, Jon.”

Martin sets the bags on the floor and quickly crosses the room to where Jon’s stood. He takes the cake carefully out of Jon’s hands, despite Jon’s protests, and sets it on the counter like it’s something precious instead of the worst baking monstrosity Jon’s ever laid eyes on.

“Martin, what—?”

One of Martin’s hands is on Jon’s shoulder, the other carefully cupping his face. He pauses there for a moment, like he always does, giving Jon a chance to pull back. When Jon doesn’t, Martin leans in and kisses him.

It’s more insistent than usual, both of Martin’s hands coming up to rest on Jon’s face and thumbs running soft circles over the tops of his cheeks as he presses into him, swallowing Jon’s soft gasp as he pushes him back against the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding the cake as he kisses him soundly. Jon’s arms come up to loop around Martin’s neck loosely, his fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, and the tension he’s been holding in his body for the last hour melts away under the gentle, rhythmic motion of Martin’s thumbs against his face and the little noises Martin’s making against his mouth.

When Martin pulls back some time later, his face is flushed a lovely shade of pink, and Jon realizes with a start that there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. He brings a hand to Martin’s face and rubs gently at the tears, his stomach twisting again ever so slightly in concern. “What’s wrong?” he says quietly, still breathless from the kissing.

Martin hiccups a laugh, small and disbelieving. “Nothing’s wrong, Jon. I- Christ, I’m just so- so happy.” He brings a hand up to grasp at the one Jon has on his face, squeezing it tightly before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of Jon’s palm. “You made this for me?”

Jon blinks, once, before remembering the cake. His forehead creases in disappointment, directed entirely at himself. “Ah. Yes, that.” He glances at the cake, which looks just as appalling as it did before—possibly more so due to the fact that Jon’s elbow seems to have, at some point, jostled the cake after all, dislodging another section of frosting and quite a few candles along with it. “It was meant to look significantly more… edible.”

Martin lets out another laugh, this one with a bit more substance. “Jon, did you try it?”

Jon’s frown deepens. “I don’t follow.”

Martin disentangles himself from Jon, despite Jon’s small noise of protest, opens the cutlery drawer, and retrieves a fork. “How will we know if it’s edible or not until we try it?” he says with a smile that’s entirely too wide and excited at the prospect of eating a cake that looks like it was run over by a car.

“I really don’t think that’s—Martin!”

Martin carves off a section of cake, ignoring Jon’s protests to, “At least wait until after we eat.” He puts it in his mouth, and Jon braces himself for the inevitable disgust.

Martin hums, his eyes still crinkled with a hint of a smile even as he swallows and says, “It’s really not that bad, Jon.”

“Not that bad,” Jon echoes, glaring at the offending pastry and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, this- this was supposed to be romantic.”

Martin’s hand finds Jon’s face again, turning his head gently until Jon meets his eyes. “It is,” Martin says softly, eyes full of something so tender it makes Jon melt. “It’s- Christ, I’m going to start crying again. In a good way,” he adds quickly, at Jon’s stricken expression. “You- you just—”

Martin pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes shining again with unshed tears, and he says in a small voice, “I love you so much, Jon. And I love that you did this for me. I know you hate it when people say that it’s the thought that counts, but—no, don’t give me that look, it really is. I’m not using it as an excuse to- to soften a criticism or anything, or to subtly say that I hate it. I love the cake, Jon, because I love you, and so it really doesn’t matter that it kind of looks like somebody stepped on it.”

That pulls a small giggle from Jon, entirely against his will and born mostly from the release of the knot of nerves that had reformed in the pit of his stomach. “God, it really does, doesn’t it?” He laughs again, more intentionally this time, and takes Martin’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “Well, I promise that the main course is significantly more palatable. It’s from that little recipe book you gave me—the one you picked up at the bookstore?”

“Oh!” Martin’s eyes brighten as they alight upon the glass dish still sitting on the hob. “You made gołąbki! Christ, I haven’t had that since I was a kid. My grandmother used to make it for holidays before she passed.” When Martin’s eyes meet Jon’s again, they’re full of such fondness that the Jon of a few months ago would have squirmed under the weight of it. Instead, he lets himself lean into it, feeling the flutter of his heart against his ribcage as Martin places another warm, achingly soft kiss against his lips. “Thank you, Jon,” he says, pulling back just enough that the words tickle against Jon’s skin. “I… just, thank you.”

Jon’s I love you is interrupted by the rumbling of Martin’s stomach, loud and insistent. Laughter splits Martin’s face into a wide smile, and he says, “I suppose we should eat, then.”

“I suppose so,” Jon says, feeling his own smile grow softer as Martin turns to the glass dish and begins to portion out the gołąbki.

Maybe they could bake together, he thinks as he sits across from Martin at the table, Martin’s foot reaching underneath and hooking around Jon’s ankle. Yes, that… that might be nice.

The cake ends up going into the bin after all. Though neither of them really seem to mind.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #the magnus archives fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing #you know i realized that i forgot to post this on tumblr since it was anonymous for a week #better late than never i guess lol

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chibimyumi · 3 years ago

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Hi, again! No worries—Tumblr is a fickle beast.

I was just curious about whether you plan on making any posts on the Mars Red anime adaptation after it reaches its conclusion this season. Totally understand if you don’t have the time or the inclination, but I’d love to hear your thoughts on it! Hope you’re doing well! 🖤

【Related post】

Dear Grelleswife,

I am SOOOOOOOO sorry for my late reply! The truth is, when I received your ask I hadn’t finished the series yet, and then it took forever to find the time to finish it. Hence the tardiness.

Now FINALLY moving on to you question: my thoughts on the finalised series.

Overall I enjoyed the show, because the atmosphere is just amazing, the world is intriguing and charming, and something about the setting is a bit of my guilty pleasure. The show kind of made me feel like a tourist. A person who is visiting a place once dreamed about but never belonged to, deeply intrigued by the surroundings and hungry to see more. I think MARS RED manages to invite the audience into its world very well.

I can't really put my finger on why I am captivated by the world, but it just does. It is just a feeling, and it is a good feeling ^^

The parts I enjoyed less was the storytelling. The plot of MARS RED I actually like very much! It is just sad it wasn’t executed very well. Very often I had the feeling that I was missing an episode because the pacing was so fast. There were some amazingly gripping ideas in MARS RED, such as the death of [spoiler] in the natural disaster, or the final battle between Kurusu and his foe. However, because the series did not take the time to actually develop the characters, make the audience get to know the characters, those gripping ideas didn’t quite land the punch in my heart as I trust was the makers’ intention. That was very much a shame in my opinion, because while I did enjoy those moments, I wish I could have really FELT it.

A minor beef I have with the animated adaptation is the inconsistency/softness of law of the universe in MARS RED. In great part it is because I am a big fan of clear laws. Another factor might be because I have watched the sound theater version, wherein the laws of the universe are more compact, more “hard magic” so to say. In the sound theater, the higher ranked a vampire is, the stronger they are of course, but also the worse “vampire-bound weaknesses” are. Depending on whether the story was focused on a stronger or weaker vampire, the audience knows what laws govern the story, which was not really the case in the anime version for me.

There were moments wherein in-story some vampires cannot even be around right before the crack of dawn, because the sun would be lethal enough already. And then there were also moments were A-class Kurusu and even S-class Defrott were fine as long as the sun wasn’t too strong? In other moments it was also not really clear what powers are available to what class of vampire, then it just made me question what the point was of having 5 vampire classes. I think the beginning of the series made a very decent beginning of introducing the universe’s law, but from the second half on it seemed like it was just one big vampire-zombie apocalypse, and it was quite hard to follow what was happening. I wouldn’t be able to retell the events of the series without aid, so to say.

But either way, overall my experience was positive! There were no moments I had to drag myself though, which I cannot take for granted! The world is still immersive, the characters (though mostly not developed to their rich potential) were inviting, and the plot (in theory) was compelling. Save for the bad pacing and unfulfilled potentials of the show, I would still say it was enjoyable.

The Japanese rating and (6.88) and the IMDb rating (6.3) are quite similar, and I think I agree with these ratings. Nothing phenomenal, the concept is amazing, but the execution leaves quite a lot to be desired. All in all, a 6.6 rating reflects my opinion of this series.

#MARS RED #anime #finale #opinion #simple review?

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killherfreakout · 4 years ago

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half of who i am isn’t all my fault

a series about hands and where they touch.

part two: your hand under my chin

[a/n: bipolar disorder, mixed state of mania and depression.]

* * *

The world is ending.

At least, to a twenty-something artist in Paris named Eliott Demaury, it feels like it is. And he can’t decide if he wants to sit there and watch or throw caution to the wind and go down with it.

It’s another quiet weeknight in the city, late enough that the partygoers are on their way home but early enough that people aren’t up for work. So the world is continuing as normal, and yet, it feels like Eliott is on the edge of it and about to fall off.

And there’s no one to blame but himself; no one to blame but his chemically imbalanced and traitorous brain, on the brink of consuming every last semblance of control he has left, in the middle of a sleepless night. Eliott knows this feeling too well, and no matter who much he tries to fight it, his attempts are futile.

Eliott finds himself sitting on the edge of their bed, and he watches as Lucas’ parted lips huff out soft breaths in his sleep. He looks ethereal, like some kind of angel sent to watch over Eliott when he wants to give up on himself, always there when he doesn’t know he needs him. Lucas is some kind of perfect dream, in between real and imaginary, as he lays there like he has no idea the sight he makes.

Lucas said once, after Eliott made him try his special omelettes, I’m glad you have one flaw, otherwise you’re just too perfect to be real. And Eliott knows the way people look at him, like he’s an entity only good for his beauty — although, if he has anything to say about it, he would argue he’s the furthest from that — and not a person with real human emotion underneath it all. The thought makes a cruel, humorless laugh bubble up inside his throat.

And he doesn’t want to be the asshole who’s ungrateful for his conventionally attractive features, but every time it comes up, it just— it feels like it’s the universe’s twisted way of overcompensating for the ugliness that hides beneath the shiny surface. It makes this shame and guilt swirl inside of him, and there’s this voice mocking him, saying, if only they knew. If only they knew how flawed this body is, how close it is to breaking.

His boyfriend’s peaceful state somehow magnifies Eliott’s awakeness, and his body feels heavy but his mind and heart feel like they’re going fast enough to run a marathon. Like he has all this energy he needs to burn but he’s stuck inside the small apartment as the world ends inside it, and seems to keep going outside of it.

Inevitably he finds his cigarettes on the ledge of the living room window, and goes through one before he even realizes he’s smoking it; he goes to light another but gets annoyed at the busted lighter, deciding to raid the fridge for something to wash down the nicotine.

A gust of wind outside reminds him of the outside world, his body somehow not big enough for everything he feels inside, like he belongs out there. But he can feel himself coming down, feeling like he fits inside his body again the more he breathes, and he tries with all his might to stay afloat before he crashes.

Eliott lays on the cold floor of their bedroom, his head against the wall under the window and legs bent at the knee with his feet against the foot of the bed. It’s not quite comfortable but the position allows him to see some of the sky over the tops of the buildings outside, including a few stars that shine through the darkness.

He lays there for a while, just looking at the tiny shining stars and melting into the cold floor, trying to focus on the sound of Lucas’ tiny breaths from the bed.

There’s a star that peeks through a small cloud as it passes by, and Eliott can’t tell which one it is or which constellation it belongs to, but he knows that it’s one that moves around the North Star, like all the others do. Then a thought comes to him: he’s like one of those stars. He’s always changing and going in circles, sometimes hidden behind clouds in his mind, not visible to anyone. The thought could be dreamy and romantic, comparing himself to the stars, but with the current state he’s in it feels like a curse. Like the pole his life revolves around is his bipolar disorder, where he has no choice but to let it decide his course.

It makes him feel so small and so alone, always at war with his mind and with himself. The stars seem so far away, and he’s just left lying on the cold floor in his own apocalypse that no one can see.

His eyes wander across the ceiling, unfocused and frenzied as these thoughts keep swirling around his head, hands clenching at his sides.

There’s shuffling on the other side of the room where Lucas tosses in the bed, groaning before calling, “Baby?”

Eliott registers the sounds but can’t break his focus from the ceiling of his mind and the room.

“Eli, where are you?”

Lucas calls his name a few more times, the sound getting further and further away as the younger one searches the other rooms of the apartment. Eliott wants to scream for help, wants to tell Lucas, I’m here, I’m here, but he can’t.

Somehow, though, he seems to beckon him back.

There’s footsteps and then a source of light, and Lucas almost trips over Eliott’s legs where he still rests on the floor by their bed. Lucas sighs when he realizes he’s found him, sleepy features illuminated by the blue light of his phone. His eyes are squinty from the light and his hair is a perfect mess all over his head, a few strands falling down to his eyes. He still looks like an angel - and here he is, to save Eliott from himself like he knew he would.

“There you are,” Lucas kneels on the floor by Eliott’s side. Eliott finally focuses on his voice and his presence, his angel. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Eliott doesn’t move, can’t move. Lead has settled into his bones trapping him to the floor, and every nerve screams to get up, to go back to bed with Lucas, but there he lies, paralyzed.

“Oh, Eliott,” Lucas’ smile disappears, thumbing away the tears that Eliott didn’t even know were flowing. His voice is soft and loving just like he is. “What’s going on?”

His eyes close to the words, no doubt causing more wetness from his eyes. The thumb wipes it away again, so gently, it’s like magic.

Subconsciously Eliott registers Lucas’ concern and the way he asked, noticing how he asked what’s going on? instead of what’s wrong? — because something doesn’t necessarily have to be wrong to make Eliott feel like this, because what Eliott feels right now is something that happens sometimes. They’ve had plenty of experience with this exact moment, when Eliott is close to losing himself and Lucas makes sure to keep him from going too far.

“Lucas…” His voice is weak, his throat closing and breath stuck somewhere that can’t get out. Eliott can feel the touch again, this time firmer, more real. Lucas leans down to be closer to him, and keeps up that brushing on his face, but it’s overwhelming all of a sudden, and there’s no simple answer to his question and—

Eliott finds some strength, or just a fighting response, to turn over and away from the touch and warmth of Lucas. He misses it as soon as it’s gone but stays in his new position with his back turned to the other boy. Lucas doesn’t reach out again, just leaves him be. Eliott is glad his boyfriend is respecting his space but can’t help the guilt setting in that he pushed him away. Eliott lays there quietly, though his mind is anything but. He doesn’t know if Lucas is still there when he finally finds his voice again.

“I was doing so well, I thought I might have finally had some control over this. But it just came out of nowhere and—”

Sudden panic washes over him, because it never really comes out of nowhere, and if it does, there are signs he can recognize so he’s at least a bit prepared.

Eliott thinks of the fact that he hasn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days, and how tired he doesn’t feel until right at this moment. But he was so focused on his art projects and so excited with how they were coming together, the time seemed to fly by. That happens sometimes, just getting swept up in inspiration and letting it take him away - without triggering an episode. Because he prides himself in his passion and creativity, and how he uses art to sort through his feelings and express his truest self. The thought of his recent works being the product of his mania rather than his own intention makes him so angry and upset that he was born with a brain that always ends up letting him down.

But now in hindsight he doesn’t know what to think, or what exactly triggered these feelings, or how he got here, or what will come next. Eliott had been diligent with taking his meds and going to his weekly sessions, but now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember if he took them yesterday and—

Eliott lays with his back on the floor again. “I should have seen this coming. I knew I was doing too well that something was going to happen, and it’s always the same shit.” He tilts his head back to look at the stars again, and imagines himself as one of them. “No matter how hard I try, it's like nothing I do is ever up to me. And I have to deal with myself for the rest of my life.”

It’s silent again and Eliott has a moment of terror that he’s completely alone, like he’s the last person on Earth and shouting into an endless, dark void.

“Hey,” the sound is like a beam of light breaking through the dark void, like another lost soul is greeting him, saying, I’m here, I’m here.

Lucas hasn’t left from his place next to him; he’s laying on his side facing Eliott on the hard floor. Eliott doesn’t look at him, though; he doesn’t want to see him look at how much of a mess he is. He knows Lucas doesn’t pity him, and he’s so glad for that, but the way Lucas has so much love and care in his eyes makes Eliott only feel more undeserving of it. So he stays on his back and glances from the ceiling to the endless sky.

“Hey,” Lucas says again, in a soft whisper, but firm this time. “Eli, can you look at me?”

Eliott doesn’t want to be like the stars and revolve around his bipolar. Maybe he can find a new way to navigate, by following a new star, a new pole that is a fixed point in his life. Like the one in front of him now, made of stardust and blue eyes and love.

He swallows thickly, his breath finding a way out as he catches sight of Lucas. Eliott was right, there’s so much love in his beautiful, still sleepy eyes. Even though Eliott is turned on his side to face him, he tucks his head down to his chest.

Lucas comes a little closer, and slowly reaches a hand out to Eliott as not to scare him. He runs his hand over the fabric of Eliott’s chest where his heart beats fast underneath, and gently uses it to lift his chin so that Lucas can see him.

Eliott lets him, lets Lucas position his face to open up to him, lets himself be seen. But he’s stubborn when he gets like this, so he still looks down and away from Lucas who still has Eliott’s chin in his hand.

“Breathe,” Lucas says calmly, looking into his eyes. Eliott keeps their gaze this time; Lucas’ is more direct and practical now, communicating more than his voice. Eliott lets out an excuse for a breath, more like a quiet sob, and then Lucas says again, “Breathe, in and out.”

Lucas watches as Eliott tries again, but it’s still impossible. He wants to look away again but the hand under his chin won’t let him, the fingers there softly tracing the frown on his face as if to smooth it away.

“Listen to mine and try to breathe with me.”

It’s then that Eliott decides that Lucas is his North Star, even if just for tonight. His mania and his depression and his anxiety and his sleepless nights will always be there, but right here and right now, he uses every last ounce of control he has to listen as Lucas’ chest rises and fills with air and slowly deflates.

Eliott tunes into the sound of every breath, and soon he somehow finds that he’s breathing in time with them.

“There you go, keep breathing,” Lucas reassures, his hand moving from Eliott’s chin to his shoulder and slowly down his arm to where his hands lay in front of him on the floor.

After some time, Eliott’s heart rate is slow again, and he’s exhausted. He’s about to fall, into real sleep for the first time in days, and Lucas is right there with him.

Lucas’ voice sounds like it’s on the other side of that void, far away but extremely close at the same time. “I’m sorry you feel like that, and I wish I could say the right thing to make you feel better, but all I can say is that you’re right, it sucks. I mean, I’ll never know exactly how you feel, but I’m acknowledging that it must feel awful. But I do know that you’re so much stronger than you think, and I know that you are so much more than your weakest moments, and that I’m right here with you through anything.”

Eliott’s eyes are heavy and his mind is starting to drift, but the words make him hold on just a little bit longer. He flutters his eyes open to see Lucas staring back at him, the smallest sleepy smile on his lips. Eliott does his best to return it, even if it’s a lazy slant of his mouth.

“I'm sure it must feel really lonely sometimes, but I’ll keep reminding you that you’re not alone.” Lucas’ hand is tickling down his forearm, and he intertwines their fingers to bring them to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses across his knuckles. “And I can’t wait to deal with you for the rest of my life.”

My angel. It’s the last thing Eliott thinks before he surrenders to sleep, his hand still in Lucas’ where they lay on the hardwood floor.

When Eliott wakes it’s to the sun shining at a low angle into the room, and he tosses in the bed to shy away from it, bumping into a hard body on his side. Lucas is sitting against the headboard smiling down at him, greeting him with a good afternoon, my love.

After a few long moments of waking up, still coming to and vaguely remembering his state the previous night, Eliott swallows though his throat is dry and regards his boyfriend looking all awake and beautiful.

“Did you carry me to bed?” Eliott asks half in awe and half in confusion. He’s done the same for Lucas countless times, but he doesn’t think his boyfriend ever has.

Lucas scoffs but he has the widest, most beautiful smile on his face. The kind that is contagious even when Eliott is not feeling up to smiling.

He gets him to drink some water and take his meds, and Eliott is too tired to fight it.

“Remember when I said you were stronger than you think? Well, so am I.” Lucas smirks with a quick raise of his brows, and Eliott goes to bury his face into Lucas’ neck and shoulder, his absolute favorite place in the universe.

“I love you,” is all Eliott has the energy to say, before he rolls over and goes to sleep a few hours more. Lucas laughs that soft and adorable laugh of his, and joins him under the covers. My love, my light, my angel, my star.

#skam france #elu fic #elu #skamfr fic #mywriting #hands and where they touch

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cuttoothed · 4 years ago

Text

172 spoilers

Post episode fic, because damn it these boys need to talk about stuff! Contains discussion of Jon’s season 4 feeding on victims.

Jon leads the way down a narrow, winding corridor while the stage noises dim behind them, sounds of laughter and scrabbling legs and the occasional scream becoming indistinct and indistinguishable. The air still smells like cigarette ash and blood, but even that fades as they approach a door with a brightly lit sign above it. The sign reads NO EXIT, but Jon knows that doesn’t refer to them.

He pushes down on the rusted crash bar, which squeaks in protest before giving way, and the door opens into the gray light of the ruined world.

From outside, Jon notices, the theater looks a bit like the Lyceum, except far more massive, its tarnished edifice warped and stretched into a predictably web-like arrangement. Maybe it was the Lyceum, once.

They walk a good distance without saying anything. Martin has a look on his face that says he’s thinking; his percolating look, Jon calls it, a little crease between his eyebrows and his lips moving faintly as he has some fierce discussion with himself⁠. He knows better than to interrupt Martin when he’s percolating. Sooner or later the thoughts he’s brewing will drip through and be ready, and he’ll tell Jon about it.

Frankly, considering where they’ve come from, Jon is happy to wait a while before talking about it. He’d be just as happy not to talk about it at all, but he knows that’s a harmful impulse, self-destruction framed as self-defense. That isn’t who he’s chosen to be anymore. It still isn’t easy, talking about things, trusting people⁠—

(the temptation to take just a peek, just to be sure the spiders aren’t crawling over what’s his)

⁠—but he knows it’s what’s keeping him anchored. Keeping him human, or as close to it as he can be, at least. If he doesn’t talk about what he’s experiencing⁠—how he feels, however horrifying and shameful⁠—he could lose himself without even realizing it.

(How do you know you’re the same person who fell asleep?)

If he doesn’t trust Martin⁠—

“I was worried, you know.”

Martin stops in his tracks, so Jon stops too, turns to look at him. His percolating expression has been replaced by his determined expression; this generally means they are going to have A Conversation. Jon considers that maybe they could find somewhere a bit less...exposed, to sit and talk, but really, there’s nowhere that isn’t exposed these days.

“Worried about what?” he asks.

“When you told me we were coming to a Web domain. I was worried...well, you know you left a lot of tapes in your office before the Beholding? All the ones you made while you were away.”

“On the run for murder, you mean.”

“Yeah, that. Well, I listened to them. While you were⁠—you know...”

“Dead,” Jon supplies, and Martin gives a sad little laugh.

“Yeah. Sorry, funny that I still have trouble saying it, after⁠—after everything. Not like it’s the worst thing that’s happened to us!” His jovial bravado rings false, and Jon reaches for his hand.

“It’s okay…” he begins, but Martin shakes his head.

“No, please, let me⁠—I listened to your statement. About...about when you were a kid? And I was worried that⁠—well, you’ve found the others, haven’t you? The ones that’ve marked you.”

“You thought we might find⁠ Mister Spider.” Even now it’s hard to say that name. Fear doesn’t feel the same to Jon as it once did, but the thick bile still rises in his throat, the instinctual shudder of nerves firing down his spine.

“I mean, didn’t it occur to you?”

“Yes...yes, of course it did.”

“Do you know why we didn’t?”

Jon frowns. He hasn’t thought about the why of it⁠—or rather, he didn’t want to think about it, about why their pilgrimage brought them through this particular manifestation of the Web, its hanging hooks and guiding strings and victims stepping time and again through the same dance of will against want and always, always failing. They were not moths fluttering purposeless into the spider’s strands; something brought them here.

“It was a⁠—a reminder, I think. Of what I’ve done. What I chose to do.” Jon hears the unsteady note in his own voice and then Martin is grasping his arm.

“Jon⁠,” he says,”Let’s just⁠—” He looks around as if there might be somewhere pleasant to sit (no comfortable chairs in the apocalypse) and then, with a huff, folds onto the bare, blasted earth, tugging Jon down with him. Jon sits with his knees hunched, Martin cross legged in front of him, giving him a worried frown.

“You didn’t choose any of this,” Martin tells him. “It was all Jonah. He tricked and manipulated and used you! I know it’s hard to believe, sometimes⁠—”

“No, Martin, not⁠—not that.” Jon shakes his head. “I’m talking about b-before. I...well, you took the statement. You heard what I did to that woman, to the others I fed on.” The pit of his stomach feels, rather appropriately, like it’s filled with spiders, squirming and sick and heavy with self-disgust.

“That was⁠—yeah, that was bad, Jon. But you didn’t know what it was doing to them, not really.”

“I knew enough! And I did it anyway, gave those poor people nightmares to last their whole lives.” Jon laughs. “Before I turned everyone’s lives into a nightmare, that is. I chose to do it, Martin. It felt good. And I latched onto the idea that the Web was⁠—was making me do it because I couldn’t take responsibility for my own actions. And now...now I have all the fear in the world pouring into me. I’m like a⁠—a whale shark, just swimming along with my mouth open, swallowing it all down. I don’t have to hurt anyone directly to feed. And I don’t know⁠—”

Jon looks down at his hands, resting against his thighs. They are faintly gray with the dust that gets everywhere, ground into the seams of skin and scars. His nails are bitten to the quick, a bad habit his grandmother never managed to rid him of. Something horrible sits in the back of his throat, and he bites his tongue, not wanting to say it.

Martin’s voice is very soft when he says:

“You don’t know what?”

Jon sighs. The horrible thing crawls onto his tongue, and he lets it go.

“I don’t know if the only reason I’m not hurting people is because they’re feeding me anyway.”

“Oh,” says Martin. Jon feels a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like a hook, and he can’t look up, picks at the ragged cuticle of his thumb instead. He wishes he had a cigarette.

“You tried to stop, though, didn’t you?” Martin’s hand appears in his line of sight, grasps hold of the hand he’s picking at⁠—the burned one⁠—and lifts it out of reach, cradling it between his own. Jon risks a glance at him. He looks...he just looks like Martin.

“When the others made me, when you⁠—” When you found out, he doesn’t say.

“They couldn’t have made you stop. Not unless you wanted to.”

“I⁠—I wanted to want to.” Jon swallows the hitch in his breath that threatens to turn into a sob; he’s already wallowing in self pity enough.

“Then you wanted to,” says Martin firmly. “You wanted to stop, Jon, but you needed help. There’s no shame in that.”

“But what if⁠—”

“Forget about ‘what if’!” Martin tells him, squeezing his hand tight. “What if I’m being controlled by spiders? What if Gertrude was right and there’s nothing we can do about all this? There’s enough guilt and worry to go around without dragging hypotheticals into it!”

“Martin⁠—”

“I love you, Jon. Okay? You are a good person, who I love, and we are both doing our bloody best in this⁠—this ludicrous situation, and frankly the Web can go and⁠ get fucked if it’s trying to tell you otherwise. All right?”

Martin’s face is red with determination, and though his eyes are wet, his jaw is set like stone. Jon is overwhelmed once again by how much he loves this man, how that love fills up all the space behind his rib cage, and though the spiders in his stomach don’t vanish, their squirming lessens. He takes a deep breath, and nods.

“I love you,” is all he can say for a moment. Martin smiles tightly.

“I should hope so.”

They sit there quietly for a little while. It’s not exactly comfortable⁠—the ground is hard and cruel beneath them, the Eye overhead a constant oppression⁠—but it is comforting. Martin keeps holding Jon’s hand between his, tracing his fingers along the shiny ridges of scar tissue, up to brush over Jon’s own fingertips, a delicate connection between them. Eventually, Martin gives a long sigh, and draws Jon’s hand up to kiss the tips of his fingers, then his knuckles.

“Suppose we’d better get going. We don’t want to be late to the Panopticon, Jonah might fire us.” He tilts his head, thinking. “Are we still Institute employees, technically?”

“I, ah, I think so, technically,” says Jon. “Though I imagine the pension scheme is rather out the door at this point.” He hefts himself to his feet, pulling Martin with him. Martin brushes down the backs of his trousers, as if it might get rid of the dust, such a perfectly human gesture that Jon can’t help smiling.

“What?” Martin asks, suspicious. Jon shakes his head.

“Nothing, you’re just...quite adorable.”

“You’re the adorable one,” Martin mutters, as a pleased flush creeps across his cheeks. “Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Jon hesitates a second. “Just, umm...Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“What you said, about the, uh, the spiders?”

“Oh,” Martin says. He gives a sharp little laugh, and there’s a catch in it like the first crack in a pane of glass, the kind that threatens to spider web out and shatter.

“If you don’t want to talk about it⁠—”

“No, it’s⁠—it’s okay,” says Martin. “We can talk about it, but it’s...hypotheticals, like I said. No point worrying. We’ll just...be careful. I might not want you poking around in my head, but you can still keep an eye on me. With your actual eyes. And I’ll do the same for you. I’ll let you know if you get ominous, you let me know if I get...spidery.” He wiggles his fingers.

“I promise to keep a close count on the number of limbs you have,” Jon says solemnly, and is pleased when that gets a much more genuine laugh from Martin.

That temptation is still there, to look, to just be absolutely sure. He’d never even know, a thought murmurs in the back of Jon’s head, and it’s true. It’s true, and Jon squashes the idea without mercy.

It’s not easy, talking about things. Trusting people. But if he doesn’t trust Martin, then he might as well give it all up right now and succumb to this world. He trusts Martin, and it’s both a choice, and a defiance of the fear that tries to tell him he shouldn’t.

The Web can⁠—as Martin so eloquently put it⁠—get fucked.

“Right, let’s go,” he says, and takes Martin’s hand in his.

#the magnus archives #tma spoilers #tma 172 #my fic #jonmartin

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

Note

From horny twitter: Hermann writes a very very detailed review of a vibrator online

not sfw below cut!!!!!!!!!!!

----------------------------

Now, usually, Newt doesn’t mess around when he’s on the clock, because that’d be very unprofessional of him and that’s totally not who he is, but he’s in a little bit of a rut with his current project and could use the distraction. Online shopping is his favorite go-to distraction these days: he can lose himself in size charts and color options and hunts for coupon codes and forget, even for a few minutes, that the end of the world is accelerating towards them at an intimidating rate. Plus, he can write off half his shit as work-related expenses. Win-win. Though maybe not this particular search.

Newt has a pretty reliable arsenal of sex toys he’s used on rotation since he packed up and shipped across the world for the PPDC, but the ten-year warranty vibe he’s used since PhD #3 (and his favorite of the bunch) finally crapped out on him last week after a historically intense fight with Hermann got him historically wound up. Eleven years ain’t bad. After testing out a different charger, poking around in the wiring, and even going so far as to zap it a few times with some sorta-stolen drift tech to see if it stirred any life back into it, he finally decided it was time to just mourn, move on, and buy a new one. (Even if, unfortunately, his particular favorite model was discontinued when the company’s factory was destroyed in a kaiju attack and they never quite managed to recover. More casualties of the war.)

The sex toy market is truthfully booming during the apocalypse. It makes sense, Newt guesses—anything for a distraction. Personally, for Newt, orgasms tend to dampen his own existential dread, even if it’s just for a few minutes. He scrolls idly through a few Top Ten For 2023 listicles on various sex magazine websites to see if anything jumps out at him (some of the recommended toys are dildos he already has, and vibes that are a little beyond his k-sci paycheck), just hoping for something to jump out at him. Apparently he missed out on a limited-edition run of jaeger and kaiju-themed vibes and dildos that came out in early January, which he’s honestly a little pissed about—he’s the top expert on kaiju biology, god damn it! Didn’t anyone want to consult with him about their hypothetical junk? Accuracy matters.

“It’s all off,” Newt mutters grumpily as he examines a 360 view of one of the kaiju dildos. Trespasser. “It’s not even the right color. Fucking amateurs. Did they even try?”

“What are you doing?” Hermann says.

Newt slams his laptop shut. Hermann decided to cut his lunch break short today, apparently. “Shopping,” he says.

“You sounded awfully angry about something, is all,” Hermann says. He clacks over to his half of the lab and shrugs off his big parka, then pauses. “Do you need to...talk about it?”

“No,” Newt says.

Hermann breathes out in obvious relief. “Good,” he says.

He takes his usual spot at his chalkboard and resumes his calculating. Newt re-opens his laptop and scrolls away from Trespasser before he can make himself angry over anatomical inaccuracies again. The jaeger vibes from the collection are pretty cool, actually; the designs are a lot cleaner, and their artistic license is a lot more forgivable. The highest-rated of the set is one obviously (but not enough to invoke copyright infringement, if that can even exist for a jaeger) modeled off of Coyote Tango, with like, a million different settings, and an astronomical cost to match. Newt eyes it enviously. He could be shoving that up his ass right now if he’d just signed up for a stupid email list last year.

He follows the link to Amazon to read through some of the reviews enviously, too. Life-changing; best money ever spent; warranty lasts a lifetime. Ten stars across the board. Sold out, obviously. No idea when it’ll be back in stock. He could get the Striker Eureka model for twice the original cost as when it came out, if he wanted, but the idea of constantly having to associate the twenty-something punk Hansen kid with his intimate affairs makes him shudder.

A nine-star review for the Coyote Tango model from someone named MathLover69 is the only one to make Newt really pause, on account of how absolutely insane it is.

I saved quite a few paychecks to purchase this vibrator, and though the cost is steep, I must say it is absolutely worth it. As opposed to my normal vibrator (here another vibe is linked, and Newt’s eyebrows jump at that price, too), which has only five settings, an admittedly bulky body, and average battery life, the CT2023 has a generous ten, a sleeker design, and charges fully in a matter of minutes. The orgasms I have experienced while using it are higher in quality (and more numerous) than any resulting previously from masturbation, though I have not tried beyond setting six yet. It also works wonders for stress relief. (I have an incredibly irritating colleague, and nothing calms me down so much as a quick round with the CT2023 after a spat with him.)

The body is versatile enough to be either inserted into one’s—

Newt feels heat rise to his cheeks in spite of himself, and he skims the second paragraph of MathLover69’s review to get the gist of it—that there are, uh, plenty of ways to utilize the vibe, that it’s discreet and small enough to wear to work (if you were inclined to do so, as MathLover69 implies he might’ve been) and that when combined with the Yamarashi dildo, the pleasurable experience increased tenfold. Talk about oversharing. Jeez.

My only complaint would be that the design is a poor approximation of the real Coyote Tango, and for that I’ve docked a star. I would recommend this product.

“This guy is a total nut,” Newt says to himself.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

Newt considers the implications of showing Hermann the vibrator listing: Hermann will know he was shopping for sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys during working hours a mere ten feet away from him. Embarrassing, but on the other hand, MathLover69’s review is too funny to not share with someone else. “Hey, Hermann,” Newt says, angling his laptop towards Hermann. “Look. Who comments shit like this?”

Hermann descends his ladder carefully and inches up behind Newt’s shoulder, squinting at his laptop screen. He immediately turns bright red. Newt must’ve offended his Victorian sensibilities with the mere suggestion of self-abuse. “Oh,” he says. “Er.”

“Way TMI,” Newt says. “Listen to this line. ‘With the Yamarashi toy inserted into one’s mouth, and the CT2023 inserted up one’s—'”

“Well, how else is one meant to review a masturbatory aid?” Hermann snaps, surprising Newt. He looks oddly flustered. “Details can be—er—helpful. Can’t they?”

“Sure, dude,” Newt snorts. “Except they’re obviously just screwing with people. They literally have a 69 in their username.” He taps at the MathLover69, and doesn’t mention—on behalf of Hermann’s delicate mathematician feelings—that the MathLover part is obviously meant as a joke too.

“Well,” Hermann says. “Perhaps it’s just his—er, their birthdate.”

Newt turns around to stare at Hermann, taking in his red cheeks, his red ears, and the gaze he’s fixed steadily on his shoes. It’s all Newt can do to not to gape at him. “Hermann, you’re kidding,” he says. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermann says.

“You didn’t,” Newt says.

“I,” Hermann stammers. “Well—”

“I didn’t even know you—”

“That I what?” Hermann says.

Newt gives a half-shrug. Hermann doesn’t seem the type to engage in any sort of vice, let alone this kind. And especially not with the type of sex toys he apparently gravitates towards. (If Newt was a little bolder, and had a little less shame and care for hygiene, he might ask to check out the Yamarashi, because anatomical inaccuracies aside, wow that sounds awesome.) “I mean, you know,” Newt says. “You’re kinda you. No offense.”

Hermann takes offense. “I am human,” he says. “I am allowed to masturbate, Newton, and I was merely attempting to educate other customers about the—product—with my thoroughness.” He adds, awkwardly, “My review was voted very helpful, as you can see.”

“Okay,” Newt says with a grin. “I get it. Sorry.”

Hermann marches back over to his side of the lab with a scowl. Newt waits until he’s sure Hermann’s not watching him, and is too distracted by muttering angrily under his breath, to bookmark MathLover69’s page of reviews.

It turns out (as Newt revisits the page later that night, in the privacy of his bunk) Hermann buys and reviews a truly staggering amount of dildos and sex toys, and on top of that, has absolutely zero filter behind the wall of anonymity. It’s to the extent that some of his reviews read like goddamn sexts.

It took me three occasions to successfully work myself up to taking in the entire length…

My orgasm was so pleasurable I alarmed my colleague with the noise I made, who believed me to have injured myself…

The highest vibration setting is a bit of a disappointment…

These are excellent for double penetration…

It also turns out Hermann is a veritable sex fiend. Or at least a masturbation fiend. Judging by his reviews alone, Hermann’s purchased more than a dozen different toys in the past three years alone. That’s four a year. One every three months. That’s not even including buttplugs, which (according to other reviews) he sometimes just wears into the lab (“work”) for the hell of it, which Newt isn’t even going to think about right now. How the hell has Hermann kept this much of his life under wraps? When the hell does he have time to jerk off as much as he apparently does? No wonder they never seem to have any fucking funding; all of Hermann’s paychecks are funneled directly into his—well.

Newt recalls the faux-injury incident Hermann mentioned in a comment with mild embarrassment. No wonder Hermann had been so weird and flushed when he opened his door, and made excuses to say bye to him so quickly—Newt just caught him (oh, boy) immediately following the best orgasm of his life. Well, mild embarrassment, and a little more than mild arousal. What Newt would’ve given to have been there five minutes earlier, to watch Hermann in the act of the best orgasm of his life, to maybe even be the one to cause it…

What Newt would give to use Hermann’s fancy-shmancy vibrator on him, or literally anything from his giant masturbatory arsenal. Or even just watch him use it on himself. Hermann’s just so damned buttoned-up and uptight—it’s all about the contradictions. Juxtapositions. Newt unzips his jeans and sticks his hand down his boxers. “Stupid Hermann,” he moans, as he begins to bring himself off to the image of Hermann with that stupid kaiju dildo down his throat and that stupid jaeger vibe up his ass. Negotiator of peace between the two? Stupid joke, stupid Hermann. Or maybe he’s picturing Hermann showing up to the lab, all plugged up and loose from using a different vibe on himself that morning. Or maybe Hermann pushing two dildos into himself at once. How the hell can he even manage that? Ass his size— “Oh, goddamn it,” Newt moans again, and comes all over his hand.

Whatever. It’s not like Hermann’s ever going to find out about this.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw ////

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 5 years ago

Text

Zombie Apocalypse AU Masterpost

"There are a few groups that aren't aware of each other's existence. (Architechs, NHO, Convex, ect.) The NHO are made up of all men from millitaries across the globe. Cleo isn't a zombie either, she is a zombie whisperer. She can communicate slightly with zombies and they aren't usually negotiable."

(Paraphrased,) from @creator0fchaos' Zombie Apocalypse AU entry for The Follower Input AU.

Headcanons to start us off:

-Convex were two men from a small buisness. Jellie is also around but she's injured and is mostly carried around by Scar.

-Etho got bit pretty early on and everyone in the NHO knows they're gonna have to do something about it but they're putting it off. Etho seems fine.

-Bdubs is slowly going completely feral. (Possible reference to season 5's jungle feral?) DocM joked he had rabies and the two got into a fight.

-Iskall lost his eye after Mumbo accidentally slashed him with a knife while trying to protect Grian from a hoarde. Iskall ended up getting lumped in with the Architech group because Mumbo feels super guilty about it.

-Xisuma and Keralis came into contact with the NHO for a bit. Keralis and Bdubs nearly became friends but Beef and Doc scared em away. Angst.

-The zombies fear False.

-XB originally planned to just stay in his house and not go out. He was prepared, okay? He had tinned food to last him at least a decade, zombie proof armour and god knows what else supplies. His friend, Hypnotizd, is fleeing to there because he knows XB knows what he's doing.

-Wels wears armour because it's the best he had. Same with Biffa and Xisuma. In this AU, they probably wouldn't be wearing armour if not given the circumstances.

-Jevin has turned this into a game to kill as many zombies as possible.

-Impulse, Tango and Zedaph are all just having a good time trying to survive in the woods. Their main goal is to open a tin of beans Zed has but they don't have a tin opener.

-Rendog found a tin of dog food while scavenging. He was hungry and ate it. He now has an addiction to tinned dog food.

-Wels wears medieval armour in the zombie au because at one point he was trapped in a museum by a horde and like, the armour was technically there. On display. No one was using it.

-Etho wears the mask as kind of a mental reminder not to bite his friends.

-Joe and Stress are hanging with Cleo and even if the small group isn’t the best equipped or prepared, they have thrived thanks to Cleo’s ability to whisper to zombies. It might not stop the zombies but it buys the group time to escape.

–Zombie!Etho is hiding the fact that he’s turning, if not already turned into a zombie, from the rest of the NHO because he loves being with his friends. The problem is that it’s getting harder every day to control himself and he’s constantly fighting between telling the rest of them about it, and having them put him out of his misery to keep them safe, or just keep hiding it, afraid that one day it’ll be too late he won’t be able to control himself and bite them all.

-Someone gets like a really bad case of the flu, this is problem because usually survivors have to stay in the move consistently to survive and that’s hard when someone is really sick, it also bad because all pharmacies have been raided and there’s no medicine.

-Grian originally came from Sam and Taurtis's group but due to Sam's insanity, Grian pulls away and went surviving on his own. That when Mumbo came to photo and knowing that he won't survive the zombie wasteland alone, Grian took it as his task to convince Mumbo make a partnership with him.

-Joe was playing D&D when the outbreak started, and Cleo was in his group. They treat it as a game sometimes, though they toned it down a bit when Stress joined because she was still grieving Iskall. Stress makes them stay around where she lost Iskall, but Joe and Cleo don't mind because she has a base set up there.

-For no fault of his own, the nHo crumbles while doc is in control. They had been losing members for a while but when beef, Bdubs, etho, and doc part ways it’s the draw the broke the camels back, so doc is the only one left of the nho, the rest of them, having either left or died. Doc blames himself for everything going so wrong.

-For the zombie AU because nobody's representing my boy X: Xisuma is known as a master at evading the zombies (he can fight them well if needed but he is best at avoiding incidents altogether). He claims to wear the mask for practical reasons, but what the others don't know is that it hides how terrified he is. He hides his fear because he doesn't want people to lose confidence in him, but getting turned and losing control of his mind is his worst nightmare.

-TFC’s gone for a bunker theme for s6+s7, so maybe, he finds a nHo member, and just drags them down into his bunker, probably chewing them out for walking around alone?

-For the zombie au is ethos mask like a medical one, or was he in a kakashi cosplay for some reason and kept it because all the pockets were practical and then started wearing the mask because he got infected.

-After Stress and Iskall reunite, Joe and Cleo join the Architechs. False joins them after seeing Cleo whisper to the zombies and realizing that the group severely lacks fighters. I need the hermits to (at least mostly) get together!

-TFC is obviously a disaster prepper who has a fully furnished bunker that can house a lot of people. He has been broadcasting this to other survivors using a radio. Unfortunately, he lives in the middle of nowhere and it is a trek to get there, but the Vault (as he calls it) is self-sustaining. (I know this is obvious, but nobody has done anything with TFC yet, and that's a shame)

-Even though he’s scared about not being alert enough to protect his team, Xisuma hides his sickness, which is easy with the helmet, because he’s the leader and he can’t be weak. Due to the pain of the flu and the heat of fever staying trapped inside his helmeted eventually falls to his knees and breaks down.

-Mumbo is wearing a suit because he was on his way to a job interview when the outbreak started, he just never bothered to change clothes.

-Etho used to love making up little tunes, and that hasn't changed since he was bitten. Nevertheless, the others in his group haven't heard him make music since. He blames a lack of instruments because of being on the run from zombies. The morning after he left, though, they find an old recorder where his sleeping bag was, and once they hit play they're greeted with songs in a familiar style, backed by improvised instruments.

Even without saying anything they *know* what had happened, and the recorder is taken along on their journey to a safe haven. Sometimes, when the feeling of missing their friend gets too much, they put on the music in the evening and just allow themselves to cry.

-Well, i was thinking maybe stress was a loner, but like, not completely alone, she was with someone else, probably Cleo or Iskall, but they got bit, she felt too bad to kill them so she wanders around with a zombie friend on a madeup leash, sorry if it sounds sad but i like angst and it seemed like a good headcanon -🐿️

-TFC is the one to get to Beef and break down the wall he had built up after a while of wandering alone after breaking off from the nHo. He finds Beef fighting a group of zombies and after observing how violently Beef was hacking down the zombies, TFC did not see a hardened fighter, but a broken man and went to talk with him.

-Alternate timeline idea when grian was still traveling with Sam and tortoise. Sam end up doing something that results in grian and tortoise getting bitten, because of that Sam leaves them. Now grian is not a normal zombie he doesn’t crave human flesh but rabbit flesh because he’s so hell-bent on getting revenge for what Sam did to him and tortoise, tortoise ends up tagging along. Cleo ends up finding them and discover their not normal zombies and inviting them to stay with her group.

-For the zombie apocalypse AU, RE: Cleo and Joe's DND game - imagine them going into a fight and just screaming "ROLL INITIATIVE!"

-Ok but imagine if like that one anon said, grian was already a zombie but like, one that only wants animals. I imagine they could probably get him to behave normally and imagine the mumbo turning angst but grian is already a zombie and just helps him not loose himself.

-For the Zombie Au, instead of killing Mumbo before he turns, the group locks him in a room and leave him there in hopes that they can bring him back once theres a cure. Whether or not, Mumbo wants to be saved is up to you. If Cleo's still in the group then you could have her "talk" to Zombie Mumbo for bonus angst.

-After finding out that Etho's still out there, Beef becomes more determined than ever to help find a cure. In the bunker he often ends up buzzing around Scar and Cub, desperate for something to do to help. It can get a bit awkward but they understand he's just desperate to see his friend again and are usually able to provide small tasks to help him keep his mind busy (with something other than worrying for Etho) while they continue working toward a cure.

(All those above in red are from our community's lovely Anons!)

-Vintagebeef was the first to notice something was off about Etho. He asked Etho about it but Etho assured him he was fine. Beef asked, 'what if you spread it to the other people in group?' Etho claimed that 'if it was contagious without physical contact, everyone would have caught it by now.'

-Speaking of Vintage Beef, he feels the most lonely and hopeless out of all the NHO members. Etho is probably gonna die from being a zombie soon. Bdubs and Doc are always at each other's throats and Beef fears one of them may accidentally kill the other. He's terrified that he may be the only one left.

-Hypnotizd is the most likely to be bit next. Dude’s running to XB’s house basically defenseless until he gets there, we have no clue how far he has to travel.

(-@tomcatacaphe.)

-You could very easily bring s5 nho angst into this au... Etho leaves to protect his friends from himself, Beef leaves because he can't bare to see his friends fight so much, Bdubs and Doc get in a fight and Bdubs storms off, and Doc is left to try and lead the nho by himself (since you said it's a kind of paramilitary thing here). Ouch.

-Knowing Mumbo's love for bunkers and the dragon bro bunker from s6, the architechs have probably settled somewhere underground to have a somewhat normal life. And, given the combined tech prowess of Iskall and Mumbo, they could easily rig up defence systems to help.

-in regards to that ask about X getting ill, maybe that's where Keralis joins him! He's totally the type to stay with you when sick! :D

-Continuing from that anon, if I may. So far we have Griam, Mumbo, Iskall, Stress, Joe, Cleo, and False all living together... The chaos xD ! You could even bring in hermit challenges as smth they make to, y'know, lighten the mood :D

(-@rebloging-extravaganza.)

-OOF I never thought about Taurtis wandering alone but that's sad. Iskall was also originally with Stress. They are wandering together until a snow storm separates them. Iskall finds Mumbo and Grian and then Mumbo thought he was a zombie cause this man just came out of nowhere. Grian and Mumbo took him in. When Iskall came back to the place where him and Stress gets separated, they saw each other again. What's the first thing he did? He hugged the hell outta her.

-Stress was tired cause the next thing she knew after the storm is that she’s alone. So, she thought for the worst, she thought Iskall was dead. She made a small shelter in the place, tamed a lot of dogs and even made a gravestone for Iskall.

When Stress saw him, her first thought was to get the weapon from the sheath and attack but Iskall started talking. The next thing she knew was she is crying and hugging him tight.

(-@penumbra-rui.)

-After Beef leaves the nHo, he becomes quite a loner. He gets a nickname from other groups even though they don’t know who he is: the Butcher. He gets the name because when groups are being seized down by dozens of zombies, Beef comes in and kills the zombies - every single one - with only his token bloodied apron left behind, waving on a stick. He has hundreds of those aprons and is never seen killing the zombies by the besieged groups.

-When Impulse runs away, he runs into BDubs while in a run down brick building with part of it having been blown up in what looks like a plane bomb. The building seems to have been a local demolition business known simply as ‘Boomers.’

-Before the apocalypse began, Scar was an upper level agent of the FBI tasked with protecting top level cancer researchers across the United States. One of those top cancer researchers was patient 0 and was the original discoverer of the zombie infection (patient 0 was not a Hermit). However, Scar believes it’s his fault for not having intervened when he could have. It’s now his mission to find a way to fix it. He comes across business mogul Cub, who may have the funds to help.

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/618407386827423744/hypno-has-been-living-with-xb-for-the-last-two XB and Hypno meet: A post too long to copy paste here.

(-@creator0fchaos.)

-After Tango explodes the beans Impulse claims he’s leaving. Z and T think he just kidding but when they wake up the next morning Inpulse is gone. Now Zed and Tango are on a mission to find impulse while also terrified that he’s been bit.

-Continuation of the impulse leaves thing, tango and Zed find and save him just in time. They all reunite and are happy. The problem is that Zed was bit in the process, for now he’s binding it, because tango and impulse were so happy to be reunited and zed didn’t want to ruin it.

-Zed never ends up telling his friends that he was bit, the figure out themselves a few days after it happens. At first they’re mad that zed hid it from them, telling him how he could have turned and hurt them. But a minute late they break down in tears realizing what the bit means for them all. They will discuss what to do in the morning but for now they will grieve.

-Even more of the zit story: In the morning they decide to keep zed around until he really starts turning, they will then kill him so he’s not a zombie, zed protests this wanting them to kill him now, fearing for the other’s safety, but he’s actually really happy to have a bit longer with his friends. Impulse feels guilty because this never would have happened if he hadn’t left, tango also feels guilty because if he never exploded the beans, then impulse wouldn’t have left and zed would be fine.

(-@lookitsspacekween.)

-Xisuma is known as a master at evading the zombies (he can fight them well if needed but he is best at avoiding incidents altogether). He claims to wear the mask for practical reasons, but what the others don't know is that it hides how terrified he is. He hides his fear because he doesn't want people to lose confidence in him, but getting turned and losing control of his mind is his worst nightmare.

-Xisuma could be that person who gets the flu from an earlier submission! It would really scare him because of not being as alert or functional to avoid the zombies. I feel like he doesn't have a set group of people he stays with, so someone would probably find him holed up somewhere with a bad fever and decide to stay with him.

-If Mumbo ever gets bitten his zombie form is his cursed skin from after he sold his bits, it NEEDS to be lol.

-I came here to post immune!Rendog only to find that someone already did! Anyway, Ren is immune, which is good because the man gets bitten A LOT (the diggity dawg is not the best fighter). I feel like he gets lost and comes across the NHO base, and Doc won't let him in at first because he's covered in bites. He probably puts him in a containment cell out of typical Doc paranoia but eventually figures it out.

-Doc tried his hardest to be distant with Ren (because he thought he was going to turn/die soon and didn't want to get attached) but Ren just asks questions and talks 24/7 until Doc gives in and talks to him out of loneliness. Doc probably keeps him in containment for a really long time, first for fear of him turning and then because he's afraid Ren will leave (like everyone else left him.)

-Ren is very calm and cheery through the whole containment thing because he FULLY believes this is all a dream. Like, okay, this German robot man says I'm going to die in a week? Cool! Have to remember to write this one down when I wake up. Doc cannot convince him otherwise and it frustrates him to no end (when he does realize it's real though he's going to have a full breakdown.)

-Mumbo focuses in way too hard when he's working and blocks out everything else. If he gets bitten it will be because he was too absorbed in a redstone project and forgot to check his surroundings.

-When Mumbo gets bitten, Grian makes it his duty to comfort him and keep him calm until the end. Iskall, however, is overcome by guilt. He had been out for supplies when it happened; usually it was his job to watch Mumbo's back while he worked, alternating between fighting zombies and giving jokingly snarky commentary on Mumbo's redstone. He definitely blames himself and won't let the others out of his sight afterward.

-A break from angst! Zombie whisperer!Cleo's talents work by communicating with the infection in the zombies' bodies. Immune!Rendog has the infection, it just doesn't affect him in a dangerous way. Therefore, Cleo is now a Ren whisperer. Hilarity ensues.

-Once Xisuma starts feeling a bit better, he organizes his group to dig underground tunnels for people to travel with less chance of zombie attack (construction Keralis is a big help!) The leadership comes naturally to him, and the hard work is a good way of building up his strength again. Working late into the night on the tunnels is also the perfect excuse not to sleep....

-(post-cure). It takes several weeks, but Doc finally manages to find Etho. When he receives the cure his first words are "Thank you" and "I'm so sorry" (like a true Canadian). While his mind is returned to him, some parts of his body are too decayed to be salvaged, but that's no obstacle for Doc. He builds custom cybernetics and eagerly welcomes his old friend back to the land of the living.

(-@shadeswiftdraws.)

-Mumbo, being really good with redstone, obviously has anti-zombie weapons he made himself. One day he goes out scavenging to find Grian fighting zombies armed with only a large hunting knife, a sledgehammer (probably from whatever build he was working on at the time of the outbreak), and his tiny gremlin speed and agility. (-@my-cat-is-a-bastard.)

-One of the Hermits (up to you which one) is somehow immune to the zombie virus. The catch: they don't know until they get bit. Them and the rest of their group is scared and prepares to kill them when the transformation is complete, but it never happens. The scientist of their group does a couple of tests and discovers their immunity!

-I was thinking about it for a bit, and I doesn’t seem like there’s been much done with Ren... (besides eating dog food lol)

-Happy ending time 'cause I can't stand seeing them all turn! Once Doc realizes Ren is immune, they venture out trying to find another group to create a cure. After gathering some/most of the other Hermits, they come across Scar, and they work on and create a cure/vaccine. The rest of the Hermits take it, and maybe they're even able to cure Etho and the other zombified Hermits! (Sorry if this is too cheesy/happy; I just want everything to be okay, y'know?)

-All everyone speaks of are the physical changes, but one must set the record straight: No matter how horrifying the outward changes are, the mental and emotional ones are far worse. Your friend’s behavior will take a turn for the worse. They’ll become more aggressive, more impulsive, less cautious. They’ll start fights for a laugh, they’ll yell and thrash and scream at the mildest inconvenience, their mind will devolve and fade away. By the time you must say your goodbyes, they will no longer be the friend you knew. They will be childish, angry, insane, and horrible in every way. Even if they fight the illness and outer changes, their behavior will still be impacted and subject to change.

Be wary of this if you choose to let your friend live, and prepare not only your body, but your mind, for the worst.

-Patient Zero could be GenerikB.

(-@12u3ie.)

-I feel like team ZIT keeps putting off taking care of Impulse. Like Etho, Impulse just keeps fighting the changes. They all expect him to wither away, fall down and die one day, isn't that how it always goes?, but that's not how the infection works. They don't get sicker and weaker, in fact most of the people who die from one bite actually die from gangrene and/or septic shock. (Human mouths are GROSS.) But our boys don't know this. They've taken good care of his bite, even if it felt pointless at first, and avoided infection, and as a result he's physically completely healed now. So they end up never NEEDING to kill Impulse, but at what cost? He's constantly anxious about losing control. He can barely even sleep, what if it makes him sleepwalk and he bites his friends then? Tango and Zedaph see him changing still. They see his skin getting pale and dull, his eyes growing hollow, even see he's losing a lot of weight, but they put it up to his sleeplessness, to how they have to remind him, almost force him to eat real food. What sort of life does Impulse really have now? Is it really better to just end it? (What if he and Etho meet?)

Sorry, I've just seen the way this subversion of the Zombie Bite = Zombie Dead trope is going with Etho, and I HAD to get bitten!Impulse in on it as well. Now I can't stop thinking about exactly how this virus works, so I'm gonna hit post before I get WAY too into it and make a text wall.

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/618456845293633536/the-first-thing-you-notice-is-the-bite-it-stings How the virus works. (Tw gore, worms.)

(-@basaltdragon.)

-Bdubs definitely slept through the beginning of the apocalypse and had no idea what was going on for a while. He just kept doing his normal thing until someone told him what was happening. (-@miss-oleum.)

-I saw a post that mentioned Taurtis in the zombie apocalypse au, so I think this idea would be cool? I think from context clues Etho and Beef are kinda traveling together, but what if they run into Pause! Pause is super stoked to finally be around people in this mess (Team Canada, no less!!) but the dread kicks in when he notices the look in Etho's eyes, and how much paler he is than usual. Maybe he even notices the signs before Beef (who prolly def. noticed but is in severe denial about it). (-@853dragons.)

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/618477192694939648/you-know-what-im-just-going-to-add-my-2-cents-on

-To the surprise (and delight) of everyone in the Bunker, Beef is a deasent Redstoner. He's still a bit rusty at it tho. But he Knows how to work around those dust if he put his mind it. And after the... Insident with Mumbo, they need all the help they can get with the Redstone. And the first time he fix a redstone contraption on his own he said to his spectators (any Hermit of your choice), "What? You thought I was all Beef but no Brains?"

(-@tearosepedall.)

And now, Writing!

-It's the hunger that's the worst. Gnawing and ever-present, no matter what he eats, he can't escape the emptiness that's settled into his stomach. Etho stares dully down at the can someone - probably Beef - had pushed into his hands, before spearing a handful of syrupy fruit and swallowing it. It does little to satiate the hunger crawling through his every being. And why would it? It's not fruit he's hungry for anymore. (Anon.)

-Fear curls around him like an unwanted friend, a fiend of mist and smoke that blankets his nerves and quickens his heart. He stares dully at the scene before him, at the massacre his group had just barely avoided, as an awful storm of what-ifs swirl through his mind. His hands shake. "X?" Someone asks, "Are you okay?" Xisuma sucks in a deep breath, curls his hands into fists, and turns towards Keralis. "I'm fine," he lies. (Anon.)

-"Hello there. If you are listening to this, we are gone and long forgotten. This base of ours is yours to use now. I'm sure there'll still be some supplies and cans of food left-" "Not if I eat them first!" "Gr- Grian! I'm recording!" "I know that, you spoon." Grian took a few steps forward and stuck his face up to the camera lens. "Hi there!" "Grian! This is serious work." "C'mon, we're always serious! What's wrong with a little bit of fun during the zombie apocalypse?" (12u3ie.)

-(Biffa's POV) I met Xisuma a couple weeks ago. He saved my life, and I joined his crew. We're good friends now, and I hope he trusts me. It just seems like there's something off about him, but not in a zombie way. The way he hesitates before saying he's fine, how his eyes widen for just a moment before battle... the way he mumbles in his sleep about an evil counterpart... (12u3ie.)

-Hands corral him, pushing him forward. Mumbo twists and writhes, trying to escape from the iron grip pulling him forward. Where his tongue still capable of forming complex sounds, he would be protesting vehemently. Nowadays, words are harder to come by, too clunky and heavy for his tongue to try. As it is, he can barely even manage the word no. 'I don't want this!' He screams, but only Cleo spares him a glance. Her eyes shine, wet with tears and pity that turns his stomach.

"We'll find a cure," Someone else promises. From a haze of shattered memories, a face forms. It takes another moment for him to remember a name. Grian. His voice is flat, toneless, but edged with iron and a promise. With one final pull, he's dragged into the windowless room, lined with lockers and benches. Mumbo's breath rattles heavily in his chest, as the iron door swings shut behind him. "I'm so sorry." Whispers seep through the thin walls. "I can't believe he bit Ren." (Anon.)

More to be added!

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izartn · 4 years ago

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On the The Host romance:

A lil note: @into-september as you’re reading Twilight, and your last post made me realise this, I thought it better to write my own post and tag you! Hope you don’t mind.

The Host is the first novel of an “adult” science fiction trilogy by Stephanie Meyer which never was finished. Published in 2008, the same year as Breaking Dawn, I guess she preferred gaining the benefits of her vampire saga to keep on writing.

For shame, because for me, The Host is much better at establishing worldbuilding, a concept and its protagonists + a romance (not that there isn’t anything cuestionable in it, but to my taste it’s better done than in Twilight). Here is the first paragraph of The Host wikipedia’s section on plot:

A species of parasitic aliens called "Souls" have invaded Earth, deeming the humans too violent to deserve the planet. When a Soul is implanted into a host body, the consciousness of the original owner is erased, leaving their memories and knowledge.

Wanderer, a Soul, is placed into the body of Melanie Stryder. However, Melanie's consciousness is still alive and begins to communicate with Wanderer mentally. Wanderer's assigned "Seeker" suggests that she could be placed into Melanie to retrieve the memories before disposing of the defective body, but Wanderer makes several attempts to deny her Seeker's wishes. As Wanderer starts to uncover some of Melanie's memories of her younger brother Jamie Stryder and her boyfriend Jared Howe, Melanie gets her to follow a series of landmarks throughout the Arizona desert to find her Uncle Jeb, hoping that Jared and Jamie are with him. By doing so, she would be denying the Seeker Melanie's memories and the humans they would lead her to.

Just. Read that and have the face to tell me it doesn’t sound more interesting than Twilight I dare you. Of course the books are different genres, although the focus is in the... more sentimental part in both. It’s just that The Host story is more unusual and the worldbuilding dreamy and subtly horrific.

Well I said I was gonna talk about the romance right? Spoilers incoming!

A bit of more context is necessary; in The Host, Melanie, the human Wanda (nickname of Wanderer) is possessing, is in love with the boyfriend mentioned in the sinopsis, Jared. Wanda being in the body of Melanie, feels things for him. We can divine for context this is sexual attraction plus having access to some of Melanie’s memories and noticing Jared is pretty ok as humans not possessed are left on Earth.

Melanie reaction to this oscillates between “don’t you dare touch my boyfriend alien” and “well of course you fell for him, he’s pretty awesome” to “if I can’t it’s ok if you want to” when she’s feeling herself disappear at one point. Which is bullshit bc her conscience comes back when Wanda goes to tell Jared to kiss her bc she’s feeling Melanie disappear and when he gets near Wanda, Melanie usually mounts a whole circus in her head. It works.

Well that’s one part of the romance. The other is Ian, a human in the settlement who is pretty level-headed and who starts talking to Wanda, as her guard first and then as her friend. No previous contact with Melanie, so he mets Wanda in Melanie’s body and isn’t excessively hostile or sad. Bc you know, an alien is in the body of you “niece, girlfriend, sister, etc” isn’t really conductive to good first impressions although that alien has come bearing the news that said person is still alive somewhere in their brain.

(Also the whole human group is so hilariously based on those paranoid about the government/end-of-days usa people... And it works! LMAO) (The social dynamics are interesting in this book ok? basic but ingenious)

So Wanda falls slowly without noticing for Ian; Ian falls first and confesses and everything. I think their first kiss was a bit sketchy? But generally they good.

The interesting thing is this: Melanie and so her body, is in love and attracted to Jared. Wanda, inhabiting Melanie’s body, starts realising that although Jared is pretty ok and all that, he’s really Melanie’s love; she doesn’t exactly like his more violent tendencies.

(Really he’s more apocalypse survivor hardcore, but he really was a dick to her at the start, bc alien possessing girlfriend and all. Also gave her mixed signals, etc. Very american male which, eh. Melanie is also very apocalypse survivor hardcore; the two mesh well bc of that lmao)

Well, as Stephanie Meyer is SM, and she has some weird ideas about romance the thing is, Wanda doesn’t feel sexually attracted to Ian. Bc all the hormones in her body are signaling only Jared. But she really is romantically attracted to Ian, and loves him. When they kiss, she likes it, but it’s not super passionate nor does it brings the same high that the few occasions Jared kissed her. To Ian’s credit he doesn’t really get it at the start, but then is immediately acepting of Wanda’s boundaries. I think he pushes a bit? But this SM so. Sigh. (I like to think in the hands of another author he wouldn’t do the sterotypical male thing but yah)

What I mean is that Stephanie Meyer, without intention, created an ace romance. Sure, it bc really weird biological alien science, but if you take it to mean Melanie is demi and only feels attracted to Jared, that makes her body reactions logical when Wanda also falls in love. She isn’t occupying the body wholly; there’s the host original presence; so she falls romantically but not physically. If I’m saying great idiotices please correct me under; I don’t have any background on sexology or biology.

Sadly, Wanda is also super worried of not being able of correctly loving Ian, so. Negation of ace identity in one, two..., warning to folks sensible to it.

And well, she ruins it when at the end when Wanda is put outside Melanie´s body into one who doesn’t have a human conscience. She explained the others how to take “souls” out of humans without killing any part, and how to take the “souls” to the space ships where they’ll be transported to other worlds. But sometimes the humans have passed so much time suppressed, or have been taken so young, that there isn’t a conscience-anyone to recover.

The Host is very weird, bc this is a race of genocidal colonist aliens who are weird beautiful little ribbons of silver in their original form, who after abandoning their original world by possessing another race who invaded them realised they could live whatever lives they wanted possessing people without dying and just. Went for it. They are a supposedly all peace loving gents, who cured all poverty and illness by their superior technology and like, very comunist-anarchist society. Who abhor violence, but don’t see eliminating other people identity as violence.

They are weird and amazing; when they realise having and raising children as humans costs so much, they start acting as parents to those humans without going to have a soul implanted on their kid, bc they love them as they are. A mess of contradictions, and Wanda is so interesting bc of this.

Sadly, SM acted again, and made Wanda one of the rare females able of auto-destroying to create more fragments of herself (aka other souls). The rest of souls don’t have any gender and chose bodies as whatever sex they like most. Guess Wanda being an alien was fine, but not having an explicit gender was too much, lol. To be fair, she says she prefers female bodies, but doesn’t really mind. Good on Wanda.

There’s a secondary romance too; the search of Ian’s brother, Kyle (who almost kills Wanda once) for his abducted girlfriend, Jodie. Results the soul inside her body, Sunny has all of Jodie’s memories of Kyle and is like, already in love with him. She lets herself be abducted, and when they explain they’re gonna get her out and why, is like, cries and begs, but accepts it bc is Jodie who Kyle loves. She hasn’t ever heard her like Wanda did Melanie, though, so when like a week or two pass and Jodie’s conscience remains dead Kyle consents (bc the other relatives of Jodie are soulified) to bring back Sunny. Wow. What a clusterfuck. They don’t date but there’s this weird vibe where Kyle has stopped hating all souls after Wanda’s mess and his encounter with Sunny, and Sunny herself is like; yay! I can live with humans and Kyle and I’ll keep trying to awake Jodie. And the two of them are described as inseparable?

It’s more intriguing than Twilight; I wished there were more fics interested in exploring cool canon divergences and all. I didn’t dive in the problematiqueTM aspects of the book but come on, this is SM and you have reading comprehension. I just wanted to talk about how interesting is the intersection of sexuality in romance in Wanda’s case >-< Still better than Twilight but I guess the aesthetic of vamps surpases The Host. Which. Valid ok? Each to their own.

#the host #stephanie meyer #wanderer #melanie strider #ian o'shea #jared howe #kyle o'shea #sunlight passing through the ice #or sunny for friends #meta #the host meta

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makeste · 4 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 275: YAAAAY but Also AHHHHH

Previously on BnHA: Endeavor was all “I’M FIGHTING TOMURA AND YOU CAN’T STOP ME” and set everything on fire. Unlike SOME people, however, it turns out fire is NOT Tomura’s weakness, so he basically just shrugged it off. But before things could progress any further, AFO was all “psst, go get One for All” and Tomura was all “? One for All?” and Endeavor was all “?? One for All?” and Deku and Kacchan, who were listening in on their earpieces, were all “!!!” Having thus realized that Tomura was targeting him, Deku sped off to lead him somewhere away from the civilians... accompanied by his good friend Bakugou “274 chapters of character development have all been leading up to this” Katsuki. Because like hell are you going to have an EPIC BATTLE with the FINAL VILLAIN without him, you damn nerd. Who’s he going to heroically sacrifice himself for if you’re not there?? Hahh!?

Today on BnHA: Deku and Kacchan fly off to battle Tomura after confusing Endeavor into giving them his location (which wasn’t very hard lmao). En route, Deku finally thinks to ask Kacchan why he’s tagging along, and Kacchan is all “DON’T GET ME WRONG, IT’S JUST BECAUSE I WANT REVENGE ON TOMURA, AND DEFINITELY NOT BECAUSE I CARE ABOUT YOU AT ALL, HOW DARE YOU, WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT”, which is super convincing and didn’t make me roll my eyes at all. Anyways so then Tomura shows up and is all “EYO TIME TO KILL YOU NOW” and Deku and Kacchan are all “OH SFFKDFK”, but fortunately Gran shows up to save them in the nick of time, because BnHA is literally the only shounen manga in which grown-ups will see kids trying to lead a battle and be like “lol wtf” and actually try to stop that shit instead of being all “what are your orders, children.” The chapter then ends with the heroes doing EXACTLY WHAT THEY SHOULD BE DOING??Namely, having the guy who can TURN OFF QUIRKS battle the guy with the ultimate death quirk! I’m so proud. But also I swear to god, if Tomura so much as breathes suspiciously in his direction...!! What the fuck. HORIKOSHI.

y’all what in the fresh hell is this bs

not yet there isn’t son but if you keep trolling like this I can give your nervous system something to actually be nervous about

anyway. this was his comment from last week’s issue of Jump, and I have absolutely no idea what it’s referring to, is the fun part! did he cry because of something he was working on in a chapter that’s coming up? or is he just tired from a combination of stressful mangaka schedule + 2020 in general?? or hell, for all I know he just recently watched Titanic or some shit

(ETA: KILLING AIZAWA SHOUTA WOULDN’T MAKE SOMEONE CRY OUT OF JOY, THOUGH. RIGHT?!)

anyways I guess it’s time to read and see if I feel like sadly happily crying for two hours afterward

-- oh shit I just realized there are two scanlations out for this?? one from readjump.com, and one from readheroacademia.com. lol now what. uhhh

lulzes. I guess I’ll go with RHA for now and keep checking back to RJ after each page and I’ll go with whichever translation I liked better

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, OUR MILLENNIAL VILLAIN

or would he actually be gen z. he was already in his twenties when this manga started like six years ago, so I’m going with millennial. but on the cusp though I guess. anyway, he plays video games though is the point

and I see he’s already decided to contradict me and my inane speculations not two panels in! I GUESS I AM JUST A FOOL. that’s really interesting though. I wonder if it’s just Monoma’s quirk that doesn’t take the accumulated “save data” from the people he copies from, then? guh. how many of my AFO/OFA theory notes do I have to scrap now

and there’s a little quirk blurb about Search, which is fairly useless given that we already know how it works (actually in even greater detail than shown here), but at least it comes with a cute little picture of Ragdoll in her hero costume, to make us all sad and stuff

so anyways Tomura who are you looking at?? this was a topic of some contention last week! also why were you only seeing nine people then. Ragdoll had seen everyone in 1-A along with Aizawa and her fellow Pussycats at a minimum, so is this confirmation that Tora and Mandalay and Pixie-Bob are all really dead then, because I CAN AND WILL HUNT DOWN A MAN AND MAKE HIM CRY FOR A GOOD DEAL LONGER THAN TWO HOURS IF THAT’S REALLY THE CASE. was Kouta not traumatized enough already?? LET’S JUST ORPHAN HIM AGAIN WHY NOT THAT’S A GOOD PLAN

(ETA: I really hate that we are still up in the air regarding this? and I mean, sure, why not, we only had like a dozen lady heroes to begin with, so why not just kill off two more of them, offscreen, in one fell swoop??)

WHAT IS A SHAME. TOMURA. DAMN IT

(ETA: ??)

-- well hello there

OR MAYBE I WAS NOT A FOOL AT ALL?? lol guys. please do not tell me my hobo husband is flying his vengeful ass over to where Tomura all heedless of the danger because I really do not need that just yet. CAN MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS PLEASE FUCKING TAKE TURNS BEING IN TERRIBLE DANGER INSTEAD OF ALL AT ONCE

sob we’re cutting back to Endeavor and Deku and Kacchan. ACTUALLY THAT’S GOOD THOUGH why am I complaining. I’m just gonna have to get used to the fact that no one is going to truly be safe for the next god knows however many chapters, and make my peace with that. hahaha. yeah right

lmao Deku. “HEY WHAT’S UP, ME AND MY FELLOW CHILD HERE ARE GONNA LURE SHIGARAKI TOWARDS US, BUT WE’LL EXPLAIN OUR REASONS FOR THAT LATER. IF YOU SEE HIM MAKING ANY SUDDEN MOVEMENTS PLEASE INFORM US SO AS TO AID US IN THIS PLAN.” Endeavor if you just go along with this I will lose so much respect for you lmao

lol he is trying to argue a bit but then he’s suddenly cutting off. so in hindsight I don’t know why I said “lol”, really. I’M JUST NERVOUS OKAY

btw in the other translation Deku straight up asks if Endeavor can redirect Tomura towards them. “sure no problem bucko, let me just tell the walking apocalypse exactly where he can find you, my two sixteen-year-old interns whose safety I am responsible for. I was just thinking to myself that I hadn’t had my fill of crazy ill-thought-out plans with a high risk of death today”

holy --

okay I have not the SLIGHTEST clue what’s going on here, even after analyzing both scans, except that someone, probably Tomura, either just went CRONCH or just GOT cronched just now lmao. let us read on to find out who was cronched and who did the cronching

the rest of this page is not really much more helpful

but I am becoming increasingly suspicious that those were in fact Tomura’s new, improved and ridiculously thicc legs doing the cronching as he did a Marvel Superhero Landing from the most RIDICULOUS ANGLE POSSIBLE

LMAO NOW WHAT

so he just cronched onto the ground and fooshed Endeavor and then went flying off again huh

LMAO AT EVERYTHINNNNNG

THANK YOU ENJI. HE’LL LURE HIM AWAY. lols WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TELL THEM WHICH WAY HE WAS HEADED YOU BOOB

he really just fucking hung up on him afterwards too. just, “got it thanks amigo just leave everything to me, [CLICK]”

OH MY GOD

BECAUSE WE CAN’T HAVE ANYONE ELSE CONVENIENTLY INTERFERING WHEN YOU HAVE YOUR LITTLE THROWDOWN OF DESTINY HUH. THAT WOULD JUST BE TERRIBLE

-- oh shit

that’s just. a SLIGHT change in meaning, there. silly me. thinking “get rid of them” meant “get rid of their communications as opposed to FUCKING KILLING THE ONE YOU’RE NOT ACTUALLY AFTER. hmm. well that’s not good

(ETA: never have I been so happy that a translation was wrong lmao.)

so now Endeavor’s shouting at everyone else that Tomura is heading southwest and that he has “SUPER REGENARTION” (sic) and is no longer THE SAME THUG HE WAS BEFORE and yeah RHA you have officially won me over, flaws and all. listen up boyos. this ain’t your granddaddy’s Shigaraki Tomura. this one regenars

also “that damn kid...” like why the hell did my son have to go and befriend two protagonists. why is this my life now

AHAHAHAHA

“MIDORIYA IS IN DANGER...!!” STORY OF THIS MANGA. AHAHA. KACCHAN HE’S COMING. HE’S COMING, KACCHAN. for you two. someone please help me I am both terrified and thrilled beyond all recognition and my body doesn’t know how to handle the conflicting emotions. honestly crying for two hours is starting to sound more and more appealing

oh my god I forgot they didn’t know, though

fff. Kacchan especially didn’t know, because unlike Deku he doesn’t have random bits of other people’s souls going “heyyyyyyy... transcendent being at 12 o’clock.” what has this kid so bravely and stupidly gone and gotten himself into

look at them go

damn Deku can you really not float yet?? that’s going to be really inconvenient if that’s the case

(ETA: my boy really would have just straight up died. he would have died so hard.)

OH MY GOD

NOW YOU WANT TO ASK HIM LMAOOOO. well it’s because of all the character development!! if you must know

THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER BLASTY MCANGERTY

you’re not as smooth as you think you are, you know. we all know why you actually followed him. but fine, be that way

okay so now he’s giving a real-er answer though

“understand the situation”, the situation being that your best friend and his secret-trump-card-in-the-battle-against-evil quirk were being targeted by the guy who just obliterated this entire city. got it. you put it quite succinctly

and Deku is all

and Kacchan is all

love how he throws that protagonist crack in there too. because we all know that Deku absolutely is the protagonist lol, and so if that part’s obviously not true, we can make some inferences about the rest of what he’s saying too now can’t we

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh snap

YOU SURE DO!! and he does with you too!! :) it’s gonna be one big happy reunion! :) :) :) oh gosh golly

OH NO KATSUKI WHAT ARE YOU DOING

what are you doing to me, I should clarify. please be considerate of my feelings. you can’t just DUMP sudden Kacchan Kamino Angst on me without any warning, you have to let me know in advance so that I can buy some thank you cards

THERE’S MOREEEEE???

YOU REMEMBER TOO, DON’T YOU DEKU. HE WAS ALL CRYING AND STUFF. IT WAS A LOT. IT’S POSSIBLE THAT I HAVE NEVER PERSONALLY GOTTEN OVER IT

AND IT LOOKS LIKE HE NEVER QUITE GOT OVER IT EITHER

:’)

by the way in the other translation he says “I’ll make up for what I did that day.” so yeah. BOOM. right to the heart. shot of me collapsing to the ground in slow motion

but it’s interesting though that he still can’t admit to having selfless motives yet! even after everything he’s been through and all his character growth! he’s still all GET RID OF THE REFERENCES TO ME CARING ABOUT YOU, WE CAN’T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE HAVE FEELINGS

but even his Kamino feels are notably first and foremost about him feeling responsible for failing All Might. so yeah, buddy. where does that leave you? even your feeble excuses are still rooted in selflessness, JUST GIVE IN AND ADMIT YOU’VE BEEN SECRETLY GIVING A SHIT BEHIND EVERYONE’S BACK. and honestly he might be better off at this point if he didn’t! BUT HE DOES. and that’s that

anyways Deku I sure hope you and your big hero brain can see right through this nonsense

god. you’re both in so much danger though, do you even have any idea?! of course you fucking don’t. god

HELLO BAKUGOU NARRATION!?!

well that’s one hell of a rare sight!! all fresh and chock full of shrewd observations about his best rival’s current skillset. ah what a time we’re living in

ooooh

gonna hold off commentary until I read the next part of this lol

OOOOOH

goddamn. Horikoshi really went off this week. just a whole chapter’s worth of Stuff Makeste Really Likes, goddamn is it my birthday or what

so do you guys think he’ll be able to keep pace all the way up to 100%? I can see this part being interpreted in two totally different ways if I’m being honest. on the one hand we have the more pessimistic (some would say realistic) view that Bakugou is desperately trying to convince himself that he’s still on the same level as the rival he so desperately wants to surpass, but with the sinking feeling that he’s actually not going to be able to keep up for much longer. and then on the other side of the coin we have the more glass-half-full perspective that he actually is capable of keeping up with him right to the bitter end. that even as Deku grows stronger, he’ll continue to push himself and use that as motivation to keep getting stronger too. that Deku isn’t out of reach; that his goal isn’t out of reach

and I’m not completely sure which way this is leaning myself! I personally would like to lean more towards the second interpretation, because y’all know I love me some rivals. and also because imo one of the most commendable things about Bakugou’s development has been how he hasn’t once been envious of Deku’s strength or of his position as All Might’s chosen heir since he learned about OFA. he hasn’t once shown any kind of resentment towards him for it, or doubted whether or not he deserves it. and as minor a detail as that may seem to some people, I cherish it. and I don’t want that to change! but I guess we shall see

so now we’re getting the clearest shot we’ve had yet of the new AFO holes in Tomura’s palms as he gets ready to combine some more quirks. also! more information about the quirks he has and is using! fucking thank you, where was this last week

so “radio waves” is clearly going to be used here to disrupt the heroes’ communication, which is a shame for them, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved given the alternative! the RJ translation is clearly just a hot mess lol. but I still adore that one “I’ll make up for what I did” line though

WOW

THE DISRESPECT. LOL DID YOU JUST FUCKING KILL HIS ASS

(ETA: I just realized he’s nowhere to be found after this, though, so... did he?? or is he now lying somewhere now all wounded and waiting to be found by one, or, dare I say, two of his sons? ...)

LKDFJLSDKGHOSIDGHOISDflkwejfdfsdklggdflgnfdlgndakgalkgldfdfkwlfwiowelKLDSGKSL:DKGJL:DKFM?G?SGSDLKG?SDFSDF??LKJ@L!

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

even if you ask him nicely??! somehow I just can’t help feeling that he probably shouldn’t oblige you, though!?!?!

anyways. THAT AIN’T SAFE. and what the hell is happening in that bottom left corner ahhhhhh

AHHHHHHH

GRAN DM ME YOUR ADDRESS I WANT TO SEND YOU SOME FLOWERS AND A BASKET OF FRUIT AND CRACKERS AND SOME LITTLE CHEESES AND SAUSAGES

jesus christ it completely slipped my mind that there was one other person currently in the vicinity who knows about OFA. my good sir, maybe you would like to introduce these two dunderfucks to the concept of a “plan.” and maybe you can also find the single shared braincell they apparently dropped and lost somewhere back there in all the city rubble

oh fuck me

(ETA: does Kacchan look so rattled here because he is being lectured, or because he just saw a vision of his own death and is now having it explained to him just how close he came to being decomposed. you decide! I’ll just sit here and bask in the angst.)

fuck. main character gods were really working overtime here. anyways so how are you all doing this fine Friday afternoon. me, I’m just sitting here wrangling with the knowledge that Tomura’s quirk is even deadlier than I realized, and that my two little boys came within inches of dying horrible deaths just now. but anyways it’s not as humid today as it was yesterday so that’s really nice

anyways so now Gran is continuing to lecture the mayor of Dumb Ideas Town here, along with his friend the deputy mayor who still thinks he outranks the actual mayor

SHH NOW AND LISTEN TO YOUR GRANDPA

-- ohhhh shit son are they mounting a counterattack?? don’t tell me!!

also is Gran seriously faster than Tomura. that makes no fucking sense, and yet these two are only alive now because of it so I’M SURE NOT GONNA QUESTION IT

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

AND IS AIZAWA ON HER BACK THOUGH???

AHAHHAHAHAHAHA

AH, BUT IT AIN’T GONNA WORK THOUGH, IS IT!!! AHAHAHA YESSSSSS

excellent question sir. the short answer is “they’re idiots”, and the long answer is just a longer version of “they’re idiots” but with some more complicated BakuDeku feels mixed in. I’ll tell you all about it if you just promise me that you’ll actually live through this, all right?

“is he after the two of them?” listen boy if you don’t finally put two and two together after this I’m gonna be fucking beside myself lol. (though honestly, Deku and Kacchan have been targeted by the League so many other times already that he might just simply accept “yeah they’re after them again” without any further explanation)

my dear gentlefolk would you fucking look at how the lord has blessed us on this day

Aizawa Fucking Shouta and the motherfucking dramatic intro to end all dramatic intros. finally this man gets his moment

someone please teach me how to cast a force field. teach me how to reach into the manga and slap this man and tell him to stop talking about how everyone’s noble sacrifices to protect him and his eraser quirk have led him to this day and to this one encounter. my guy. my fucking dude. THERE HAD BETTER BE SUBSEQUENT ENCOUNTERS AFTER THIS

NOOOOOOOOOOOO

ISN’T HE THOUGH??? Tomura I love you sweetie but you better BACK THE FUCK. OFF

well FINE THEN! BE THAT WAY. it’s not like my life revolves around you and your stupid manga anyway!! it’s not like I’m obsessed with it or anything!! I have other hobbies!! well I actually do have other hobbies, so that doesn’t really work as sarcasm, so let’s see though. maybe something more like, “this isn’t by far my favorite out of all my hobbies!!” I don’t spend 80-90% of my free time on any given day either actively or passively daydreaming about this series and writing essays in my head and reading fanfic and scrolling through art on tumblr!! etc.!! whatever!! enjoy your break!! have fun living your life!!

please don’t kill Aizawa

#bnha 275 #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #shigaraki tomura #aizawa shouta #endeavor #gran torino #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #well then #now that I have 'fixed' this post and am playing by tumblr's rules #I wonder if it's too late to get it unhidden from the tag search :/

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thebladeblaster · 3 years ago

Text

Rebirth of A Samurai (Final Part)

Summary: This fic is a what if scenario to SMT4 Apocalypse. I would go into more detail, but I don’t want to spoil too much of what this fic entails. If this fic gains traction I may continue the story on from this one-shot. Warning: This is a long one.

This may be the last I write for awhile with college right around the corner. I won’t stop completely, but it will become a lot slower.

He only heard it when he got like this. When he became blind to anything else, but rage.

“A man who forgets kindness is no worse than a demon.”, he suddenly remembered Jonathan’s words as a feeling crept up inside him.

A part of him was also yelling at him to stop and realize what he’s doing. Flynn blinked trying to regain his sense of self which became blotted out by rage when Nanashi taunted him about Isabeau’s death. No. No. No matter what Nanashi had done this was far too cruel. He had to stop, he had to give him a chance to explain himself. The angered voice practically roared at him thinking that. But, he ignored his angered voice he remembered where exactly losing himself has gotten him. If he had a clearer head then his mother would still be alive. No he wasn’t going to listen anymore!

Vishnu-Flynn stopped his assault, greatly confusing and relieving Dadga. Flynn felt all the blood coating his skin like back then and he felt just as disgusted as he was then if not worse. He lowered his blades as he looked down at Nanashi’s mangled form which regrow itself. His blood ran cold after finally stopping and seeing what exactly he’d been doing. What was wrong with him?! No matter how angry he was, this was just...unacceptable.

Ryou rejoiced in seeing for once he reached Flynn. His feelings didn’t often reach Flynn because of how buried he was, but he finally got through to him.

Flynn waited for Nanashi to prepare himself before he pointed his blade at him. It wasn’t to attack him again, it was just to make sure he didn’t try anything. He could see the fear in Nanashi’s eyes as he looked up at him. He felt like looking away in shame, but he kept his gaze locked on Nanashi.

Nanashi was completely perplexed as to why Flynn stopped, but he wasn’t complaining. He was glad to finally take a breath. Though, he didn’t exactly need to breathe it calmed his nerves, something he desperately needed after that. He couldn’t help but tremble. He didn't want to look like a scared kid but...How was he supposed to keep cool after that massacre?! Vishnu-Flynn cast a massive shadow over hit feeble form. His gold and red eyes gazed into his soul. He shouldn’t have killed the others at least not before facing him. He needed their help, in his overconfidence he bit off far more than he could chew. His heart nearly jumped out of his mending chest when Vishnu-Flynn pointed his blade at him. He couldn’t hide his trembling now, his fear that Vishnu-Flynn wouldn’t stop trying to kill him till in stuck.

“Why did you do it? Why did you betray everyone?”, Vishnu-Flynn asked, he sounded hurt.

“I-I!”, Nanashi stuttered, still not completely together mentally believing if he said the wrong thing the former samurai would continue his assault.

He met Vishnu-Flynn’s gaze which was a lot less cruel and enraged now. He could see in his eyes he wanted to forgive him, to understand why he did this. The gaze brought up a distant memory from within him of a kind man with sympathy even for demons, Ryou. It helped him relax a bit and made him feel he wasn’t about to be killed on the spot for saying the wrong thing.

“I-I thought it was the only way...To free humanity from YHVH forever…”, Nanashi admitted.

“You think that was worth betraying everyone? Why don’t you just kill YHVH?”, Vishnu-Flynn questioned.

“Because he’ll come back and he’ll keep coming back as long as people long for gods. In our new world there will be no gods, people will stand on their own two feet, not relying on others or praying for help like weaklings. The others would have gotten in our way since we were going to destroy this universe before creating ours.”, Dadga said, revealing himself.

Dadga was taken aback when he heard Vishnu-Flynn wheeze and completely break into laughter. Dadga’s eye twitched he was laughing at him. He could feel a bit of condescension in his laughter.

“You’re a hypocrite like Lucifer and Merkabah. You claim you want people to stand on their own and not rely on others when you’re relying on someone yourself. A vulnerable fifteen year old boy is the one you chose to have do your bidding, Dadga. You're pathetic.”, Vishnu-Flynn said in a scathing and venomous tone.

“You tore apart that fifteen year old boy yourself! Oh great Tokyo Liberator your just as much as a fucking monster as Shesha.”, Dadga shot back.

“Way to change the subject...I guess that’s an admission. I won’t deny what I did, you're right I am a monster. To the point when I fight I sometimes completely lose myself like just now. But, I would never dream of betraying good loyal people like you did. If things had continued as they had I may have ended up killing Jonathan and Walter myself, but that’s because they had lost themselves and were going to ruin the world. But, if they hadn’t changed if they stayed themselves like Isabeau I would have never even thought about killing them. You on the other hand betrayed your own allies so you could create your stupid universe. Well, I don’t care what silly justification you give to justify for committing genocide on a entire people no universe,...I don’t care who you are. If you intend to sacrifice innocent lives for your plans I’ll wipe you from this Earth.”, Vishnu-Flynn said, staring into Dadga’s eyes with a fiery resolve.

Dadga grew nervous knowing he was serious about killing him. He could tell about looking into his eyes he had the eyes of a godslayer and a killer. That’s what he truly was. That’s what godslayers were and that’s why every faction wanted him for themselves. They wanted his monstrous power on their side so they could topple their enemies. He knew he was stuck. He had an idea before to make him pause, but he realized it might end up making things worse for them. His godslayer was a shivering wreck right now. He clicked his tongue. He’s going to have to cut his losses right now and hope Krishina doesn’t regain control over Flynn to bring about his salvation then try again. Dadga was ambitious, but he wasn’t stupid he knew right now neither he nor his ‘godslayer’ couldn’t defeat Flynn and he was almost out of power. So he ran. Before Vishnu-Flynn realized what he was doing he disappeared leaving behind Nanashi. Considering him a failure Dadga withdrew his powers from the boy, deciding that he’d start again.

Vishnu-Flynn’s attention snapped to Nanashi’s when his body clattered on the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The form Vishnu-Flynn melted away leaving Flynn who ran to the dying Nanashi.

“Nanashi!”, he called out bending down over him.

“Why the fuck..do you sound so concerned..you fucking moron?!”, Nanashi questioned, genuinely confused as to why Flynn was showing him any sympathy.

Ryou, he’s back. Even now after all the shit he’s been through he still chose forgiveness. Damn. His current self right he is fucking moron. He always told Ryou that he didn’t have to feel sympathy for everyone. That he didn’t have to always apologize. Some people are just shit that’s just how it was. Yet, that idiot never once listened to him and continued to be stupid even when it tore him apart. After seeing Flynn’s rampage he realized that it was probably for the best Ryou never listened to him. Even after that rampage, Ryou's compassion once again entered his incarnation's eyes.

“Because you were used just like I was by Krishna. I think he sat back because he wanted me to kill you for him. Besides nothing’s wrong about having some by your side while you die. Everyone deserves that.”, Flynn replied, making Nanashi scoff.

He winced as he felt all feeling starting to leave his body. His vital organs were shutting down.

“That’s why...I called you a moron...You're hopelessly sappy...like Asahi...ah...I wonder if even she’ll be glad I’m dead...After everything I done…”, Nanashi muttered, weakly.

Flynn shook his head no at Nanashi’s words.

“I don’t think so. I didn’t know her for long, but I don’t think she’d hate you that much. I think even if they're mad at you now, one day everyone will forgive you.”, Flynn replied.

“Ahh...Bullshit…”, Nanashi muttered, he couldn’t help but chuckle at Flynn’s naive comment.

Flynn held Nanashi’s hand as it grew continuously weaker. He felt like Nanashi was trying to say more, but he lost the strength to speak. The younger boy’s hand shivered weakly and he stared into Nanashi’s natural brown eyes. Something about them felt vaguely familiar to Flynn, but he couldn’t remember where. Nanashi closed them knowing soon he would never open them again. Soon, he could no longer feel his grip and his hand slid down lifeless. Flynn closed his eyes, before he used to pray for those who passed, but after meeting real angels he couldn’t do that in good conscience. If left him not knowing what to do when someone died, the only thing he could do now was tell the others of his death. With a heavy heart he reclaimed Masakado’s katana.

Flynn got up leaving the room noticing Krishna was still worryingly silent. He froze when he saw the dead bodies of Isabeau and the others. He was shocked to see Nozomi; he didn’t know she joined Nanashi. Besides that he didn’t know many of the others who had been with Nanashi besides Asahi. He bent to looking to Isabeau’s crumpled form.

“I’m sorry...I was too late.”, Flynn apologized quietly to the fallen.

After that he went to Fujiwara and Skins who were glad to see him free, but confused that the others weren’t there with him.

“Krishna took control of me and made me kill them. I was too late to break free, most of the Divine Powers are dead and Krishna is still out there somewhere.”, Flynn lied.

“That’s…”, Fujiwara muttered.

“I’m sorry I failed everyone. I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago after that...I don’t know what I’ll do.”, Flynn said softly, before walking past them.

“Wait Flynn!”, Skins called, out but Flynn looked away and kept walked.

He went before the boulder in the 4th district crosswalk in Ginza.

“Masakado. I need your help to rebuild the world.”, Flynn said as he unsheathed the katana.

However, neither the sword nor the rock reacted.

“What?”, Flynn questioned.

Did Masakado give up on him? Does he no longer believe in him after he failed everyone?

“Tokyo no longer needs me.”, Masakado said from within the boulder.

“I need you! I’m lost! I don’t know what to do now!”, Flynn thought with bits of panic.

“Masakado?”, Flynn said.

“You no longer need my protection. You wish to remove the dome and restore Tokyo to its rightful form, no? That is no longer necessary.”, Masakado explained.

“W-what are you talking about?!”, Flynn questioned, not knowing why the god suddenly changed his mind.

“It is now possible for Tokyo and Mikado to coexist, just as you tried to with Nanashi. The two peoples can help one another regardless of the dome’s presence. This is something I realized when Shesha cut a hole through the dome. With Krishna sealed within you. I will rest. Shall fate call again, we will meet once more. The two lands now move through time the same, and gaze upon the same moon. I leave Tokyo’s protection to you, Flynn.”, Masakado explained.

“Me?!”, Flynn questioned in shock.

But, he failed Tokyo! His weakness led to more people suffering! Why was Masakado leaving everything to him?! That’s what got them in this situation! Because everyone left EVERYTHING up to him!

“Farewell, Flynn. May the future you build be filled with hope.”, Masakado said, Flynn’s eye twitched as he listened to Masakado.

A column of light bursts from the rocks and climbs into the sky. It fades from view as it stretches beyond the great blue blanket above. Flynn trembled, still gaping in disbelief at Masakado’s words.

“Hoy what the fuck are you saying?! Come back here you bastard!”, Flynn yelled and in a moment of rage kicked the god’s boulder.

Skins and Fujiwara sweat dropped as they walked in on Flynn yelling at Masakado.

“H-hey?!”, Masakado questioned, taken aback.

“Hoy to yourself! The reason we got in this mess is because everyone relied on me! Only me! What I learned from all of this is that an entire people should never saddle their hopes on one person! And what’s with you changing your mind all of the sudden? Me and Isabeau planned to bring the people down here so they can finally reunite with their kin, but you want to keep them divided by the firmament?! You think a stupid hole will truly reunite everyone?! Are you forgetting that Tokyo still has no freaking sun?! Do you want them to live without one forever?! How does leaving things like that make sense? Get off your ass and finish this with me!”, Flynn yelled as he continued to kick the boulder harder this time.

“He’s completely lost it.”, Skins commented, looking stunned at Flynn’s behavior.

“This is exactly why no one respects you gods! You just sit around and do nothing yet expect people to worship you anyway! You’ve done nothing so don’t peace out on me like you did something!”, Flynn yelled.

“It’s even freakier since he looks exactly like Ryou.”, Fujiwara commented.

Now, the mental image of the mild mannered Ryou kicking Masakado and yelling at him like he was a deadbeat husband was in their minds.

“I saved Tokyo from the nukes!”, Masakado yelled back.

“After I dragged your ass out of your sleep and made you do it! Tokyo was going to be blown to bits while you slept like some deadbeat guardian!”, Flynn yelled back.

“R-Ryou?!”, Masakado questioned, wondering how Flynn remembered that when the specific circumstances before he was used by his previous incarnation weren’t explained.

“If you’re not going to actually do something to reunite Tokyo and Mikado I’ll convince them all to come down here, remove the firmament myself and drag YHVH’s sorry ass off his throne!”, Flynn yelled, kicking Masakado for the final time

Masakado was stunned into silence by the outburst, but he remembered Flynn had been captured and likely tortured for days by the Divine Powers leaving him at his wits end especially with many of his allies gone. With Krishna inside him it probably wasn’t best to leave him in that state. He could feel Flynn has become a god far more powerful than even him.

“Y-you’re right.”, Masakado replied nervously.

“You bet I’m right Masakado take your chalice. I’ll give you the okay when everyone has been evacuated from Mikado.”, Flynn replied.

Then Flynn left for Mikado leaving the stunned Skins and Fujiwara behind.

To be continued?

#shin megami tensei #smt4 #smt4 apocalypse #smt flynn #isabeau smt #jonathan smt #walter smt #my crappy writing

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years ago

Text

Good Omens AU Part Four

It’s back. Original is here

Wilbur didn't expect to care about Tommy, but he accepted it pretty quickly.

---------

There wasn't much to bring with him the day he moved to town. After all, it wasn't like he'd actually need to renovate the house.

He stood on the curb in front of the remnants of the house that burned down a decade ago, suitcase in hand. A bit of a fixer-upper, but I can work with this.

After checking to make sure there weren't any nosy neighbors watching, he reached out to the debris.

The charred wood and scattered bricks twitched for a few seconds, before assuming the appearance of a lovely home.

A doorbell, a porch, windows in a shade of cobalt blue, and above all else the distinct feeling that Wilbur's house (and by extension, Wilbur) had been around on the block for ages.

Even if the neighbors didn't know who he was or what he did, they would have to struggle to think of him as a stranger.

And they had their own petty human lives, which didn't contain the time or energy to waste worrying about a charming new addition to the neighborhood.

Wilbur strolled into his perfectly average house, plans whirring in his head.

Showtime.

--------------

There were quite a few houses on the block, but Wilbur was only focusing on a group of three.

House #1: Tommy's home, three houses away. A simple house that contained the most important person in the world and his intimidating dad.

House #2: That Weird Guy's house, two houses away. Wilbur had no idea who That Weird Guy was, but he was apparently close friends with Tommy's dad, and even more intimidating. Wilbur wasn't sure why the kid was surrounded by people that made him worry for his life despite being immortal.

House #3: Schlatt's house, sadly next door. He didn't need additional proof that god hated him, but apparently they'd wanted to make it even clearer.

A week or so after he'd gotten settled into his new home, Wilbur decided to go outside to get a better look at the streetlamps and the night sky while trying to find his plan.

He was feeling surprisingly positive about the whole thing. Soon, he'd be changing the fate of the world.

If this didn't get him remembered after it all, nothing else would.

A hacking cough came from the porch next door, reminding him that he wasn't the only supernatural being on the block. Wilbur took a breath, trying to be civil.

Don't get distracted from the most important mission of your life because you want to murder a goat. Just walk on by. Just keep walking, and don't acknowledge his existence. You don't know him.

However, his unwanted neighbor had no qualms about acknowledging Wilbur's existence, and he'd only taken a couple of steps onto the street before Schlatt called out to him.

"Well, would you look at that: You’re finally out of the house! This is more of a miracle than anything I’ve done.".

Wilbur turned around, counting down the seconds until he could not be where he was, having this conversation.

"Schlatt, we're supposed to be undercover."

"Oh, my bad. Guess these random humans will never get to know our big secrets.". Schlatt raised his voice slightly, yelling to the deserted cul-de-sac.

"Would be a shame if someone found out that guy over there is a demon! Yeah, the jerk with the beanie's from Hell, and I'm an angel, and we're only pretending to be human because (get this) one of the little tykes on your block is actually the antichrist!".

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. Was it possible to get headaches when his mind was only semi-corporeal?

"Could you kindly shut the fuck up?"

"Nope.". I mean, that's kind of on me for phrasing it as a question.

Schlatt took a break from the Annoying Wilbur Show (airs all times that he has the poor idea to go outside) to dig into more of his tomato sauce and meat wraps.

He raised the snack like it was a holy relic. Wilbur supposed that if Schlatt really wanted to, he could make it into one.

"These are Hot Pockets. I was actually planning on taking a few over to you-know-who's family as a housewarming gift, build up good favor, you know?". Suddenly, the plan clicked in Wilbur's head. He tried to keep his face neutral and concerned, with no hint of a smirk.

"Hot Pockets? I mean, are you sure?"

"What's wrong with Hot Pockets? And choose your next words carefully.". Wilbur leaned against a streetlamp, sighing in assumed pity.

"There's nothing wrong with Hot Pockets per se. They're fine, I guess.". Schlatt sputtered, offended beyond belief.

"Fine? Fine? You see before you the one thing that has made me reconsider starting the apocalypse, and you're like "eh. fine". Fuck you and your family and whatever you call taste buds. Fine? I'd tell you to go to hell, but that doesn't work, so go to New Jersey you son of a-".

This continued on for a while.

Wilbur nodded along to the tirade, maintaining a poker face. All the while, he telekinetically inched the tray of wrapped (?) Hot Pockets towards him.

The tray crept ever closer, past Schlatt's lawn chair, past Schlatt's nightmarish garden gnomes, past the freshly dug earth that definitely had a body buried under it, until it was finally within reach.

Without listening to another word, Wilbur grabbed the Hot Pockets and ran for the hills, easily outrunning the outraged angel.

Sorry, Schlatt, but you're going to have to try harder to win this game.

He sprinted to House #1 and rang the doorbell, trying to look non-suspicious. After about a minute, he got an answer from the selected father (Phil, his name was Phil).

Wilbur smiled brightly and walked into the house.

------------

The initial meeting went great, putting the whole "getting threatened with a knife" thing aside.

Phil seemed to appreciate the Hot Pockets and company, and Wilbur could confidently guess that he'd managed to secure a place in helping him out in the future.

Besides being good for the plan in general, he'd liked spending time around Phil and Tommy. Wilbur didn't get to talk to people a lot, and when he did it was normally trying to scam them out of their soul.

So, this was a welcome break.

And his heart definitely hadn't been warmed when Tommy had fallen asleep to the sound of his guitar. Nope. Absolutely none of that.

Phil evidently didn't see child raising as his first priority, and Wilbur found more chances to volunteer to watch his kid than he expected.

At times, he felt like he was just as much of a parent to Tommy as Phil, if not more.

Which wasn't to say that he felt any bitterness about that. Quite the contrary. Watching after Tommy was one of the best parts of his day.

Despite being a baby, the kid already had so much personality, and his little face would light up whenever Wilbur went home to House #1.

When Wilbur held the baby in his arms, he really did feel like a guardian.

The phrase "guardian angel" had stung, but he did want to shield Tommy from harm or becoming anything like him when he grew up.

Still, it's not like his heart was at all warmed when he held Tommy in his arms-Oh, screw it. His heart was warmed. He happened to care about the adorable baby that he spent a lot of time with. Go figure.

Caring wasn't interfering with his job as a protector, informant for Hell, and general influencer of evil. So, there was no purpose in denying it.

Besides the unexpected emotional attachment, nothing really changed about the general routine.

His days consisted of maintaining the glamours around his house, reading his books, writing (it turns out that an approaching Armageddon worked wonders for deadline motivation), staring at the ceiling and wondering why God had forsaken him, looking after Tommy, talking with Phil (and on occasion, That Weird Guy), giving the Lords of Hell their required project updates, and, occasionally, almost getting murdered.

One key example of the "almost getting murdered" thing happened when Tommy was around two years old.

----------------

He'd just gotten back from another meeting with the Lords (yes, Tommy is still alive. no, he isn't evil yet, seeing as he's two years old. no, that wasn't sarcasm. no, I'd actually prefer for you to not kill me for my insolence. Same old stuff.).

It was a cold yet sunny winter afternoon when Wilbur stepped out of the office building and back into the mortal world. As he made his way towards the bus station, his phone rang.

The call was from Phil, and he moved away from the middle of the sidewalk to take it, leaning against the brick wall of a building next to an alleyway.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Will, a job came up tonight without much notice. Would you be able to watch Tommy around 7-ish?"

"Sure, I can do that."

"Great, you're a lifesaver. One last thing: If Techno decides to question you about your motives and backstory, don't take it personally, he's just in one of those suspicious phases lately. Okay?".

Wilbur would have loved to agree, nonchalantly laugh it off, and quickly go over his backstory in his head again.

Unfortunately for him, there was a weapon aimed at him from the alleyway.

It would be a funny sight to the passerby to see a normal-seeming person cower in the face of a spray bottle.

Of course, the average passerby wasn't a demon.

9 times out of 10, when a spray bottle was pointed at a demon, the spray bottle was full of holy water and the demon was in for a bad time.

Wilbur stood there, frozen. The alleyway was shady, and he couldn't quite make out who was aiming the bottle at him.

Phil's voice echoed out of his phone.

"Will? Are you still there?". Wilbur tried to keep his voice steady, and he quickly responded.

"I'm here. I got it. I'll be ho-I'll be back soon. There is no need to call me back. Goodbye."

"What's that supposed to mean?". He tapped the screen, ending the call. Please, don't have me die right now. It would be annoying, not to mention narratively unsatisfying.

He looked into the alleyway, addressing whoever had seen fit to threaten him today.

"Hi there. I'm guessing that spray bottle isn't full of Sprite.".

A man in a blue onesie (Sonic the Hedgehog cosplay?) emerged from the shadows.

"Yep. I mean, it technically was Sprite until it went through the blessing process, but it's a lot holier now.". Wilbur blinked a few times in confusion.

"Connor?"

"Hey."

"What's with the outfit? Why are you threatening me in an alley? What's with the outfit?"

"Don't mock the outfit, I have it on good faith that this is the height of human fashion."

"Let me guess. Schlatt told you that.".

The onesie-clad angel stood there, realizing that taking the advice of that particular coworker probably wasn't the smartest decision he'd ever made. Eventually, he shrugged it off.

"Well, I feel resplendent, so this is a win in my book.". Wilbur tapped the bricks on the wall, almost playing a rhythm.

"Listen, Connor, if you were just going to kill me with that thing you would have already pulled the trigger. Why are you here?". Connor looked a little sheepish about the whole thing.

"The higher-ups thought that I should make you an offer you can't refuse. Basically, some intern had the bright idea that we should have Hell's guardian either agree to spy for us or die."

"You're suggesting that I become a double agent?"

"Yeah. Or die, whichever is your preference."

"I think your higher-ups underestimate my importance here. Killing me won't slow our side down by much. They'll just send another guy, and you'll have to spend more time in unpleasant alleyways."

"And someday they'll send a guy who takes our offer. Trust me, we've been planning this ever since we realized Schlatt was going to be useless down there.". Wilbur thought about it.

Killing god obviously matters more than prolonging my life. And I'm a good actor, but I don't have enough time in my life to be a triple agent.

"Come on, Connor. I thought you were one of the decent ones.". Connor half-heartedly kicked at a puddle.

His face was reluctant, but he still aimed the spray bottle with precision.

"Please tell me you're going to accept the offer?"

"You've known me for years. What do you think?"

"From what Schlatt has told me, you're too stubborn for your own good.". Wilbur laughed at that.

"Yeah. So the real question is: Can you murder me, Connor?". Connor shuffled, and the spray bottle wavered. Wilbur continued talking.

"I'm actually interested to see what you do next. You've got my full attention.". The two of them stood there, completely still. Finally, Connor pointed the spray bottle away from Wilbur and aimed for the sky.

"You've kind of made this whole thing weird, man. So, I'll give you a 15-second head start.".

Wilbur didn't waste time thanking him, and he sprinted away.

He fled through shadows and smoke, barely remembering to keep some trace of a physical body. He scrambled his way towards the bus station, reaching the glass doors.

However, that was where his luck ran out.

"Sorry, Wilbur. That's the power of the Sonic onesie: I'm really fast.".

I'm going to need to invest in a Sonic onesie. Except I can't, because I'm about to be shot. Fuck, those are terrible last thoughts.

Out of desperation, he grabbed the lid of the spray bottle and twisted it off, before punching Connor in the gut. The angel doubled over, and the holy water spilled out of the bottle.

Wilbur scrambled away from the spill, trying to keep from making contact.

He ran through the doors and into the bus station.

Some of the holy water had gotten on his coat, and he awkwardly shrugged it off in a corner, which was a shame. He'd really liked the aesthetic of having a trench coat. Sure, he could glamour another one in a few seconds, but it wouldn't feel the same.

Connor walked towards him, and Wilbur glared.

"You made me lose my trench coat!"

"Again, sorry about all of this, it was just business.". Connor held out his arm in an almost peaceful gesture.

And Wilbur, tired and overconfident, made the first stupid decision for the day. He took the peace offering and took Connor's hand.

The white-hot pain nearly knocked him to the ground.

There had been less than a drop of holy water on his hand, but it was more than enough to stop Wilbur from breathing for a few minutes.

In and of itself, that was fine. He didn't need to breathe to stay alive. All that he had to do was stay away from holy things, what had he done.

In the background, Connor was frantically apologizing and claiming that he "didn't mean to do that". Wilbur wondered distantly why he'd still be lying to him.

And here I was thinking that there were one or two decent angels. How laughable.

No one's decent 14 years from Armageddon. Not humans, not angels, and not me.

Wilbur shoved Connor away and walked up to the ticket counter.

His hands were shaking and his words all over the place, but somehow he managed to convey that he wanted to take a bus back to town and pay for it.

If I can get back to my house, I should be okay. Or, at the very least, not dead.

The bus ride was tricky. For one, part of the route was along Fundy's cursed highway (one of the demon’s more useless inventions), so things were significantly slowed down.

Also, everything felt far away and cold, and it was a bit difficult to keep focus on which stop was his.

It took far too much time to reach town, and even more to make his way back to his street.

On auto-pilot, he ended up at House #1 first, panicking slightly when neither Tommy nor Phil was inside.

Trying to keep calm, he checked House #2, and thankfully That Weird Guy (he knew his name was Technoblade, but that was a ridiculous name, and he'd been thinking of him as That Weird Guy for so long that it was hard to stop) was keeping watch over Tommy. Relief washed over him.

I don't know what I'd do if he got hurt.

That Weird Guy seemed fine with taking care of Tommy for a little longer, which Wilbur was secretly grateful for.

He also seemed convinced that Wilbur was going to pass out, which was hilarious, seeing as Wilbur didn't need to sleep or breathe unless he wanted to.

After a brief moment of rest in a bush, he made his way to his house.

He tried to unlock the door, but his hands were trembling too much to use the key, and he was seeing two locks instead of one, and he slowly slid to the ground.

Is this actually how it's happening?

I know I'm not long for this world, but I always expected a better exit. Something with fanfare and sacrifice and meaning.

Our so-called "immortality" is a conditional one. The instant we dare to touch something holy, it all goes, and there's no soul or afterlife for us castaways.

I wish I was human.

Wilbur struggled to look up at the sky.

It was still daytime, and the stars weren't out yet. That was a shame, he'd worked hard on those. He shivered.

I know we're doomed to fail come Doomsday. I know that there's no way out of Your ineffable plan. But I'm trying to make directorial choices with your script, trying to make a good story. This is a terrible ending.

It was quiet. That was probably for the best.

Do I deserve it?

Of course I do.

But I didn't always, and you're not blameless either.

I hope that Tommy's too young to remember me.

The world was cold, but peacefully quiet, and the pain was mostly beyond his reach. This wasn't bad, all things considered. Wilbur's eyes closed.

A few minutes later, he was rudely awakened by Phil shaking him.

"Are you okay? I mean, obviously you’re not, but can you stand?". He opened one eye.

"I'm fine.". Phil laughed at that. Part of Wilbur considered laughing along, while what was left of his common sense informed him that Phil sounded like he was laughing out of shock.

"Fine? Will, there were a few seconds where I thought you were dead!"

"Well, as you can see, I'm not. If you could just unlock the door, that would be great.". The door unlocked behind him.

He struggled to rise to his feet, and Phil caught his arm, supporting him.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Minor business conflict."

"There is a hole in your hand.”

"That happens at my job sometimes. I'm in the mafia."

"Have you considered other career options?"

"The insurance benefits are too good.". Phil set Wilbur down on a couch and left the room. As was to be expected.

Wilbur reached under the couch cushions to grab a hidden cigarette lighter.

He had no intention of smoking while bleeding out, obviously.

The cigarette lighter had been modified slightly, another one of Fundy's inventions.

The fire of the lighter was no regular thing, but rather hellfire. Hopefully, that would be enough of a cure.

The warmth of the hellfire slowly and painfully chipped away at the ice and purity, and he took a few seconds to internally mock god.

Maybe a bit of a hubris-related thing to do, but Wilbur was glad to live another day, and that meant spite.

For whatever reason, Phil stuck around to make sure he was okay.

Wilbur hadn't quite expected that.

He wasn't in the best state, but Phil seemed to believe that it was better for him to be talking than unconscious.

So, in a half-delirious state, he rambled about mercy, and free will, and falling.

And when he whispered that he missed flying, he could have sworn that Phil agreed.

----------------------

Anyway, aside from dramatic moments like those, life was okay.

Wilbur was there for every milestone in Tommy's life, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

He was there for his first few words when Tommy was a baby (the first word was "kaboom", but the second was "Wilby").

He was there for his first steps, and once Tommy learned to walk there was no stopping him from running everywhere.

He was there for preschool graduations and first days of kindergarten and beyond.

-----------------------

Of course, Wilbur's job was to teach the kid to want to kill god, and he tried to do that too.

From the moment Tommy learned how to read, Wilbur kept trying to get him to read Paradise Lost. Sadly, he was six and Milton wasn't to his taste at the moment.

Wilbur wasn't sure how well he did on that front, but he tried.

Either way, he wasn't sure if he raised a suitably evil kid, but he raised a good one.

Not good as in morally, obviously. Tommy was still a rascal at times, but he was the rascal that Wilbur cared about.

-----------------------------

Wilbur was the one to teach him how to ride a bike.

Tommy was so determined to learn how to do it, and he kept getting up even when his knees were scratched up from crashing.

When putting on band-aids, sometimes Wilbur would slightly heal him. Not so much that he wouldn't know to be careful, but just enough to ease the pain a bit.

Wilbur also taught him other valuable life skills like lock picking, lying, good taste in music, and how to pick pockets. The stuff every kid needed to know!

His reports to the Lords of Hell became less clinical, and more chatting about Tommy finally figured out how to ride a bike, and he's getting good grades in language arts, and he likes musicals too, and he's such a wonderful kid.

They'd mostly stare in confusion, and awkwardly ask him how that was helping Satan.

--------------------------

And he knew that every birthday meant that the two of them were one year closer to Doomsday.

And he knew that he wasn't going to survive Doomsday.

Wilbur had a feeling since the moment he first fell that he'd have to redeem himself or go out in a blaze of glory. And, frankly, he felt too bitter towards his creator to aim for a redemption arc.

So, when Tommy turned eight, he knew that he had eight years left to live.

And when he was ten, he knew he had six, and so on.

That didn't stop Wilbur from baking a cake for him and singing.

He cared about Tommy quickly, and he later grew to care for Phil, and maybe even he would be vaguely upset if That Weird Guy died.

Wilbur couldn't call this place a home, and he couldn't say they were his family, but it was the closest he'd ever gotten to that sort of thing.

And sometimes, he could fool himself into thinking it could stay like this.

-------------------------

Once, he'd made the mistake of trying to taunt Schlatt about it.

They'd been talking, and Schlatt made one too many jabs about how he spent his days babysitting.

He'd mocked the patch that Tommy had clumsily sewed into his new trenchcoat, and Wilbur got a bit annoyed.

"At least I've been doing my job and spending time with the antichrist! You've been completely useless down here, just sitting around in that lawn chair and drinking. I mean, it makes everything easier for me, but the fact still remains that I've been getting stuff done while you've been treating this like a paid vacation.".

Schlatt looked him dead in the eyes, setting down his glass.

"You think that you were smart, getting close to their family? Turning up the charm, making friends, stealing my goddamn Hot Pockets (which I'm still mad about)?". He laughed in his face.

"Wilbur, you're a fucking moron. You say that I haven't spent enough time around the family? You've spent way too much, and it's given you a bleeding heart."

"I don't have a-"

"Tommy's going to die in six years, you know. Kid's cute, but he's not going to survive the end of the world. He's a child, and God is God, and he's going to get smote like burnt chicken. It's just the facts.". Wilbur recoiled from him, hissing his next words through his teeth.

"Shut up."

"Did you even think about anything besides your own stupid martyrdom? Or were you too busy playing house and getting attachments? Face it, Wilbur: It's lunchboxes today, graves tomorrow.".

For once, Wilbur had nothing to say. No clever response, nothing. Just pure panic.

He touched the patch on his trench coat covering his heart, looking to the sky.

Please. I know you're a bastard. I know you hate me, and I hate you, and that can't change. But if you gave me some sign, some promise that you wouldn't hurt Tommy, I'd do anything.

As always, there was no response.

-----------------------------

Wilbur cared about Tommy, and he knew, and even if it was a weakness he couldn't stop.

All of Tommy's family cared about him, wanting him protected and alive.

But Schlatt?

Schlatt didn't give a damn about Tommy, and he never would.

There was no care weighing him down. And that meant that he had infinitely more options than everyone else.

#dream smp #dsmp #good omens au #beware the drafts of march #c!wilbur #sbi #sbi family dynamic #writing #fan fiction #wilbur soot

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