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imagination-mess · 3 years ago

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Please Stay with us

First Part: After Shinichiro Dies, she had stayed beside their sides until the end

Here is Part 2: She survives, and her reputation. She can' be selfish

Manga Spoilers! DO NOT READ! Not really but still there are spoilers

“You failed, however, it may have been a better result than killing Emma. I can’t be mad about it. The goal was to break his spirit. She needs to die to achieve our goal.” Izana says in his monotone.

“She is the parental figure for the majority of the toman members. She had deep connections with the division leaders. They most likely aren’t gonna performed not as well due to having their emotions clouding their emotions. They aren’t gonna be in the correct mindset to face us. It most likely to be our victory.” Kisaki looks down at his shoulder to see the minor cut he had to receive.

When he heard you were the former legend known as the Mouse Reaper of the first generation Black Dragon. He didn’t believe it, because of how soft you were with the members. You weren’t anything like the rumors of your reputation, a she-devil, intimidating, and quiet as a mouse, but have a deadly strength behind that innocent appearance.

However, his last meeting with her was purely coincidence or so he thought. She had threatened him to kill him, herself if someone else dies because of him. No one would know if it was her. She will make look like a freak accident. She had pressed her switchblade to his throat.

“I don’t give a shit about you being a minor. I will happily go to prison that’s only if I were to get caught.” She says in the fakest high pitch voice.

“I never liked you.” She drops the act showing her true colors to him. Her eyes were cold from any emotion. “I know you are behind Baji’s death. He was like the younger brother I never had. So I will give you this last warning. Another person that I love drops dead again. You are next.” You spoke with more malice and raged behind your words.

You jump back from him and putting away your switchblade. You calmly collected your grocery bags from the ground. You had cornered him when he was alone. You had people stalking his every move and finding out his schedule. You spill everything you had found out about him.

You aren’t just the deadly mouse who calculates in the shadows and no one would expect you to be so cold. You had caught him off guard when he was alone on his way to get stuff from the store.

“Don’t worry your little head about me telling everyone. They are just kids, however, you are playing a dangerous adult game. Have a nice night. Tetta Kisaki.” You turn your head to the side to glare at his figure on the ground. He was holding his breath when you were pressing the knife against his throat.

For the first time, he felt as if the grim reaper was there to collect his soul. You hold true to your reputation. You may be soft and kind but under many layers. There is darkness filled with just rage. You could murder anyone how quiet and calculative you truly are.

“She is one crazy dangerous woman to pissed off. You have to pretty much hope she isn’t stubborn and just drops dead. She is known for her shell will of anger and spite. You will be on her hit list if she survives.” Izana casually mentions.

Izana doesn't know what he was feeling in his heart. He didn't know how to describe this feeling. You were there to visit him at the prison with Shinichiro until he had threaten to harm Mikey. You supported him and care for him until he voices his thoughts of killing Mikey. He remembers clearly how livid and angry you are that day that you never came to visit him ever again. You tried to convince him that isn’t the correct way, but you gave up. You clearly choose Mikey over him. You abandon him, unlike Shinichiro.

The true reason why you didn’t visit Izana is that you know your own limits and will most likely act on the rage that you have burden deep down in you. If he even tried to threaten Mikey’s life in any way or form. You know Shinichiro wouldn’t forgive you if you put your hands on him.

Meanwhile, two Sano' siblings, Mikey and Emma were sitting next to each other. Mikey was holding her hand in a tight grip. He had come in just in time to save your life, any minute later. You would be have been completely gone.

You still had a faint pulse and were rushed into the surgery room for a critical head injury. They couldn’t wait for you to be stable for surgery. They had to get into surgery fast in order to save your life.

Mikey was still shocked, how the warmth of your body started disappearing. His heart dropped when he no longer felt you breathing against his neck.

Draken rushes into the hospital and after receiving the cold chilling call while he was cooking dinner. He almost left the house without turning off the stove. He also had grabbed the spare of sandals after hearing Mikey broken his.

He drops the sandals on the ground in front of Mikey. “Mikey, let’s go outside for a bit.”

Emma and Takemitchy followed the two males outside and Draken asks Mikey what happened which he didn’t reply. He was staring blankly into nothing. Emma and Takemitchy explain all while Mikey was just an empty shell as if he was still processing what happened. He walks towards Mikey and just punches him full-on. Emma covers her mouth gasping being surprised at how Draken was acting.

“As much, I want to be angry at you and punch senselessly until you couldn’t move. I know m-[First Name] would scold me and perhaps even slapping me. She is currently fighting for her life right now. So Mikey, snap out of it. Stop acting, she is dead. There is still a chance of her surviving. [First Name] is the strongest woman, I ever know.” Draken voice's cracks as he is holding himself back from crying, before adding. “She doesn’t know when to stay down even when she is sick. She is stubborn as hell.”

Emma softly smiles at remembering how the boys tried to keep you on the bed to rest. You were often carried back to your room every attempt when you escaped your bed. Mikey and Draken were taking turns. You were sick and didn’t have your strength, so you couldn’t get out over their shoulders. They would throw you over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes and threw you on the bed and tucked you in. You were persistent in getting your own crap. Emma would be bringing some soup and medication. You refused to let them baby you.

You acted like a child when it comes to drinking your medicine. Mikey had to pinch your nose and Draken took the chance to force the medication down your throat. You were hella mad at them for doing that dirty trick, to only get a cheeky grin from Mikey.

“I hate you guys.” You weakly cough and glare at them behind the blanket.

“No, you don’t. You love us.”

As you were in the surgery room, you started to fall into cardiac arrest while being on the surgery table. The doctors were doing everything possible to save your life.

You were between being dead and alive. You were standing in front of the beach. You could smell the sea salt and hearing the ocean waves. You felt at peace. Perhaps it’s okay to just let go.

“It’s too early for you!” You heard behind you to see someone you thought you would ever see again. Shinichiro grabs your shoulders.

“You can’t give up! You are debating on fighting, which is why you are on the limo-”

“But it’s so peaceful here!” You screamed back at him,

“I know, but what’s life without any pain!” He screamed back at you.

Both of you were in tears, “It’s hard to not be selfish, but think about Emma, Mikey! Imagine how much pain they are in while you aren’t fighting to stay with them.”

You froze to only remember how you got here. You protected Emma and switched places with her. There was a bike with a baseball bat swing at you. You are starting to remember before you passed out.

You remember how desperate and broken Mikey sounded called out to you after you lose consciousness. It breaks your heart and realize you are pretty much the only person other than Shinichiro who let them be kids. You were their support system. Their grandfather was barely present in their lives. You also remember Draken. He will be heartbroken finding out that he will once more be an orphan and have no place to really call home.

You started crying realizing you don’t want to die yet. You wanna be there for them to graduate. You want to be there when you see Mikey walk Emma down on her wedding day with Draken. You wanted to continue having girls’ nights with Emma, sometimes Hinata enjoys it too. You wanted to see the world with them. You have been saving up to take them to see popular places after they graduate high school. Emma wanted to see the Eiffel tower in Paris. You wanted to see her excited and full awe face when she sees it in person. Mikey and Draken wanted to go through ATV tours in the Caribbean islands. After you showed them pictures of your vacation with Shinichiro when you guys went to the Caribbean island. You still wanted to be there for them. You wanted to stay to see those important life events to the little things.

Shinichiro softly smiles at your tearful face as he wipes off those tears from your cheeks.

“I knew you wanted to live. It’s okay to move on from me, okay. Fall in love again. Perhaps letting Mikey swipe you off your feet like he always claimed since he was a child. Take care of yourself, okay. I love you, but I am letting you go. Please do the same.” Shinichiro playful says as he pushes his lips against your forehead. You were taking the moment to enjoy his presence with you.

“Are you guys done being lovely dovely?” You immediately snapped your head to see the familiar boy with his long wavey black hair and his top fang poking out from his lip. You tackled him into a hug and started crying even more into his chest.

“Whoa! Whoa! Did you miss my menace butt that much?” Baji chuckles, as he nods at Shinichiro and vanishes into the thin air. Shinichiro disappears with tearful eyes and a weak smile.

“Of course! You were a pain in my ass but still cared about you.” You cried into his chest and hugging him so tightly.

“Are you ready to go back? You will have to fight tooth and nail as if you strongly want to stay.” Baji stepped back, after placing the switchblade in your hand.

There was now a thorny path in front of you. Baji gives you his famous menace grin. ”Be badass girl, we all know you are.”

You confidently nod after wiping off your tears and rushed in down the thorny path that was cutting your skin, but you could feel the scenery changing and becoming harder to walk through. Your mind was only thinking of the 3 important people in your life. If it weren’t for them, you wouldn’t be fighting so hard to stay alive.

The image of the laughing faces of Emma, Mikey, and Draken after you. You aren’t gonna be selfish but live for them. Do it for them. You cut those thorny vines and falling into the dark abyss, as you go through your happy memories of you have them.

Outside the surgery room, the kids were waiting for the surgery waiting room. They immediately got on their feet once they saw the sign of surgery get turned off. Draken was holding Emma comforting her as best as he could. They all were getting anxious.

The doctor comes out to them and informs them. “She did go into cardiac arrest, but we managed to bring her back and surgery is a success. You may see her after we get her settled in her room.”

All of them were overjoyed with the news. Takemichy rushes out to inform the gang outside however he was taken back to see different types of gangs were waiting outside the hospital grounds. There are grown-ass adults. He steps back in pure shock and confusion.

Who are those guys?

"Hey!"

Takemichy turns around to see Draken and Mikey walking out. They both pass him.

“This is a -”

“We aren’t here to fight, but rather telling you. We will be joining your fight against Tenjiku tonight. We heard of Mouse Reaper.”

“But why?” Takemichy speaks out and covers his mouth after getting glared at. He wants to dig a hole and hide inside. This dude was intimating.

“She may not be a specific gang, but she is still one of us. She prefers to work in the shadow like usual. But she is never out of the gang business. She is very well involved. She has a lot of people who respect her. They all want to fight in honor of her. We all know if she was in the condition to fight. She would be joining without any hesitation.

She protected you and your little gang, Tokyo Manji Gang. She is the reason why don’t the bigger gangs haven’t attack you. She has protected you through the shadows and knows what is happening in the background. Your reputation can only provide protection so far, but she covers the remaining dry area.”

The realization falls on them. You had lied to them being involved in gangs any longer. You lied to keep them in the dark. You joined back in ever since you heard Kazutora got beaten up by the Black dragons years prior. Even more, after, Baji was dead. Shinichiro knew you were back in the business, but knows you aren’t gonna get involved unless necessary as inputting your life in harm’s way. He understands why your reason. You didn’t want anyone to die that you hold close to your heart.

Life was already cruel as it is.

You did what you are always good at, being quiet and attack your enemy at their unexpected moments. You make them experience near-death experiences. Even after, Toman had been beaten up by the black dragons at that time. She wrecked them even more.

They are your treasure. You will happily commit a crime to keep all of them safe.

____________________

I hope you enjoyed this! This is the happy ending, imagine the bad ending 💀.

Next part: Haunt you Even After my death (bad ending)

The Adventures of The Sano Family

Tokyo Revengers Masterlist

#shinichiro x y/n #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #manjirou sano x reader #shinichiro sano #emma sano #sano shinichiro x reader #tokyo revengers shinichiro #shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro x reader #tokrev shinichiro

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quietlyimplode · 3 years ago

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do you take fic requests bc if you do could you do something like how in bw nat flinches when dreykov goes to hit her the first time and maybe when clint first meets her or something all she does is flinch and super submissive??

Hey Anon. Not sure if this is exactly what you’re thinking; I think there’s a strong correlation between why Natasha flinched and Dreykov being the ultimate abuser; I think that she would be able to differentiate him and Clint. I’m not sure she would have as violent reaction to someone she didn’t know, because that reaction (I think) is one borne of repeat trauma. Sooo this is a 5+1 touching on that reaction.

Warnings for: child abuse, child death, red room musings, domestic violence, child trafficking, black widow spoilers, and ptsd. (3045 words)

Forged.

Everything is so overwhelming. There are girls screaming, men with guns. She holds on tightly to Yelena and makes her stand behind her.

The guns have lights on them and she can’t follow them all.

There’s so many people, it’s loud, and confusing and Natasha just wants to cry.

Pain only makes you stronger.

But her chest hurts. It’s a ball of panic that hasn’t gone away since Mama Melina said she was sorry.

She tries to school her face so that it’s devoid of panic; but it’s hard. Yelena is holding her hand hard.

It happens quickly.

They grab Yelena and she yells and screams for her, tries to pull her back but they hit her in the face.

Disoriented, she loses track of her sister, the pain in her heart intensifies in panic and she catches sight of blonde hair. She rips the picture in her hand, and runs over to her.

She knew it was going to happen. She didn’t think it would be like this. She thought they could stay together.

“Take it.” She yells. “Take it.” And shoves it into Yelena’s hands. She’s pulled away and so is Yelena.

She can’t help the feral noises that break free from her body.

She doesn’t cry though.

Pain only makes you stronger and she is in so, so much pain.

She’s lined up with the others and is made to step forward.

She sees him; the man from Cuba. The one Papa Alexei embraced. He walks up to her.

He smells of cigars and strong cologne and it takes everything she has to hold his gaze and not turn up her nose.

The man grabs her head, and she flinches hard against his hands. He gets closer and there’s something in her that remembers this man.

“The Red Room is your home now,” he tells her and looks her up and down, gaze lingering.

He pushes her into a line with 3 older girls and she bites the inside of her mouth as hard as she can to stop herself hyperventilating and panicking.

Pain. She reminds herself.

Pain.

There’s four girls with her. The biggest of the guards is closest to her and three more stand over the others. Of course, they think it’s her, that she’s the ringleader. They’re not wrong, but it does make her think that she should perhaps try and stay under the radar a little more.

They’re all standing in front of Dreykov who exudes anger. She can count the number of times on her hand that she’s had to stand in front of him, this is the first time in her nightdress. She’s self conscious all at once and she crosses her arms around her body.

“Stand front!” The guard yells, gun in her face. She startles, as she drops her arms down to her sides, fists clenching.

Svetlana glances tentatively at her and she bows her head.

Dreykov hasn’t said anything and they’re all awaiting punishment. She knew she shouldn’t have smuggled in the Nutella but she was so excited about the new taste, the deliciousness of the spread that she could share.

He turns to face her and her blood runs cold.

“Kill them.” He says looking directly at her, his face curled in a snarl.

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head hard.

He laughs.

“Fine.” He looks to the other four.

“Kill her.” He says and ducks his head towards Natasha.

Svetlana is closest, the guards step back as she steps forward, intentions clear and Natasha can see the smile that plays across his face.

Sadists.

She’s old enough now to know to use the environment to protect herself as well, knows this room and, has taken stock of all the things in the room that could be used as a weapon. She assumed, of course, that they would be used against her, not that she would have to use them against the others.

The first punch comes from Odette, a kick from Sevenya, and attempted restraint from Clara and Svetlana. Natasha protects her head, trying to find an opening where she can get one of the girls between her so the other three have to go through her first.

It’s Clara that she throws on the floor in the way of Odette and she narrowly avoids a letter opener thrown at her head. It clatters for the floor and she scrambled back to pick it up. Holding it in front of her, she looks at the others. It’s not malice on their faces but fear.

Dreykov looks on in amusement and then looks at his watch.

Natasha waits for Odette to attack again. She was always the most impulsive. She spins to the side and kneels and feels the letter opener slice across her femoral artery, she knows she’s hit it when the gush of blood accompanies it.

She has no time to ponder it as she tries to pull the weapon out, Clara is on her again. Natasha kicks up catching her under her chin, the sound of skin hitting skin, her bare foot tingling. She pushes Clara back, adrenaline fading and fatigue setting in for all of them. Sloppy punches end up in hair pulling as Natasha swings her legs up and around her neck. Maybe if she knocks her out, she won’t have to do it.

“Enough.” Dreykov’s voice is clear and she detects the anger on it.

He pulls his gun and shoots Clara and Odette.

She flinches at the sound and almost vomits as she sees Clara take her last breath.

“Leave now. You have no place in the world, as such you may take nothing and have nothing. You will be searched on entry and exit.” He says, enunciating every word.

Natasha attempts a glance at the other two girls but they won’t meet her gaze. They all know what being searched means.

The bodies of Clara and Odette are dragged out one door as they leave through another.

Natasha stretches. The apartment on the west side is sunny and she lays on the floor basking in the heat like a cat. She should get up and get something to eat, her stomach letting her know that it’s time, but this position is so relaxing and soothing that she ignores it; just for now. Closing her eyes she listens to the lull of slow paced music she put on earlier.

She given herself two days to do nothing. She’s sure that she’s off the radar and knows that her body and her mind needs rest. If only it worked that way.

Being on the run isn’t new. Being a fugitive from the red room and staying low is fine. She just needs to decide what she wants out of life; these are the bigger decisions that she’s putting on the back burner. Just for now.

The sun sets low and the slow growl of her tummy, lets her know that it’s truly time to get up; tend to herself and find the Thai place that knows her order when she walks in the door. A fact that she’s not sure she should be worried about.

Pulling on a jacket, she turns to set her own locks, and then moves to the door to lock it with her keys.

A bang, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and a yell make her flinch hard, dropping her keys to the floor. A flash of a guard and her head whipping back from a punch is almost identical to the sound she just heard, and it takes her a second to get her breathing under control. Natasha feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up, knowing the likelihood of what she’s just heard.

She’s got a choice to make.

Help, and potentially expose herself.

Do nothing, and more red on her ledger.

Bucking courage, she walks inaudibly down the hall. Locates the sound where there’s the faint sound of crying and the low rumble of a mans voice.

She knocks, loudly and confidently.

There’s silence, before the door opens ajar, and she pushes it into his face and walks in.

“Bitch what do you think you’re doin?” Comes the drawl as he follows her.

“Did you hit her?” She asks voice low and dangerous.

“What?”

“Did you, hit her?” Natasha points to the crying woman, whose face is swollen and red.

“Who do you think you are?” The man stands over Natasha and stares down at her. She cocks her head and stares back. He goes to grab her and she turns her body, grabbing his hand and twisting, making him drop to his knees.

She twists again hard, and he grunts and cries out. There’s a strong smell of cologne, the same as Dreykov and she snaps. She breaks his hand and punches him in the face. Hears the crack of fist against cheek and shouts at him.

“How dare you?” She grunts at him, standing over him. She punches him again.

“You think it makes you more of a man?”

There’s blood on her knuckles.

The woman is asking her to stop; and she’s crying harder.

Natasha knows what she’s done, she’s not upset with herself.

She squats next to the man with the broken nose and bloodshot eyes; blood spattered making for a gruesome scene. She gets close to his face.

“Nod if you can hear me.” She says. He nods; a short dip of his head.

“I will kill you if you ever touch her again.” She promises.

“I know where you live.” She nods to the mechanic jacket hanging, “I know where you work.” She stands up.

“I will be watching.”

Clint watches Natasha playing chess against herself and holds up the takeaway.

“Come play against me,” she invites and he laughs.

“You think you can take me?” He asks.

She finally looks up to him and grins.

“Always.”

He puts the paper bag down on the stove and laughs as she sets it up again.

“I haven’t won once, doesn’t it get boring playing against me?” His eyes twinkle at her as he looks at her, both of them smiling.

Natasha opens as she always does by moving her pawn. Clint copies her move.

She’s about to make her second move when they’re interrupted by the smoke alarm chirping and a small flame coming from the paper bag on the stove.

He laughs. Says something about not knowing the stove was still warm and waves the tea towel across the smoke alarm.

It takes him a moment, but he realises she’s not joking with him. In fact.

She’s frozen.

“Natasha?”

There’s a whine and a choked noise.

“No. Nononono.” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Make it stop. Make it stop.”

He’s scrambling now.

“Please?” He looks to where she’s looking, the smoking bag, a flame.

“Make it stop.” She repeats again.

His heart drops and he finally gets the tiny flame under control, dumping it in the sink. She’s staring where it was. Eyes blank, body tight.

He moves over to her and reaches over to her.

Natasha flinches at his touch; his hands retract quickly.

“It’s ok, Natasha.”

The haunted look doesn’t leave her face but she stands and moves away.

“Yeah, it’s ok.”she repeats back.

She leaves for the bedroom and he follows her tentatively,

“Just. Give me a minute.” She requests and shuts the bathroom door.

He sits on the bed waiting for her to emerge. He stays until he hears the tap run, and the door unlock.

When she emerges she looks the same as before, face relaxed, mask on.

“You ok?” He asks, tentatively.

“Fine.” She nods.

Clint nods with her.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks tentatively, not really knowing what to do next. The fact that she’s freaked out on him and managed to pull herself back together in the space of ten minutes is suspicious, and he feels he needs to walk on eggshells around her.

She shrugs and melts into the couch, knees to her chest.

“Wanna tell me what that was?” He ventures, sitting next to her.

“No.”

It doesn’t leave any space for probing, so he stops talking. Let’s her figure it out herself.

She uncurls herself and stands.

“Actually. I’m just going to go home.” She nods to the chess set. “Thanks for the game.”

He stands alongside her.

“You sure?” He asks, it’s not right he knows. He should keep her here, make sure she’s ok. But. They’re not there. He’s not her confidant. He’s not the one she goes to.

Natasha nods.

“Thanks.” She grabs her coat and makes for the door, passing through the threshold, pausing slightly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

By the time he reaches the door frame, she’s gone.

Natasha has done hard things in life. She knows she has. Her whole childhood was lucky survival, and she knows it. But this. This is intentional bravery and even if she dies she knows it’s the right thing.

Being in front of him, is possibly the hardest, most confronting and perhaps masochistic move she could have taken, but given the short time frame Melina gave her, she didn’t see another way.

As he talks to her.

As he goes to touch her face.

It takes all of her not to react.

To be still.

To remember to breathe.

She asks about her mother because she can’t help it, and he tears the knife through her soul.

She wasn’t unknown. She was Natasha and all the other mothers who fought for orphaned little girls. She buries it deep, masking her face, unable to stop her eyes watering.

He makes Antonia uncover herself, and she’s ripped apart again.

Natasha carries the scars of her death on the inside. Antonia carries them on the outside.

She can’t believe what she’s hearing, seeing and wants with every once of her being to say she’s sorry. Of all the deaths she’s being responsible for, Antonia’s is the one she needs to atone for the most.

She’s alive and it’s simultaneously the best and worst thing.

Dreykov taunts her as she knew he would and sends Antonia away. It’s enough to make her mind flip back to the plan.

Finally, the opportunity to shove a gun in his face. She knows it won’t work. But the little voice inside her head thought maybe, just maybe she would be stronger than the pheromone lock. She wasn’t strong enough as a child to fight back when they took her from her bed, or when she wanted with every once of her being to protect others; but she thought maybe being separated from him, being older, grown; she wouldn’t be subjected to the same weaknesses.

She was wrong.

She can’t pull the trigger.

She can’t stab him through the heart.

And as he touches her and peels the knife from her fingers, she can feel the panic welling inside her.

She’s traipsed into the lions den, full of confidence but she’s nothing compared to science and manipulation. Despair fills every inch of her as he’s close enough to smell. The old sickly cologne that haunts her nightmares, that makes her snap into rages when she gets a whiff of it on any other man, and as it’s paired with the smell of a cigar, she’s torn back to him grabbing her face and telling her the Red Room is her home.

She is home.

She tries to outrun it but he’s going to turn her back into a mindless automaton. Not with trigger words this time. Not with pain. Or fear, or even threats. It’s all chemical. She has no choice.

Her whole body shudders in visceral pain as he gets closer to her, talking to her, saying her name.

Her voice is low as she keeps up the charade.

Sever the nerve; and it will be ok.

Sever the nerve; and he will have no control.

But.

As he raises his hand to her, she can’t do it. She flinches away and she’s so disappointed in herself. Old habits, isn’t that what they say?

She’s 10 and her eyes are black.

She’s 11 and her body knows not to bruise so easily.

She’s 12 and can take a punch easily.

Natasha bites down heavily on her cheeks drawing blood. It’s grounding. He moves away from her and mumbles something about Melina.

Control.

Control the narrative. Make him say what she needs. This is not about her.

This is not about her trauma.

She breathes heavily as he reiterates the plan to her and she tapers the panic.

Bait him.

Make him cooperate.

She can do this.

She can do hard things.

The television plays and the heater whirs as Natasha sits on the big chair reading her book. She sips the sweet drink she prepared for herself and pulls the blanket up. There’s a softness about the night, and it’s built on not having any competing priorities. Not having to be anywhere the next day.

She’s alone but it’s peaceful, and allows her to mull over the words she reads.

“Being kind to yourself is the greatest kindness.” Is the quote that sticks in her head, and, as she picks up the chocolate on her left, she’s knows it’s the truth.

For once, her brain is calm and she knows the safety of this place. Clint would call it a controlled environment but she prefers to think of it as safety.

In the life of a spy, there’s no place safe enough, no turning off the low level anxiety that always follows her around, but somehow; here, she can.

She looks out the window and admires the trees atop the mountain she can see, marvels in the low fog that gathers around and has a life of its own as it moves around outside in the darkness.

There’s no light pollution, except what’s coming from inside the house.

She glances at the time, glad she made the connection, the phone call she’s expecting not breaking the peace or make her flinch at the unexpected noise permeating peace.

Natasha sets down her book and picks up her phone. One minute.

Right on cue it rings.

She smiles.

“Hey.”

All my fic.

#black widow spoilers #the black widow movie #natasha romanoff #clint barton #black widow #widows #Natasha flinching #general dreykov #my fic #ask away #prompts #child abuse tw #ptsd #domestic violence tw #child death tw #tw red room #red room horribleness in this one #black widow fic

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inkandsunshine67 · 11 months ago

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Chapter 76 😭💛🥹

#forged by malice #forged by malice spoilers #elizabeth helen #botb #beasts of the briar #I #knew it #god i ship it so hard

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badger-bear · 11 months ago

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forged by malice spoilers below

Caspian wants to be human 😭😭😭 he says he isn't rose's mate??????? Farron doesn't regret destroying Caspian's book LIKE HE SHOULD

These sequences of Kel and Rose are 🥵 too much

#forged by malice spoilers

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bodyguardbracket · 1 year ago

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Redemption Round 1: Vortex (Helluva Boss) vs Guy (A3! Act! Addict! Actors!)

[Propaganda Under Cut]

Vortex: He's intimidating enough that when Blitzo, a guy who kills people for a living and has all the self control of a raccoon let loose in an all-you-can eat pizza buffet, started threatening Verosika, he stood down at the sight of Tex and made a joke about reporting her to HR instead.

Guy:

it's kinda hard to talk about guy without spoilers from a3’s main story act 8 so yeah take caution. anyway guy is introduced as a bodyguard from the fictional south asian kingdom of zahra, of which citron is the crown prince. it’s a very long complicated story but basically citron fled from zahra before his coronation ceremony was to take place and planned on travelling around the world for a while, but he ended up in japan and decided to stay bc he got roped into joining a theatre troupe (most normal thing in a3 tbh). guy spent a year scouring the ends of the earth to find him and finally did so in act 8, which speaks to his dedication to protecting his liege. also guy is introduced as an android which is a whole other thing

anyway guy is super-duper capable! he’s fluent in english, japanese, and zahran; he can fight and handle weaponry; he’s good at karate and teaches one of the other main characters karate; he can act; and later on in the story he even opens his own bar, meaning he can cook and mix drinks!

also his loyalty to citron is unparalleled. in act 8, citron returns to zahra on his own volition—but plot twist he leaves guy on his own and guy can’t return bc citron falsely branded him as a criminal and accused him of kidnapping him which was why he was missing from the kingdom for a year (citron had some complicated reasons for doing so but it wasn’t out of malice). stuck with nowhere else to go, guy decided to join the theatre troupe that citron was part of—the MANKAI company—and he spent a good portion of the story act trying to figure out what’s going on in citron’s mind. eventually he and the sub-troupe he joined—the winter troupe—successfully put on a complete run of their adaptation of ‘phantom of the opera’ where guy played the phantom. even so, guy wasn’t satisfied and still wanted to see citron and show citron his acting, so with the help of the other MANKAI members (one of whom forged a passport for guy so he wouldn’t be arrested on sight upon going through customs in zahra), guy and like 12 other people go to the kingdom of zahra as performers for citron’s coronation ceremony, where eventually guy gets to reunite with citron. it’s all very complicated but citron doesn’t ascend to the throne and is instead appointed the minister of arts and culture and is told by the king to return to japan and continue learning about the arts at the MANKAI company so he can bring back what he learned to improve zahra’s art scene. and even though citron is no longer a prince, guy still vows to stay by citron and watch over him bc their bond goes beyond just a prince and retainer 🥹

#bodyguard battle #redemption round 1 #Vortex #helluva boss #Guy #guy a3 #a3!#a3! act addict actors

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mittensmorgul · 6 years ago

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what do you think of the sw/dw/mw/cw carvings discussion j2 had at chicon?

I had no idea what you were asking this morning when I first saw this, because I don’t typically watch con videos, and haven’t for years (it gets old really fast when they basically get asked the same few questions every time, you know? How’s the family? Tell us about pranks on set! etc.). So I decided to scroll my dash to see if I could figure out what they’d said before replying.

I saw a couple of posts of tweets from the con that paraphrased them, and apparently they joked about it (as they always do).

So, being a responsible human being, I decided that I needed to actually see the video for myself before forming an opinion, and not just spouting off on a couple of out of context fan interpretations of what was actually said. Unsurprisingly, they go on for like four whole minutes, far longer than those Hot Take Tweets would lead one to believe…(eta: the video was being weird, but their question starts at about 7:15 in case it’s not functioning properly still…)

youtube

Jared starts out immediately making jokes while Jensen sits there quietly. They do joke about it a bit, but then Jensen gets serious and actually talks about the decision to add Mary’s initials to the table, changing what’s been an iconic bit of imagery that’s been part of the show since 5.22. How that made him feel, and commenting that he expects a lot more of that sort of thing as the story draws to a close. And then to break that tension Jared turns it back into a joke again and they play it off.

Which is how so many con question replies go.

Does anyone reading this legit think that the story the show has been telling isn’t leading directly to Cas completing this journey into the Winchester family? Like… really? Does anyone reading this think Cas won’t have a CW on the table by the end of the series? Because Cas is still struggling with exactly how and why he belongs in the family. This was his primary worry he expressed regarding Jack, and why he didn’t say anything about his concerns for Jack in 14.18. This is literally what Cas is struggling with, and is his main character arc right now.

How many times has Dean (and Sam) declared Cas part of the family? Going back YEARS, even.

So jokes about not knowing Cas, or not thinking he’s a Winchester? Um… I don’t know how to tell anyone this, but this is one of those “this would be a major spoiler if they discussed the future of an ongoing major plot point” sort of situations. Maybe not the actual carving of a CW into the table, but everything surrounding it as we’re running up to the season finale.

In the episode we’ve just watched, seeing the MW on the table as part of Mary’s funeral pyre montage… can we as a fandom allow that to stand on its own as a memorial in this moment without making the assumption that it’s some sort of dig against Cas? Can we understand how emotionally meaningful it was for Sam and Dean to fully embrace Mary after everything they’ve been through in the last three years since she was resurrected, and that it literally took her death for them to honor her memory in this specific way.

With that context, do people understand why this was a HUGE emotional hurdle for Sam and Dean? To take this symbol of the fact that they had been alone since childhood, this pact forged between boys when they were children, in an episode where Cas (in his flashback) told Mary he was glad she was back because now her boys aren’t so alone, and Mary herself (who told Dean from before he was born that “angels are watching over you”) insisted that they were never alone (because Cas was with them all along), and for Sam and Dean to acknowledge that Mary now was a real part of their lives instead of the Sainted Mother Mary on a Pedestal that had been the focus of the revenge mission that shaped their entire lives…???

S14 so far has been focused heavily on laying the baggage of the past to rest so that Sam, Dean, and Cas really will be able to look toward the future. And this memory of Mary is something they want to carry with them accordingly. She’d been what had been missing from their entire lives. She was the reason their lives were lived out of the back seat of the Impala where they originally staked their claim with their initials. They’re not two lonely, frightened children anymore. When they staked their claim on the bunker (in 12.18– ONE EPISODE BEFORE 12.19, and The Future, where their entire concept of their legacy goes out the window, thanks Bobo again), it was framed around a discussion of “their legacy” they were building for the future. It was framed as wildly uncertain, during a time when they were once again feeling profoundly alone– Mary off with the BMoL, Cas disappeared to points unknown and not answering his phone– that Bobo bringing this back to add Mary SPECIFICALLY at this point in the story, well… this feels like Step Number One in embracing their future rather than the end of the road, you know?

That said, what were Jared and Jensen really supposed to say to this question? We all know Cas is family. They’ve driven that point home so hard for years that it’s impossible to deny. But having his initials carved into the table should be A Big Deal, and not tacked on to this moment that was about Mary.

Cas hasn’t come to that point in his personal arc where he’s fully accepted his place in the family. Yes, he acknowledges he’s part of the family, but he hasn’t really finished figuring out what that actually means for him. Even in 14.18 he demonstrated this, admitting that he still feels insecure about his place in the family, still needing to feel “useful”:

Castiel: I was scared. I had believed in Jack for so long, I believed that he was good. I knew he would be good for the world. And he was good for us. My faith in him, it never wavered, and then I-I saw what he did. It wasn’t malice. It wasn’t evil. It was like Jack saw a problem, and in his mind, he just solved it with that snake.Dean: The snake!Castiel: What he did wasn’t bad. It was the absence of good. And I saw that in him. But we were a family, and I didn’t want to lose that, so I thought I could… fix it on my own. Felt like it was my responsibility. So I left and didn’t tell you. If I could go back and just – just talk to him right then and there, I would. But I can’t, Dean. I failed you. And I failed Jack. And I failed –Dean: No, no. Don’t even say it. Don’t even say her name.

He still pinned his worthiness as a Winchester to Jack’s. Still sees himself as maybe a conditional member of the family, not really deserving to be their in his own right yet. Which is clearly The Major Thing he needs to accept for himself, you know? Let’s not rush the end of his narrative and rob him of the immense personal victory it will be for him to fully accept his place with the Winchesters for who he is, and not for what he can do for them.

#chicon 2019 #castiel winchester #pr is not showrunning #and neither is con banter #mary f winchester #spn 14.18 #spn s14 spoilers #anyone with two eyes and two brain cells to rub together can see that adding a CW to the table #will be the culmination of cas's personal acceptance arc and not some afterthought randomly tacked on without comment #regardless of the seemingly flippant deflection j2 engage in on con panels #and again this is why i mostly ignore con panels because they're useless as meta fodder #and often get taken entirely out of context and blown so far out of proportion as to be nothing more than wank fuel so...#Anonymous #spn 5.22 #spn 12.18 #spn 12.19 #spn 5.13

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blixalookscarsick · 5 years ago

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Dexter’s Dad Overthinks Mortal Kombat 11

Not spoilers, but I’m really loving how the writing is nuancing the antagonists in such a way that one can start to acknowledge these characters as results of their environment, generated by Shao Kahn’s colonisation of the realms and indoctrination of their people.

Even seemingly one-dimensional baddies like Skarlet and the Collector have a backstory with ample focus on social ailments, such as poverty and discrimination of an entire species. And all of it is caused by Shao’s unchecked expansionist goals. Villainy, thus isn’t born out of simple, mindless malice.

In the pre-fight intros, even Kitana (one of the forces for good) is acknowledged as being far extracted from the realities that drove Skarlet (whom is my waifu in this game) into being on the side of the antagonists. Kotal Kahn even goes on to say it plainly.

“Shao Kahn has abused you.” He has taken advantage of an orphan who could have never known a better life under his reign and forged her into his weapon.

And sadly, Skarlet is blind to that. She has been thus reduced into being a tool for her master that she sees herself as nothing else but. Therefore, her one axis to understand life is relations of power, hence the self-serving narrative of her non-canon arcade ending. Furthermore, it’s heavily implied that she now needs blood magic to actually survive. The yoke to Shao Kahn has been reinforced with the self-preservation itself.

And there’s even more to say about the notions of low self-value, which is also acknowledged in these three-line long pre fight intros.

It’s nuts, and I love it.

#skarlet #mortal kombat 11 #skarlet deserved better #i love her #villanous waifu

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flyingcookierambles · 5 years ago

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Stuff I’ve read since the Prince of Fools/in 2018

Books

The Black Gate Chronicles by Phil Tucker (it’s an indie fantasy trash series lol. I binged it by buying all 5 books. Enjoyable but the quality of it goes from a high fantasy to Black Clover with a ton of battle scenes. Also, yes. Black Clover, as in the manga/anime series. More on that later. Also, problematic, and I didn’t really want to talk about it too in depth so I didn’t mention this earlier or whatever)

The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater (It took me a bit to get into this one, but when the action/plot kicked off, oh boy. It kicked off. I liked it and finished it in one night, mostly because I was trapped in an ice skating rink while my sisters skated and I had nothing else to do lol. I still have to read the second book, my reading queue is pretty long…)

The Dragon’s Blade Trilogy by Michael R Miller (I already wrote about this one here in a crappy review lol. Being Darnuir is suffering)

Sand by Hugh Howey (I think I actually read this before the Prince of Fools, but I just wanted to say that it was a pretty slow-paced book and when the plot kicks off it gets good. A family drama + post apocalyptic setting in a vast desert)

Artemis Fowl: The Last Guardian (I finally read this but also kinda forgot what happened in the previous books lol)

Redwall (this was enjoyable! Talking mice and a small war.)

Hunger Makes the Wolf (I’ve already written a crappy review on this)

Good Omens (I’ve already written a crappy review on this)

Senlin Ascends (The Books of Babel 1)

The Greatcoats (Traitor’s Blade/ Knight’s Shadow/ Saint’s Blood)

All Systems Red (The Murderbot Diaries 1)

Silent Hall (The Godserfs 1)

The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn

The Red Knight (the Traitor Son Cycle 1)

Prince of Thorns (uhh oof. The Broken Empire)

Calm; Decay 1 - Who Killed Cock Robin?

Black River Chronicles (I’ve already written something on this I think)

Kneebone Boy (I’ve already written about this)

Un Lun Dun (I think ive already written about this)

Loom Saga (I’ve already written about this. Twice)

The Vagrant/The Malice (I love love love these!!!! Def should have warnings for major character death and body horror tho because of the post apocalyptic setting. I have a post for the Malice in my drafts, but so far (that is for the past few months) it’s just been the title in a post lol)

Red Rising and Golden Sun

The Wrong End of the Table: A Mostly Comic Memoir of a Muslim Arab American Woman Just Trying to Fit in (surprisingly nonfiction! A memoir!!!)

Shades of Magic

Epitaph for a Peach (also a nonfiction???!?! This was for class lol)

The Emperor’s Edge (as of Nov 10th, I’m on book 6, Forged in Blood part 1. I’m really enjoying it! We got slow burn romance, a conspiracy of evil capitalists, and found family tropes!)

Dance of Thieves (slept on it for a month and then finally just binge read it it the span of like 2-3 days)

Manga that I’ve read (please check my Kitsu for more info, since I am reading on-going series and they are too numerous to really list here)

Tegami Bachi (entire series), Case Study of Vanitas (only the first 3 books, please dont send me spoilers), Dungeon Meshi, Children of the Whales, Gangsta, No. 6, Golden Kamuy, Giant Spider and Me, Again!, Toilet bound Hanaka-kun (only #1, but it seems really cute and I’m looking forward to the anime), Niehime Kemono no Ou, The Dungeon of Black Company (only 1-2), Fire Punch (1-7), Nyankees (1-2), Of the Red, the Light, and the Ayakashi (entire series), Afterschool Charisma (1-11) To Your Eternity (1-current I think chapter 90 or something the series is on now?), All You Need is Kill (1-2), Satoko and Nada (1-2), Inuyashiki (1), 7SEEDS, Land of the Lustrous (1-4), Pandora Hearts (finally finished!!), World Trigger (reread 1 to current + I have a Viz subscription so I’m reading it when the new monthly chapter comes out), Hi-Fi Cluster, Daughter of the Emperor, eIDLIVE (honestly thinking about dropping), Bloody Sweet, Boruto, Golden Kamuy

Light Novels - Tokyo Ghoul: Days, Infinite Dendrogram 2, Slime Tensei 2

Comics - Saga by Fiona Staple and Brian K Vaughan (I’m all caught up to #9 and I’m sobbing), Descender by Jeff Lemire (I’m at #5), Fable (I think it is an omnibus edition. It’s a large hardcover. I’m already past the civil war thing), The Adventure Zone 1, Stand Still Stay Silent, Lumberjanes (only 1)

#gummytruck rambles #books #bookblr

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inkandsunshine67 · 11 months ago

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I know. I KNOW. I know the author warned us but I wasn’t ready 😂💛 Elizabeth Helen mentioned it on tiktok AND on insta, I’m sure she did on fb too, but I just wasn’t prepared to squeak like this during a reading break at work 😂 When I tell you I screamed! 😂😅💛 I don’t think this counts as a spoiler but just in case, Forged By Malice screenshot under the Read More…

ARE YOU KIDDING??!! UgggggggGGGGGGGGGGH I’m so fucking feral for our little tin man 🥹💛

#forged by malice #forged by malice spoilers #elizabeth helen #botb #beasts of the briar #ezryn #daytonales

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badger-bear · 1 year ago

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forged by malice spoilers below

"Well, did you feel that, lovers?"

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP if they aren't all mates I am going to freak out OH MY GOD

#forged by malice spoilers #i am going Through It

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bubonickitten · 4 years ago

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

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Chapter 7 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 7: panic attack/shutdown; hospital/ICU imagery. Jon meets his apparent quota of one (1) allowed swear per chapter. SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 7: Zombie, Redux

There are hushed voices coming from somewhere deep below the unbroken whine of static filling his ears. Nearer, Georgie is saying something, but her words are too garbled for Jon to wring any meaning out of them. He isn’t sure exactly how long it’s been since he woke up, but he can feel his muscles cramping from holding the same position for awhile now, curled tight and taut and small.

…catatonia: a state of…

Fuck off, Jon thinks dully.

At least he’s not crying anymore. That stopped some time ago, all of a sudden between one moment and the next, and now he just feels hollow and raw. He knows what he would see if he looked in the mirror: puffy, reddened eyes, so reminiscent of a human – but with a glint of something hungry and monstrous behind them. Any sympathy or concern that anyone might feel at first glance would be quashed with one long look into those eyes, leaving only fear and revulsion and hostility in their wake. And they would be right to flee or freeze or fight, just as they might when confronted with any other predator.

Jon keeps his eyes closed.

“– a sedative,” comes an unfamiliar voice, finally reaching him through the haze.

“Does he look like he needs a sedative?”

Basira, Jon recognizes.

“We – we should really do some – some tests…” The first voice trails off uncertainly. A nurse, Jon assumes. He can feel the apprehension coming off them in waves.

No one knows what to do with him. There is no standard of care for a patient who spent the last six months as a seeming corpse with frantic brain activity as its only signs of life.

A zombie, Jon recalls wryly. The statement calls to him from within Basira’s bag: a taunt, a balm, and a poison all at once. He pushes the thought of it away.

None of the hospital staff like entering his room, he Knows. They certainly don’t want to deal with him now he’s awake. His circumstances present a medical marvel – the kind of mystery that most researchers would kill for a chance to study – but their curiosity was tempered by that overpowering sense of wrongness emanating from him. They were wisely dissuaded by the sheer dread of coming close to something so unquestionably inhuman.

Most people aren’t so curious that they would run headlong towards an ominous fate like the first person to die in a horror film, he supposes. It’s just one more way in which Jon was – is – such an easy target for someone like Jonah Magnus.

Distantly, Jon can feel himself start to shiver.

There’s movement to his right as Georgie sits on the edge of the bed, within arm’s reach but careful to leave a buffer of empty space between them. She tells him that he’s safe – he’s not, and neither is anyone else while he still exists in the world – and that she’s here – for now, but once she realizes how far gone he is, she’ll leave again – and that they’ll sort it all out – yes, and when they do, they’ll never stop looking at him like he’s a monster, and isn’t he?

The door closes behind the nurse, but the fear lingers for several minutes afterwards, like blood diffusing through water.

“Jon,” Basira begins, her tone resolute and impersonal.

“Give him a minute,” Georgie says.

“He’s had a minute. He’s had six months.” There is no malice in her voice, only a bone-deep exhaustion. Basira has been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders since the Unknowing. She’s barely had a chance to mourn Daisy; she’s wound tight from hypervigilance, made worse by the Flesh’s attack; she’s had to put practicality above all else, because sentimentality is a luxury that has long since been stolen from her. “He needs to answer some questions.”

Georgie huffs and turns back to Jon.

“Jon, can you hear me?”

He nods without looking up.

“Are you nonverbal?”

Jon can feel a faraway part of himself balk at the clinical flavor of the word. Georgie was always direct like this. Intellectually, Jon can appreciate having a term to summarize nebulous human experiences like this. Emotionally, he still has difficulty tolerating how exposed the practical application of those terms makes him feel.

Besides, the word doesn’t really apply to this situation, does it? Not in the traditional sense, at least. Not completely. So he shakes his head no.

He takes a deep breath and reluctantly looks inward to the Archive. There’s a spark of excitement, or relief, or maybe smug vindication from that alien part of himself when he finally gives in to the need, and he tries his best to ignore it and get it over with. He doesn’t delve too deeply, instead settling on the first thing that might work.

“I’m sorry, it won’t let me say the words,” he says, voice strained and raspy with months of neglect.

“O…kay,” Georgie says. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Hmm.” Basira doesn’t say anything else.

Jon starts picking through his library again, but nothing jumps out at him. His thoughts still feel sluggish, his mind packed with cotton. Or cobweb. Usually he’d shudder at that thought, but right now, he’s just too tired for that familiar fear to actually reach him through all the fog. He’s just spent months literally sleeping like the dead; why is he so tired?

When a full minute passes without a reply, Basira turns to Georgie.

“Could you give us some time alone?”

“No.” The immediacy of the refusal surprises him. He feels Georgie’s eyes on him, and he tenses. “I’m staying, Jon.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Then talk to him.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be involved in Institute business.”

Georgie hesitates, and Jon finally looks up at her. He’s careful not to make eye contact. It’s alright, he wants to say, you don’t have to stay – but he can’t.

“…anyone who doesn’t want to be a part of it, they can…” Jon says instead, faltering when he can’t find a good way to express the rest.

Back to the charades, I suppose, he thinks sullenly. He holds one hand out and walks the middle and index finger of his other hand across his upturned palm.

“Jon, why are you –” Georgie cuts herself off with a short exhale. “Do you want me to stay?”

Jon bites his lip. “Probably putting you in danger.”

“Yeah, probably, but that’s not the question I asked.” She sighs when she sees Jon’s puzzled expression. “Look, the only way I can think to approach all of… this is to break it into smaller pieces. It doesn’t mean I’m committing to anything else, it doesn’t mean that I can’t change my mind, it doesn’t mean that I can’t walk away later or set more boundaries. I’m not asking whether I should stay, and I’m not offering to get involved indefinitely or unconditionally. Right this moment, all I’m asking is whether you want me to physically leave this room for now and come back later.”

For a few minutes, Jon says nothing. If the question had been whether it’s safe to be near him, she already knows that his answer would be an emphatic no. Unlike him, Georgie knows when to cut her losses and leave. It would be condescending to assume that she needs him to protect her from her own choices, especially considering how, of the two of them, she’s the one who actually has a self-preservation instinct. She doesn’t have a choice, really. She can’t feel fear – one of the most basic survival tools – and as a result, she has to evaluate her circumstances much more constantly and painstakingly than others.

It must be exhausting, Jon thinks to himself. He knows what hypervigilance is like. Even if Georgie can’t experience the fear that goes along with it, it probably still saps her energy in much the same way.

He tries to force himself back on track. The question: Does he want her to physically leave in this moment?

No. He really, really doesn’t.

Jon closes his eyes, and Naomi’s statement is the first thing his mind touches: “Could you stay please?”

“Okay.” Georgie looks at Basira. “I’m staying.”

Jon feels some of the tension leave his shoulders, but he can’t help feeling selfish.

“Are you really okay with that?” Basira says, eyeing Jon. He can detect the unspoken question: You know what I’m going to ask. Do you really want her to hear the answer?

He does. Georgie deserves to know. They all do. What he doesn’t want is to hear what she has to say to him after the truth comes out.

But he nods anyway.

“Fine. What are you?” Basira says without preamble.

“’Are you secretly a monster?’ probably would have been a great opener,” Jon says acidly.

He flinches as the words leave his mouth. They were Sasha’s once – the real Sasha – said with a hint of playfulness, but now they just sound bitter. He’s fully aware that he has an overflowing stock of resentment bottled up inside him, hidden somewhere deep underneath all the layers of guilt and grief and self-loathing, but he wasn’t expecting the vitriol to slip out quite so easily. And he really, really can’t afford to start burning bridges, especially so early on.

But Basira seems unruffled.

“Alright,” she says with a shrug. “Are you?”

It’s complicated, he does not say.

When he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, the movement jostles the hospital bracelet affixed to it, catching his eye. He brings his hand back down and stares at it, hanging loosely from his wrist. He’s always been scrawny, but his arms look thinner than usual. Fragile. With a pang, he notices the scarring on his wrists, left there from where the ropes cut into him during his month in captivity with the Circus. By the time the world ended, they had faded somewhat. As they are now, they’re impossible to miss.

SIMS, JONATHAN, the wristband reads. Date of birth. Sex. Blood type. Patient identification number. Barcode. An allergy alert: amoxicillin.

Is he even still human enough for an allergic reaction to pose a threat? He could Know, he supposes, but –

“Jon?” Basira prompts.

He sighs, closes his eyes, and consults the Archive once again.

“It seemed almost human, from a distance, but as it got closer, I saw that it was –”

Jon quickly skims through statements looking for an appropriate fragment.

“…some newly-birthed monster,” he settles on. It’s blunt, and a bit petulant, but he may as well be honest. He resigns himself to whatever comes next.

Martin would have hated to hear him think like this.

Martin’s not here, some destructive, cruel part of his mind supplies.

“Why are you talking like that?” There’s the faintest tinge of aggravation in Basira’s tone now.

Before Jon can answer, Georgie gives him a skeptical, almost chiding look. “I doubt it's that simple, Jon. Why don’t you try that again?”

“I could see myself becoming one of those people and I fought very hard against the feeling of wrongness that seemed to be trying to worm itself into my mind,” he amends. Better. Probably more accurate, if he’s being kind to himself. (He’s rarely kind to himself.)

“That sounds more constructive than just giving up and deciding you’re a monster,” Georgie says.

She still seems baffled by the unusual quality of his speech, but he can tell she’s trying not to draw attention to it. Probably thinks it’s some neurological aftereffect of the coma. Not-coma. Whatever.

Who is he kidding? Georgie is sharp. She knows this is some supernatural nonsense – and there’s a simple, straightforward way to confirm it for her.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be the same person I was before.”

“I think that could be said of anyone. We all change from moment to moment, and – wait.” Georgie gives him a shrewd look as she registers the cadence with which he speaks. It’s undeniably familiar, but it’s not him. It’s his voice, but those aren’t his words. “Jon, was that my…”

“Statement – regarding the last words of a possible corpse,” Jon says wearily.

“Jon,” Basira says, her eyes widening just barely, “are you quoting statements?”

“The words repeated, as though on a recorded loop.” He gives an affirmative nod, just in case the words are unclear – which is often the case.

“Care to explain why?”

“I started to say something – but my voice died in my throat,” he says.

Then, changing tack: “…but it – it didn’t seem to be working right; all I could hear from it was the – faint noise of static, and…”

They probably don’t care how it feels, though, do they? They just want to know what it makes him now. His hands flutter in agitation as he tries to redirect, mind racing to find another statement.

“Okay, alright, I get the gist,” Basira says. There is a long, considering pause. “Can you just… write it down?”

The simple answer is no, but the easiest way to make them understand is with a demonstration. He holds one palm flat and with the other hand mimics writing on it.

Reaching into her bag, Basira produces a small notepad with a pen stuffed into the wire spiral binding. Jon pulls the pen out, rips the cap off with his teeth, and –

“Seriously, Jon?” Basira complains.

“Honestly, Basira, what did you expect?” Georgie snorts. “You can’t tell me Jon’s desk isn’t a graveyard of gnawed-up pens.”

Jon manages a tiny smirk at that. Most people were well-acquainted with his treatment of writing utensils after the first week of working alongside him. It had quickly become an office joke. About a month into his tenure as Head Archivist, he’d managed to chomp down on an exploded ballpoint pen. Tim had found him at the bathroom sink twenty minutes later, still trying to get the ink off his face and hands – and, of course, never let him live it down.

Well, until Jon burned the bridge between them, anyway. The good-humored ribbing and inside jokes gradually dwindled away, only to be replaced with corrosive distrust and resentment.

Jon’s smile fades just as rapidly as it had appeared. He flips to an empty page of the notebook.

He sets out with the intention to write a sentence of his own: Regardless of the mode of communication – verbal, written, sign – I can only borrow from statements.

It sounds too stiff, too academic, but it doesn’t matter. The moment the tip of the pen touches paper, Jon’s hand seizes. The tape recorder underneath the bed emits a brief crackle. When Jon tries to press down and begin writing, his fingers and wrist start convulsively twitching. A scalding pain starts to seep through his fingers and crawl up his arm, the recorder’s static oscillating along in time with the throbbing. When it upsweeps into a shrill screech, Georgie starts.

“Jon –”

Picking the pen up off the page, Jon holds up one trembling finger: Wait.

With a pained hiss, he shakes his hand out until the ache recedes. When he starts writing this time, it’s with the intention of reproducing a verbatim line from the statement of Jane Prentiss, regarding a wasps’ nest in her attic: I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand.

The words flow easily. The handwriting is a nearly illegible scrawl, but that has nothing to do with the Archive. Jon has always had poor handwriting, and it’s only gotten worse since his encounter with Jude. While his dominant hand is still usable, the burn scar contracture still affects his mobility and coordination to some extent.

He’s tried grabbing individual words from statements to piece together a novel sentence before, but just like speaking a single word in isolation replays every instance of it recorded in the Archive and leaves him reeling in the aftermath, trying to write a standalone word is risky. When he writes a word with the express intention of removing it from the context of a statement, every occurrence of the word floods him all at once. The force of it always overwhelms him before he can even start on the next word in his intended sentence. Usually he ends up dropping his writing utensil. Sometimes he passes out. Always it’s unpleasant.

It’s as if whatever power is enforcing the rules knows when he’s trying to bend them. Or Knows, more likely. Assuming he can assign self-awareness to the Ceaseless Watcher, that is.

Stop, he tells his wayward brain. Stay on task.

He shoves the pen back into the notebook’s spiral binding and hands it back to Basira, who returns it to her bag. The cap he keeps for himself, rolling it between his fingers now.

“What about BSL?” Georgie suggests.

Jon shakes his head no.

“How do you know?” Basira asks.

There are two answers to that. The first is that he just Knows. The second is that he’s tried. Martin knows a limited amount of signs, but Jon’s hands never cooperated when he tried to copy Martin’s motions. His fingers never wanted to curl into the correct shapes, his joints would lock up, and subtle movements would turn into violent tremors. Once, in a fit of stubborn frustration, he kept pushing back against the thing controlling his body. His arms went limp and numb, and he couldn’t use them for hours after.

Simple nonverbal signals – nodding, shaking his head, giving a thumbs up – seem to be, for the most part, whitelisted. Most charades and expressionistic gestures will also pass through the Archive’s filter. Formalized signing, though, is usually blocked.

The deciding factors seem to be intentionality and whether or not an attempt at communication is deemed to fit the definition of formal language. Sign languages, systems of writing, spoken words – all off-limits unless being used to reproduce the Archive’s existing records. The more imprecise and abstract the attempted communication, though, the more likely it is to escape the Archive’s strict conceptualization of language.

He and Martin experimented a bit with illustration and found mixed success. It was difficult to ascertain any concrete limits. The more abstract the intended drawing, the more likely Jon was to be able to produce it – though it tended to leave him drained and with a splitting headache regardless of how successful the attempt was. It did seem as though the intent mattered more than the result – which was probably for the best. Jon was no more of an artist than he was a poet, and it showed.

Any time Jon tried to ask the Beholding for clarification on the rules governing his new-and-impaired communication abilities, it gave him nothing but static in return. They had to find things out mostly by trial-and-error.

Luckily for Jon, Martin is observant and intuitive when it comes to reading people, and he’s a poet with a mind for the abstract. He was usually able to interpret Jon’s meaning with alarming speed and precision, and whenever Jon grew frustrated with his inability to express himself in a way that felt right, Martin would pose yes-or-no questions to try to help him narrow it down. He would always keep going until Jon was satisfied that he was understood. Even when they were in disagreement.

But Martin isn’t here, Jon’s treacherous brain reminds him again.

“Let me guess,” Basira sighs. “You just know.”

Jon gives a tired shrug. Even if he could use his own words, he may have had the same response. He’s never managed to have a conversation about his ability to Know that didn’t leave him feeling defeated. Sometimes it doesn’t seem worth trying to explain.

“Alright,” Basira mutters to herself, rubbing her temples now. “This makes things more complicated.”

You think? Jon wants to snap, and he’s thankful that he can’t. It isn’t Basira’s fault; she doesn’t deserve his ire.

“So, what does this mean?” she continues.

“I often find myself locked in a sense of esoteric paralysis on how to proceed,” Jon quips, borrowing from Adelard Dekker this time. He wonders if Dekker would have tried to kill him on the spot. He wonders whether he would have been right to do so.

Georgie stifles a laugh. Jon can hear the relief coloring it, and one corner of his mouth twitches into a smile again. She’s intimately familiar with his ill-timed gallows humor, and the fact that he can still draw on it so readily is a good sign. Another small piece of evidence added to the Jonathan-Sims-isn’t-too-far-gone column. She wants to believe it’s still him, he Knows, and wants to believe that he can get better – but there’s still a tiny, nagging ghost of doubt somewhere deep in her mind. He doesn’t blame her for that.

Basira isn’t as amused.

“Jon,” she groans, “please be serious.”

“It was definitely human once I could see, as it grasped desperately” – a skip ahead – “it was trying to say: ‘I’m sorry.’”

“It’s fine, just…” She sighs. “Try to answer the question.”

Jon closes his eyes again, brow furrowing in concentration.

“…so aware of the position I’m in, and keen to use that power to actually help people.” Referencing Tova McHugh’s statement makes him nauseous – the hatred and disgust he felt the first time he read it was directed at himself as much as it was at her. But it’s a fair comparison, considering what he was doing back then. “I’m trying to do good,” he adds, and hopes it sounds more sincere than Tova’s flimsy rationalizations ever did.

As expected, Basira looks unconvinced.

“Look, Jon, a lot has happened –”

“He already knows,” Georgie interrupts. “We talked – in the dreams, you know.” Basira does know. “About Tim and Daisy and Martin. And… and Melanie. He’s the one who told me about the bullet.”

“I thought Melanie figured it out on her own.” Basira’s eyes narrow as she looks at Jon. “How did you –”

“He said he knows things because of the Eye.” Georgie gives him a look that he can’t quite parse. Sympathetic, maybe? An undercurrent of disappointment, but without accusation. Frustration, but not directed at him – rather, it’s for him, on his behalf. “And he said that when he woke up, he would explain everything where Elias couldn’t overhear, but…”

“Maybe somewhere in your library are the words to explain what happened,” Jon says, unable to mask his dejection. “I suppose I’ll just have to try.”

“Still want to wait and do it in the tunnels?” Georgie waits for Jon’s affirmative. “Fair enough. I brought you a change of clothes.” Jon gives her a questioning look. “I’ve, ah, been bringing a bag each time I visit for the last couple weeks, in case you woke up. Just some things you left at my flat. I couldn’t find any trousers, so I just grabbed a pair of my joggers – which are definitely too big for you, but it should be better than a hospital gown, at least.”

Jon feels a grateful smile tug at his lips. He didn’t expect this level of consideration, doesn’t deserve –

“We should probably wait until a doctor signs off on your release, though.” Georgie stands and starts to move towards the door. “I’ll go to the nurse’s station, and –”

Jon shakes his head. “I cannot imagine what they would have thought of a person who could not die.”

“Well, you can’t just walk out of here. I don’t care how inhuman you think you are, you still need to be cleared for discharge.”

“I’ve no interest in becoming a resident medical marvel.”

It’s a hollow excuse. The first time around, the hospital staff couldn’t wait to rush him out the door. He doubts they’d ever processed a discharge so quickly before or since.

“Just stay here.” He’s halfway to ripping off his ECG sensors when she shoots him a stern warning glare. “Leave them.”

Jon responds with a peevish huff. Those sensors haven’t been connected to anything since the first week he was here. No one wanted to hear the incessant flatline, and –

Suddenly, he Knows all about the heated argument that was had regarding his DNR status. He had no next-of-kin to consult, so they were hesitant to mark him as DNR in advance. That meant that, since he was unresponsive – and his case was so unprecedented as to make any speculation regarding an outcome impossible – they should have been trying to resuscitate him. But they’d already tried that, and the consensus was that he should have been declared dead by the first responders. (Rumor was that his boss of all people had managed to convince them to bring him to the hospital for treatment instead.)

Under normal circumstances they would have declared time of death several times over by now and moved him to the morgue – except that brain death hadn’t occurred, and it didn’t seem like the absence of a pulse or respiration was having any effect on that in the slightest. Didn’t that render the entire discussion altogether moot?

And then Jon Knows how the only reason he was admitted in the first place is because Elias had a brief chat with the director of the hospital. He was, as always, very persuasive.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Georgie says when she hears Jon sigh. She stops at the threshold and looks back at him again just as he starts fiddling with IV cannula in the crook of his arm. He freezes and folds his hands in his lap, like a toddler caught reaching for the cookie jar. “Jonathan Sims, you’d better still be in bed when I come back.”

Jon rolls his eyes, but stays put. As Georgie leaves the room, Basira lets out a soft chuckle.

“No wonder she and Melanie get along so well.”

Jon refocuses at the mention of Melanie’s name. He makes a circular motion with one hand: Go on. When Basira gives him a blank look, he has a quick rummage through his catalog.

“– see any obvious signs of previous slaughter.” Trevor Herbert’s statement leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, but given Basira’s expression, it seems to have gotten his point across.

“Oh, the bullet?” Jon gives an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah, we, uh… we removed it. Melanie was reluctant at first, but I guess Georgie won her over. She’s… recovering. Physically, at least. She’s still angry, but not like before. Mostly, she just seems lost. And…”

Basira hesitates.

“…whatever protection it might have afforded you is severed.”

“Don’t read my mind, Jon,” Basira snaps.

Jon shakes his head: I didn’t.

“Whatever.” She drops into the chair next to his bed. He can see the fatigue in the way her shoulders slump. Basira has always had excellent posture, but right now, she looks ready to crumple. “Brought you a statement, by the way. If you want a fix before we leave.”

Something famished and greedy rears up inside him. It’s only with some difficulty that he manages to force it back. He can feel Basira watching him intently, and he avoids meeting her gaze.

“Well? Do you want it or not? You have that hungry look to you.”

Involuntarily, Jon’s eyes flick to Basira’s bag. He squeezes them shut again, shaking his head.

“Hm.”

Jon opens one eye and chances a glimpse of Basira. Her poker face is as flawless as always.

It’s stale anyway, he tells the persistent thing inside him. You’ve already got that one. Just pull it up and reread it if you want it so badly.

It continues scratching at the door.

Can’t you just be satisfied with Oliver’s statement and go back to lurking?

He isn’t sure why he’s acting like the craving belongs to something other. The Archivist, the Archive – they’re both him, even if they feel distinct from the human he used to be. It just helps sometimes, to talk to those parts of himself as if they’re backseat drivers. He used to do the same thing to his intrusive thoughts, back when he was still his own person. It wasn’t difficult to adapt his inner monologue to apply it to the Eye’s influence, even if it is ultimately a self-delusion.

The door opens and Georgie is back. The nurse trailing behind her looks like she would rather be literally anywhere else.

Here we go, Jon thinks sourly.

The hospital staff are clearly out of their depth. As it turns out, a rotating cast of specialists have been overseeing his case through the months, but it seems each of them did so for only as long as it took to hand him off to the next unlucky person in line.

Once he’s disconnected from all the (mostly inoperative) sensors and monitors, a nurse – he drew the short straw, Jon Knows – goes through the motions of taking his vitals a final time. Jon does him the courtesy of keeping his eyes lowered and tries to ignore the way the man avoids turning his back. He does not speak except to give short instructions – sit up, lay back, hold your arm out straight, take a deep breath – and Jon obeys without saying anything in return.

The current attending physician on duty makes only a cursory show of evaluating his condition. During the brief neurological assessment, she makes no comment on the fact that Jon hasn’t verbally answered any questions or even said a word. She’s barely there for twenty minutes before announcing that she should go work on his discharge papers.

“Shouldn’t he have a treatment plan?” Georgie tries. “Or – or referrals for follow-up, or something?”

“I, ah, have to discuss things with his treatment team,” the doctor says, already halfway out the door.

She doesn’t, Jon Knows. He hasn’t had a treatment team since the first month he was admitted.

“This is ridiculous,” Georgie mutters as the door closes.

Jon reaches out to touch her arm, and shakes his head when she looks at him.

“It is. It’s unprofessional.”

“Understandably, I think – it was entirely my own fault.”

“Stop that. You’re still a patient, you deserve some sort of – continuity of care.” When Jon chuckles, Georgie shoots him an indignant look. “What? You do.”

Now that there are no lines restricting his movement, he’s finally able to stretch properly. Doing so yields a series of devastating cracks and pops from his joints, and Georgie gives him a horrified look. He just raises his eyebrows at her: What?

When he sidles to the edge of the bed and puts his feet on the floor, Georgie stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to stand?”

No, he’s not, but if he has to sit here a moment longer he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Predictably enough, he does have trouble standing on his own at first, but Georgie has no problem supporting his weight. Even when they were dating, she probably could have picked him up if he’d let her, and he weighs even less now. The bathroom is small, and he waves her off when she offers to help him dress. She hasn’t seen the extent of the scarring on his body, and he’d rather her not. Once he demonstrates his ability to stand using the handrail, she agrees to wait outside, but she stands near the door just in case.

Jon shouldn’t be able to stand at all, this soon after waking up from a six-month coma. He should have more muscle atrophy. He should need extensive physical rehab. He should still be in bed. Hell, he should probably be in some research facility somewhere, being poked and prodded and tested every which way.

He keeps waiting for the moment Georgie decides it’s all too much, tells him to take care of himself, and leaves.

Although he’s been here before and he knows what to expect, he still has to brace himself before looking at his reflection in the mirror. He’s haggard. Gaunt. His hair isn’t as long as it was where – when – he came from, only barely touching his shoulders now. It needs a wash. The burn on his hand is mostly but not yet fully healed. Same familiar dark circles under his eyes, same familiar speckling of shiny, pockmarked worm scars. His ribs are visible, and – he’s hit with a bolt of panic in the split second before he remembers that, yes, twelve pairs of ribs is the normal amount that he should have. Hopefully this time he can keep all of them.

The eyes staring back at him – only two – are still his own for now, back to the deep brown they’d been for most of his life before the Archive claimed its place. But he can see something sinister skulking behind them even now, and he knows that everyone else will be able to see it, too.

When he emerges from the bathroom dressed in a What the Ghost hoodie two sizes too big and practically swimming in a pair of Georgie’s joggers, he’s surprised to see that she’s still here. That she hasn’t changed her mind and written him off yet.

“Better?” she asks, and he nods appreciatively, if a bit timidly. “Sorry it’s not more your size.”

Jon doesn’t care. He hasn’t been this comfortable in… well, he doesn’t feel like calculating the time frame of the apocalypse. He doesn’t wait for the Beholding’s disapproval to hit him before he sends it a silent rebuff. At this point, it’s just reflex.

“I found you a wheelchair,” Basira says from across the room. “Just in case you need it.”

As she gives him a measured look, he feels like he’s being tested. It makes sense. The speedier his recovery, the less human he seems. But he isn’t going to feign infirmity. They deserve the truth from him.

There is a familiar dull ache in his bad leg, though. He could do with a cane, but his should be in his office about this time, and he doesn’t want Georgie to have to support half his weight until he has a chance to retrieve it.

“Well?”

He wavers a moment longer, then nods an affirmative and has a seat.

Just then, the door opens and a nurse enters, a new one this time. Jon makes the mistake of looking up, and when their eyes meet, he Knows that she has a statement for him.

The sound he makes as he claps his hands over his eyes is something like a strangled, panicked whimper.

“Jon?” Georgie places a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, um… sorry if I startled you, uh – Mr. Sims. I have some paperwork here, we just need some signatures before you –”

When she was nine years old, she was playing with friends in a drainage ditch. It was nearly dusk when they dared her to enter the tunnel, but she always was the bravest of them. She –

Jon digs the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees sparks, rocking back and forth slightly to distract himself from the compulsion snaking its roots through his thoughts.

– spent days wandering the gloom, and all the while, the frantic calls of the search parties echoed off the walls. Whenever she tried to call out a response, it would tighten its grip on her ankle: that warbling, mangled, broken-jawed thing with the –

“Leave them here,” Basira says curtly, crossing the room in a few long strides. “I’ll bring them to you when we’re finished.”

Jon can see the shape of the statement in her thoughts, but it’s not enough. He needs her story. She needs to tell it in her own words. She has to walk through that tunnel again, relive every twist and turn and shade of terror, and he has to experience it alongside her, all eyes –

“O-okay,” the nurse stammers, “I just – I thought I saw –”

– a second shadow, starkly visible even in the deepest dark, all dislocated joints and distorted –

Basira shuts the door on her mid-sentence and turns to face Jon.

“Jon. What was that?”

“…you’re not going to give the Watcher a statement,” he says, panting shallowly, hands still pressed to his eyelids. “You’re better than that.”

He isn’t sure whether he’s saying it for himself or for Basira. Both, maybe.

“She… has a statement?” Jon nods. “And you could tell just by looking at her?” Another nod. “That’s… hmm.”

“I could hear in her voice that she was afraid of him.” His elbows dig bruises into his thighs as he leans forward and draws his shoulders in tighter. “I was, too.”

“Does covering your eyes actually help?” Georgie asks, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. An attempt at grounding him. It helps.

“…it was enough to ease the relentless pressure,” he says, “if only a little bit.”

Jon pauses for a moment as he selects another statement.

“…wear a cloth across his face – hold my hand in front of my eyes –”

“Oh,” Georgie says, understanding. “Hang on.”

She withdraws her hand, but Jon can still feel her standing over him. A few moments later something is being lowered over his face and he goes rigid.

“It’s just my scarf, Jon. I thought we could use it as a blindfold.” Jon signals assent. “Okay. You can put your hands down now. Just keep your eyes closed.”

He waits patiently while she ties the scarf off at the back of his head and adjusts it, ensuring that it covers his eyes completely.

“Better?”

Jon lets out a shaky breath and nods. It’s a lengthy scarf and one end sits in his lap. He takes it in his hands and runs his fingers over the fabric: a nice texture, soft and warm and comforting. He wonders if – no, Knows now – Georgie knitted it herself.

For a few moments the room is quiet but for the scratching of pen on paper as Basira forges Jon’s signature on the paperwork.

“I’ll go hand this over and then we can get out of here,” she says brusquely. “Don’t take off the blindfold until we’re back in the Archives.”

Jon wasn’t planning on it.

End Notes:

Finished this chapter earlier than I expected. Not sure when the next one will be ready, hopefully sometime next weekend.

SO. A lot of exposition in this one, but I wanted to try to give a general outline of how Jon's statement-speak works, what limitations he's working with, and what loopholes he's already tried (and failed) to exploit.

Jon's verbal dialogue in this chapter was taken from statements in the following episodes, in order: MAG 019; 141; 112; 013; 026; 047; 115; 054; 094 (x2); 036; 054; 125; 032 (written not verbal); 156; 123; 155; 021; 064; 029; 010; 139; 042; 151; 125; 097; 099.

I realize that's... a lot of citations, so if you don't feel like scrolling and counting but you want to know what episode a specific line comes from, feel free to ask and I can tell you, lol.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonathan sims #georgie barker #basira hussain #tma spoilers

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