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everybodyknows-everybodydies · 4 years ago

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"carter's master plan??" "CORDANO MOC AU??"

YES HI HELLO THANK YOU

Carter’s Master Plan

the short version: “The Good Place” AU where I once again appeal to an audience of only me by having my train wreck OT3 be endgame.

THE LONG VERSION HOWEVER. picture this: instead of going into medicine, a young Robert Romano decides to pursue his dream of being a world-famous chef instead. what consequences does this have, you may or may not ask? I WILL ANSWER REGARDLESS: Elizabeth never leaves England, never ends up in Chicago. Mark dies having unsuccessfully attempted to reconnect with Jen. SOMEHOW EVERYONE ENDS UP DEAD THEY’RE NOT CLEAR ON ALL THE HOWS YET BUT IT’S THE AFTERLIFE AND NOBODY KNOWS EACH OTHER. also Carter is there as “the Architect,” with help from the most powerful not-a-robot in the universe, a stolen Good Kerry. (yes this does imply the existence of Bad Kerry. yes I am going to squeeze all the inherent hilarity I can out of that concept.) Romano is aware he’s in the so-called “Good Place” on some kind of cosmic clerical error, which seems like it should be painfully obvious to everyone else. luckily his roommates are The Most Genuinely Good Man No Longer Alive and The World’s Stubbornest Brit. (also Romano still loses his arm in a traumatic fashion because that’s important to me.)

and just for fun AN EXCERPT:

Say something else, good grief. He can hear Doug teasing him. Always such a smooth talker, aren’t you. That’s my guy. “Uh, I thought we made a good team. Dr. Greene and Dr. Corday,” he adds, wishing desperately that the whole dying thing had given him any better way to make small talk. “Sounds… good?”

She snorts. “Dr. Corday?” she echoes. “Oh—that’s right, I always forget you give your surgeons that title.”

“You don’t?” He gets ahead of her with a couple of longer strides to grab the door, pushing it open.

“Gentlemanly,” she nods as she brushes past. “No. It’s … reserved for more junior members of the staff. Or GPs.”

“So you’d be—?” He stops, waiting expectantly, the door closing behind them.

“Miss Corday.” Fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater, she doesn’t look up, focus intense. It’s—sweet. Her expression is almost the same as it had been when she was rearranging the badly-imagined bones of strangers. An odd relief loosens his shoulders. It feels a lot safer to look at her now that he doesn’t risk being subject to that same scrutiny. “Although if I had been working with you in Chicago I imagine I’d have to have got used to being called Dr. Corday.”

He feels his mouth twitch curiously. “Huh. Why is that? The title difference, I mean.”

“Homage to our great and noble predecessors, the barber surgeons,” she says breezily, finally plucking the thread free and holding it up in triumph. “Objectively, yes, it’s a bit silly, but I did work very hard to be called ‘miss,’ so there’s a certain pride one takes regardless of—”

“Wait, wait, barber surgeons? Can we back up there?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Are you asking me for a history lesson?”

“No, I just want some elaboration on the idea of barber surgeons,” he moves past her to get to the living room, plopping down on the couch. “Do you have to double-major in premed and cosmetology?”

Her laugh is sudden and bright, and she sits next to him, grinning. “No! Why, do you need someone to trim your hair?”

“Maybe, if you’re also a barber.”

Cordano MoC AU

the short version: an improbable and contrived application of an already improbable and contrived trope... the green-card marriage. also eventual endgame OT3 because again, I Am My Own Primary Audience what can I say!!

(alternate short version: Romano: I don’t like lying >:( also Romano: FAKE MARRIED ISN’T LYING IF UR ACTUALLY IN LOVE)

the long version: “so,” says Elizabeth in an extremely casual and not-at-all desperate I Refuse To Go Home kind of way, “marriage fraud. that sure is. a crime. which is terrible.” WHY RELY ON THE CLEARLY UNDEPENDABLE WHIMS OF A WORK VISA WHEN YOU CAN SPEND A COUPLE YEARS ~LIVING IN MARITAL UNION~ AND GET CITIZENSHIP, I say, as the (not-actually-present) narrator. are there easier ways to go about that process? probably. DO ANY OF THEM FULFILL MY SPECIFIC NEEDS OF FORCING CHARACTERS TO TALK TO EACH OTHER. NO THEY DO NOT.

Romano finds out this is actually on the table and is like “oh oops that’s embarrassing maybe I should not have pitched a hissyfit and terminated your fellowship because I was sad you liked Peter better than me” but it comes out more like “u need a guy…I’m a guy… I could be UR guy...” SHENANIGANS ENSUE. also Elizabeth and Gretel are immediate bffs because Gretel Is A Good Dog and I say so.

Susan is there too because I REQUIRE Susan & Elizabeth being buddies and who better to give me the content I crave than me myself? this also means EVEN MORE SHENANIGANS as Susan designates herself wingwoman.

AND AN EXCERPT AGAIN FOR FUN:

“I’ll have you know I’m a great catch, Lizzie. Any woman would be lucky to have me. Are you done reinforcing Gretel’s love of jumping on people that I have spent, oh, several weeks trying to discourage?”

“You’d really say no to this face?” Elizabeth looks up with a grin, Gretel turning her head exactly on cue and thumping her tail against the ground.

“You’ve been here two minutes and you’re already teaching my dog bad habits,” he gripes.

“Oh, shut up, she’s clearly a very good girl. Aren’t you? Yes, you!” The dog’s tail excitedly picks up speed again.

Romano huffs. “Stop that, it’s her bedtime. You can’t get her wound up before bed.”

“Please tell me you tuck her in,” she says gleefully, finally extricating her hands from Gretel’s thick fur to follow him inside. “Why didn’t I know you had a dog before?”

“Family and pets.” He waves a hand dismissively as he shuts the door back behind them. Gretel trots off to sniff at a spot on the hardwood floor a little down the hall. “Obvious boring personal information; you don’t bring it into the workplace.”

“No,” she tilts her head pointedly, “why didn’t I know?”

He stops, looks back at her. “Just never came up, I guess,” he says at last, quiet.

#writing tag #Mouse talks!#Lizzie and the Bald Boys #long post #SORRY YEAH IT'S LONG I GOT EXCITED #waterloo-kitchener

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brekkerzkazz · 5 years ago

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hey hey, it’s a fic!

my good friend @thatsmyhyde has some boys. they’re wonderful, i love them, and he gave me permission to borrow them?! for a whole fic?!?! wow. love him. the fic itself is under the cut!

Snow did not come often to the house outside of London, but when it did it came in full force, coating the yard and the roof and the chimney in white. The chill was harsh and nipped the stubbornest leaves from their places on the bare skeleton trees.

A roaring fire in the fireplace, fresh-baked bread, and of course the pleasant company in the house kept its residents warm, but it could not stop the fearful chill that settled round Gabriel Utterson’s heart when he found his charge was not in bed, nowhere to be seen around the house—that chill that only worsened when he found small bare-feet footprints in the snow outside.

Immediately he flew into a panic. Another of his walks to London, his flights back to his home that always ended in pain. There was nothing he had done that could stop him, and no matter how he worried, at least once a month he would wander off, often barefoot, often in the middle of the night, in one of those awful futile attempts to go home. More often than not he would end up at his bedside comforting him, keeping a careful watch to make sure that he managed to fall asleep.

He was already sickly. If he was outside in the frigid cold…

It took barely a moment for him to prepare for the chill, finding his overcoat and hat at the ready and a sturdy pair of boots near the door. He quickly found his way through the blinding snow that stung his eyes, but it was still difficult for him—but finally, he spotted a tiny figure wandering aimlessly through the storm.

“Edward!” he called, holding his hand just over his eyes to keep out the snow. “Edward, come back here!”

The figure stopped, swaying there for a moment before collapsing. The chill in his heart seized up, and he ran forward to try and catch him.

In the snow, shivering—he wasn’t even wearing a coat, he wasn’t even wearing shoes—lay Edward Hyde, his charge, hair soaked from the snow, eyelids fluttering. With careful hands he lifted Edward into his arms, feeling that same chill as he felt just moments before as he noticed just how cold he was. As he walked back to the house, the limp figure in his arms stirred to curl up closer against his chest.

The trek back to the house seemed to take far longer. As soon as they were inside, Gabriel flew to action, ordering the servants to draw a hot bath and start preparing something warm to eat. He carried Edward as quickly as he could up to the bedrooms, holding him to his chest to warm him up. The heat of the house seemed to do him at least a bit of good, and he stirred once again in Gabriel’s arms to clutch at the fabric of his shirt with both small hands. His heart wrenched when he saw how frostbitten and raw Edward’s hands were. The cold had done him no good, to be sure.

Laying him gently on the bed, he pulled out the blankets from the cabinet nearest the bed and began to undress him, wincing at the soaking wet clothing which had practically frozen to his skin. With cautious hands he wrapped him back up in the blankets, careful with the frostbitten and abraded areas of his body.

In a few moments he awoke, his eyelids fluttering for a moment before he fully awakened. “Where are we?” he asked, voice raspy and abrasive. “What’s happening? Did we get to London?”

Gabriel’s heart sank. “No, little one, we did not,” he said gently, ruffling his hair. “It was snowing, you were half-dead. You weren’t even wearing a coat or shoes… what on earth did you think you were doing?”

“I wanted to go back,” he said carefully, nuzzling up to Gabriel and pulling the blankets around himself. He was still very cold, and his skin was altogether burnt red and a frigid purple-blue that was likely as painful to feel as to look at, but he was alive. Thank god, he was alive, and that was what mattered.

“You know we talked about this, Edward,” he chastised, smoothing out his hair with a gentle hand. Edward shivered, curling up close to Gabriel and pulling in close to him, wrapping both arms around himself tightly. “You can’t go out in the cold without a coat—especially not without shoes. You know what’s happened to you before. The snow does awful things to you, you’re not built to go outside in the cold—”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Edward mumbled, but he still looked upset.

“Yes, I can,” Gabriel said sharply. “You are sick now, are you not? All because you went outside again.”

“’M not sick,” Edward said, and sneezed. He wiped at his nose with the blanket and then promptly began chewing on a corner of it, his hands still slightly shaky.

“Yes, you are, Edward,” Gabriel said with a sigh. He looked over him—he was still shivering, and his hair was tangled from the wind and snow, but he was alive. He just had to keep telling himself—he was alive. He was safe. Almost automatically he picked up the brush which sat by the side of his bed and started to brush out the tangles.

“Mm.” Edward shivered, wriggling away from the touch. “Hurts.”

“It’s not meant to feel nice. I’m going to tidy you up and you’re going to like it.” He watched Edward wiggle away for a moment longer before just relaxing, allowing Gabriel to brush out his hair without any more struggling or pulling away.

In a short while he had managed to tidy Edward up quite a bit. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

“Mm.” This being the only reply, Gabriel merely sighed and put away the brush. A servant stepped in, gently knocking on the door first.

“The bath is ready,” she said. “If you would like to bring young master in now?”

“Thank you,” he replied, picking Edward up, blankets and all. He struggled a bit at first, but eventually he once again relaxed into Gabriel’s arms. Once they’d made their way to the bath, he unwrapped Edward from the blankets and gently placed him into the bath.

“Ow.” He winced at the heat, and Gabriel sighed.

“You really must take care of yourself. No more running about outside in the cold without shoes, no more of… whatever you think you’re doing when you get into fights with the cats. I don’t want to have to confine you to the house, but to be quite honest if you do it again I will have to.”

Edward pouted, turning away from him in the tub and managing to splash him with water at the same time. Gabriel let out a long-suffering sigh and prepared the towel, getting ready for the excruciating process of getting Edward out of the tub.

A good deal of water on his clothes later, he had finally managed to dry him and dress him in new, dry clothes, including a warm fur which he immediately began to pet as if it were a real animal. He carried him downstairs to the table, where the servants had just finished setting out something warm and soft—a glass of warm milk and something that most likely had once been bread—for Edward to eat.

“There. Warm up. After this we’ll go sit by the fire.”

With no small amount of reluctance, he began to eat, only taking small bites. After a long while spent sitting in relative silence with the only sound being Edward, chewing alternatively on the bread and his sleeve, he was finished—or as finished as he really could be, considering the amount of food he was even capable of eating.

“There we are, little one. Come on now, come sit by the fire.” He guided Edward back towards the fire, sitting him down on the rug and draping another blanket over his shoulders. “There you are. There’s a dear. All nice and cozy.”

Edward leaned down next to him, looking very comfortable. “Can you read to me?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” he said, standing up and hovering beside the bookshelf for a moment. “Let me see, what would you like me to read? I think I have a few novels somewhere…” He dug through the stuffy old stacks of books, eventually landing on a novel and picking it up, rejoining Edward beside the fire and starting to read.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.”

Immediately after this, Edward frowned. “That’s wrong.”

Gabriel sighed. “This was written nearly eighty years ago, dear. Don’t worry about the content of the story, just listen and try to fall asleep.”

As the night drew on, Edward fell asleep on his shoulder, curled up in his lap. Slowly, he got up, picking up his little charge and setting him back down in bed. He would have left him there, but Edward clung to him tightly, and he sighed, laying down beside him in bed. It took quite some time, but eventually, he too managed to fall asleep.

#thatsmyhyde #leo writes #it's my boy!!#such good boys

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philosopherking1887 · 6 years ago

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I started writing this little minific not that long after Infinity War came out; it was, and still is, to be my only acknowledgment of Infinity War as canon. The first line was really the seed. I’d been seeing way too much Team Cap propaganda regarding Civil War and I wanted Steve to admit *he* was wrong, for a change (he’s really the one who has a problem with that, not Tony).

5/11/19: I just dug this out of my drafts folder. I still haven’t seen Endgame and I probably won’t until it shows up on the in-seat entertainment system of a plane I’m on. I don’t know if this is in any way compatible with it and I don’t really care. I think I wanted to wrap it up in a more satisfying way but I can’t really think how, and there’s no point in sitting on it any longer, so here it is.

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

“Tony was right.”

It was the first thing Steve had said since they---the original Avengers, plus Rhodey, who had been War Machine since before the Avengers existed---had gathered under the trees where Vision’s lifeless body still lay. Of him, at least, we have something to bury.

“About the alien threat?” Natasha said carefully. “Steve, there was no way we could have prepared for this, no one could---”

“That we would lose,” Steve said---not cutting in, exactly, because the words were not sharp but dull and despondent, with a weight of inevitability. It was as if he was finishing a slow thought, and had not yet registered that Natasha had spoken.

He looked up at her and the hollowness in his eyes was startling. She had never seen him like this, without the determination and righteous anger that always seemed to fire him. There was nothing there but the crushing knowledge that they had failed---that he had failed. Arrogant bastard thinks it’s all on him, she thought wryly. And they call Stark the narcissist.

“I said ‘we’ll do that together, too,’" he continued, after a pause long enough that she wasn’t sure he would keep speaking. “But we didn’t.”

“That isn’t your fault,” Bruce said, trying awkwardly to be soothing. “He’s the one who was too proud to call.”

Steve shook his head; Natasha wasn’t sure if that was I can’t blame him or I’d have been no better or maybe even That’s as much my fault as his. “He sees things I don’t... and I see things he doesn’t. He should’ve been here... or I should have been there.” Wherever ‘there’ is.

“He’s just one man,” Bruce said.

“So am I. So are any of us... or one woman,” Steve amended, looking at Natasha. “Together we’re the Avengers. But not without Tony.”

“Clint is more of a spare wheel,” Natasha remarked. Rhodey gave a pained laugh and Bruce’s mouth twitched, seemingly in spite of himself. At least a few of them appreciated her gallows humor.

“Do you have a way to locate Stark?” Thor asked. “If so, I could go and retrieve him.” He hefted the enormous axe with which he had beamed in.

Rhodey shook his head. “He didn’t have a tracker on him that works that far out in space. Global positioning doesn’t do much good when you’re nowhere near the globe.”

“What does it matter?” Steve asked hopelessly. “It’s over.”

“It’s not over,” Rhodey insisted. “There’s half of the world still left, dealing with the fallout. They still need us.”

“They need the Avengers,” Steve said. Everyone filled in what he meant.

“In the meantime we’ll have to do,” Natasha said, a little sharply. Steve looked up, more past her than at her, and nodded, apparently chastened by her implicit Snap out of it. He tightened his lips and clenched his jaw, trying to summon the “stiff upper lip” that Peggy surely would have urged upon him.

Natasha softened. He’d been trying to hold it together through sheer stubbornness for about 7 years now. Who would have guessed that the shoulder he wanted to lean on when he finally allowed himself to fall apart would be Tony’s? “If he’s out there, he’ll find us,” she added.

“Tony’s the stubbornest bastard on earth--- in the universe, now,” Rhodey said, trying to sound more confident than he probably felt. “He escaped from a cave in Afghanistan in a flying tin can that he built from scraps under the terrorists’ noses. He’d never give up while he’s still alive... and even if--- even if he’s not, he would be sorely disappointed if we did.” He paused. “Nah, disappointed’s not his style. More like... incredulous. Contemptuous.”

“There is no greater shame than a fellow warrior’s contempt,” Thor said. His tone was entirely serious, but his mouth wasn’t quite.

“Very true,” Rhodey agreed, equally serious-unserious, while Bruce added, “Absolutely.”

Natasha looked at him. “I’ve been living with the Asgardians for a few months,” he said, almost apologetic. “A couple things may have sunk in.”

Steve nodded slowly, seeming to come back to himself a little. Natasha thought she glimpsed a spark of the old determination in his eye. Well, if it wasn’t a determination to stand up for the right and protect the innocent, a determination not to let Tony Stark think he’d fallen down on the job would have to do.

#stevetony-ish #superhusbands #kind of #you know i ship it #i haven't actually written any yet #infinity war fic #post infinity war #avengers minific #avengers ficlet #steve and tony #steve rogers and tony stark

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eliza-hamilton-holly · 6 years ago

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How do you feel about your dad? :)

Dear Anon,

By ‘dad’, I’m assuming you mean @alexanderhamiltonlive and not, in fact, my real life father. If you did mean my real life father, feel free to send another message and correct me, and I will answer accordingly.

Alexander Hamilton did some things that he should not be proud of, and most likely isn’t. However, I was not alive for the majority of those things, and I did not even hear about them until much later in my own life, from various siblings. I do not resent him for any of the things he did in our past life, aside from the things he did that hurt my mother. Please note that I have never, ever, by any account of anyone, heard my father physically hurt my mother. He is not like that. He did not lay a hand on any of us in a violent way to my recollection, though, I did hear from James and little Alex, that he spanked my brother James when he was four or five for spilling an entire vial of ink on the rug and all over the papers Father had been working on, but then Father felt so bad about the incident that he had cried for several hours, and never again, and never before, did any of us receive a physical punishment for anything.

As we know, my father died when I was quite young - four and a half years old - and that meant that I did not get to know him well. He did not get to see me grow up. I did not get to know him as an adult. Now that I know him in this life, he most likely doesn’t feel as connected to me as he does to my brothers that he knows now. I have never talked to Philip, but I am quite positive Father favours him, as he knew him far better than he ever knew me.

This isn’t to say that I don’t love my father dearly, though, because I do, and I know that he loves me. He’s a parent, so he won’t come out and say that he favours any of us, even though it’s true. He does love all of us very, very much, though, and of that, I have no doubt. He was always a very affectionate and outspoken man when it came to his family and those around him that he loved, and he still is.

My father is a great man, and has done many great things. He is kind, he is smart, he has a decent sense of humour, and he is very passionate about everything he does. He is also, most likely, the stubbornest person on this planet.

He’s a good man. He is not a bad person. Not inherently. He’s done some questionable things - even some in this life that I have heard about, or that I have seen happen, that have risen a few questions - but he is not a bad person in the slightest. He has done some rather controversial things in a past life, but most do not reflect on his character. He is a good person.

I enjoy talking to him. It is most certainly one of the highlights of my day, even if we only get to send a few messages back and forth. Our timezones conflict with one another, and I do work, as well as attend school, so messaging one another frequently doesn’t always work out.

I care for him deeply. When I don’t hear from him for a few days, I get worried. I fret over him constantly, and have to make sure he’s alright. I try to be there as much as I possibly can for him, because I do love him, and I would be devastated if something happened to him. When he is upset, I am upset, because I don’t want him to be upset.

I have always been a very empathetic and more maternal person, and, especially because I love him so much, it tends to show between the two of us. I think that sometimes I annoy him by checking in to make sure he’s alright all of the time, but I think he knows that I mean well by it.

He is very different than what I had imagined him to be, but at the same time, not different at all. I never got the chance to properly know him, so all I had to go off of were stories, and stories, especially from people who love the main character, are not always the most accurate account. He was, to say the very least, glorified, and wiped of some of his most human traits, so meeting him in this life, and seeing him as a human, who has flaws like any other human, was a bit odd. However, I have grown to accept that he is a real person, who does things that real people do, and I love him nonetheless for it.

He is a very wonderful man, and he does not deserve the rude things that people say to him. He is kind, compassionate, gentle, and a huge sweetheart when the situation is appropriate.

To summarize; I love my father dearly. He means the world to me, and I would be very sad if we no longer talked. Messaging back and forth with him is one of the highlights of my day. This being said, though, I know that he prefers other people to me, as he has the right to and probably should, and some of the things I have heard of him doing make me see him as a human, rather than some god of a person who can do no wrong. I, personally, think that he is a wonderful person, and I enjoy his company.

He is a human, he has flaws, but I love him, flaws and all.

Sincerely,

Eliza Hamilton Holly

#alexander hamilton is a good man and a good father #even if he has done some things that I disagree with I still love him #he's a good person

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xxthewolvenstormxx · 6 years ago

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The Burnt World - Chapter 7 - Unburnt

Into the Fire - Erin McCarley

Excerpt:

“And what say you…Breaker of Chains? How do you permit a slaver into your service?”

She folds the paper back on its creases and returns it to Lyanna. “Jorah Mormont, sold two poachers into slavery to earn his exile, And while in my service he freed thousands.”

The young woman opens her mouth to speak. But it is interrupted by a sound that chills Daenerys’ heart.

A long low howl.

Ghost.

Jon…

Sansa freezes and pinches her eyes shut as Ghost continues to howl.

“SANSAAA…” Arya shouts running towards them from the direction of the house. The eldest Stark’s shoulders shake as she draws in a shuddering breath. “SANSAAA!!!” her sister screams again. The woman’s mask slips into place.

“If you’ll excuse me.” She turns and it's only a few steps before she starts to run.

“You may get your wish sooner than you hoped. Lt Commander.” Tyrion hisses.

Its a report from the Night's Watch stating that one of their rangers has spotted at least 500 wights moving towards Hardhome.

And Lt. Commander Lyanna Mormont assumes command of the Northern Front. She barks orders to the Night’s Watch regarding defensive formations at the wall, Order Alys to rally troops in the yard, and promptly throws Tyrion and Daenerys out of Sansa’s office citing security reasons.

She can’t even process the insult because... there’s a numbness and a shock that has frozen her. Tyrion is huffing about something, but she can’t focus. The world has gone grey and dull and her senses are blurred by this… ache.

Daenerys waves him away as she stumbles mindlessly into the trees. Her feet carrying her further away from the reality until the crunch of snow becomes the squish of moss, and the crisp winter air becomes heavy and ancient and the trees grow thick and dense and sacred.

“Hello Daenerys.” Brandon Stark sits in his chair in front of the Weirwood tree. His eyes rolled up into his head, so nothing but white can be seen.

“Bran...there’s been news from the wall… you should go inside…” she rushes over to him and starts to turn his chair to push him through the spongy ground.

“I’m searching for my brother…” he says quietly. “Its easiest to do it here.” She stops trying to jostle the chair from where its stuck in the thick undergrowth and lets her hands rest at her sides. Not sure of what to do...she sits at the roots where she sat on the first night she was here and waits.

Waits for...what? What? Waits for the inevitable news that they’re all dead… that the people will starve… that their peaceful not-quite an alliance will collapse… that world will lose the bravest, stubbornest, honest man alive… that she’ll lose him… before she even had a chance to...

“What gods do you pray to Daenerys…?” he asks quietly, his eyes still rolled up in his head.

“None…” she answers with a hollow tone.

“Ah yes… Daenerys Stormborn, who has conquered cities, collapsed the slave trade and built a dragon all with faith in only herself…” he laughs quietly and it breaks into a small cough and she pulls the blanket that has slipped to his knees higher to his chest. “Thank you” he says, his pupils never returning. He’s quiet for a moment, and seems to listen to the quiet.

“Have you been here before? The Godswood?”

“Yes… Jon took me here the first night.”

The young man hmms thoughtfully. “He likes to listen for our father. I don’t know if he can actually hear him or if the godswood just creates a quiet place where he can remember.” He pauses again his head snapping quickly up and to the right as if something has caught his attention. “I think the gods speak to us through memory. Trees have no voice but the wind and the leaves so they have to use the voices we know… and will listen to.”

He closes his eyes as his head rolls back to lean against the wooden frame of his chair, and when he pulls himself up right, his irises and pupils have returned. Dark eyes. Stark Eyes. Jon’s eyes.

“There’s still time.” he declares. “But not much…”

Bran turns away from her to look at the direction of the house. Sam huffing through the trees towards them. He waves at Bran, and the young man nods an acknowledgement.

“I wonder whose voice you will listen to... Daenerys Stormborn who only believes in herself…”

Read the Rest on AO3

#jonerys #jonerys fanfic #modern au #post apocalypse #got #jon x dany #jon x daenerys #retro-feudalism #the burnt world

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insomniaruler · 2 years ago

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(Tw: Hanging, Major character death, murder, accidental murder)

Yagi: “It was an accident that made boom box become a monster

Int: “An accident? No that can’t be right. Monsters like that are born.”

Int: “A select few were left alive to voice what they saw that day and only one has been open to interview. Today I, Mori Hyashi talk with one, Toshinori Yagi about the incident that made Yamada Hizashi become the villain known as Boom Box.”

Int: “How would you discribe him before the events of May 14th 2XXX?”

Yagi: “He was one of the kindest and loveliest people I ever had the pleasure of meeting. He loved his family for all he was worth. He would rather die then see his students hurt.”

Int: “And after the accident?”

Yagi: “I’ve never seen him since. But he’s hurting and by proxy hurting people around him.”

Int: “Mr Yagi, what led up to the accident?”

Yagi: “Well it was the last days of the war, and my colleagues were tasked with protecting down town Musutafu. One of our strongest and stubbornest was injured and was on leave. So his husband, Yamada Hizashi was standing in.”

[mr. Yagi turns away from the microphone and wipes his eyes]

Int: “What happened that made this event take place?”

Yagi: “The Aizawa-Yamada’s lived down town so they could walk to UA easily. The fight against the villains was going poorly and they started trying to level buildings. After ten buildings they got to the Musutafu Tower Heights. Hizashi was in that quadrant, he saw the building containing his husband, son and daughter collapse in on it’s self and the civilian bunker. The scream liquified the villains brain and anyone else’s with in a 6 kilometre radius. And it was in the down town core. His grief tore buildings from foundations. I was the closest to ground zero and I still can’t hear out of my right ear and have chronic tinnitus in the other.”

Int: “Good god… if you had a message for him what would it be?”

Yagi: “Turn yourself in. You aren’t avenging Shouta, Hitoshi or Eri by doing this. In fact you are what they hated. Think of little Eri, Hizashi she wouldn’t want you being the monster that haunted her nightmares.”

Int: “Thank you for the interview mr. Yagi.”

Yagi: “It’s been my pleasure.”

Toshinori walked out of the cafe and heard a low pitched whistling. Growing tense he began to make his way to Mighty tower. As he neared safety the whistling began to change pitches until he could barely hear it. As he got to the front doors of the tower he felt something wrap around his hand. “No.” And with a jolt he was dragged none to gently onto the roof.

The man on the roof looked like a monster had stolen Hizashi Yamada’s Face. It’s hair was thin and matted, the face was gaunt, and wrapped around its neck was a bloody and torn rag. It took Yagi a moment to recognize it as the one Aizawa had worn daily. It’s lips were pressed together in a high pitched whistle. When he shut his mouth the tinnitus in Yagi’s ear stopped.

“You dare talk about my family like you knew them-“ it said looming over him. “Hizashi please your sick, we have people who can help you.” Yagi said softly. “I am beyond help, the only people who didn’t see me as the monster I am are dead and it is no thanks to you.” It said as Yagi heard his ears start to grow pained. “Hizashi please, they wouldn’t want this, young Hitoshi wouldn’t want this.” Yagi rasped. “You dare-“ “Shouta wouldn’t have wanted you to end up like this.” Yagi felt his ears burst and then he fainted.

They found his body hung from the fire escape with blood still leaking from its ears. And they found reporter Mori dead in her apartment with blood gushing from all her orifices.

Plot idea #3

Mic goes fucking feral and just like levels a city with a single scream. The world realizes that this goof of a radio host, someone that got poked fun at for being being a loveable dumbass who was more of a celebrity then a hero was doing them all a fucking favor by taking the side lines and not being the center focus of nearly any conflict.

Now they’ve throw away what might just be the most powerful individual in existence and have to face the consequences.

#my hero acedamia #yamada hizashi #erasermic #dark Hizashi yamada

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