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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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In My Dreams II

Characters: Diluc, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,273

Warnings: Depictions of a panic attack

Premise: The past is many things. Something to admire, something to learn from, something to hold dear. And yet how unreliable it can be, especially in the hands of ghosts.

In which the reader dreams of the past.

Author’s Note: Translation notes and historical references will come after the fic. The history nerd really came out this time around.

Diluc

You knew that holding onto the past too much was a dangerous game to play. Yet you continued to chase it, desperately looking for something that might finally bridge your present self to the person you’d left behind.

You’d been mostly upfront to Diluc about this obsession of yours. Knowing that your partner also lost his family, it was easier in some ways to grasp onto this shared loss, and to use it as a way to continue on. Not that Diluc ever pushed you to forget your past, as other might have done. Instead he tried to help you, using his not inconsiderable connections to attempt to find as such land that matched the vague descriptions you could give. Though you knew the quest was most likely no more than a wild goose, you greatly appreciated his attempt to help.

However you knew that even someone as kind and understanding as Diluc would never be able to condone something like this.

You rubbed your arms, feeling every inch of the cold musty ruins around you. You’d heard that a sizeable group of Abyss members were gathering here and figured that these figures who boasted of civilizations long gone might be valuable pieces of information. Though sneaking into a gathering of the upper members of the Abyss was perhaps not the smartest thing you’d ever done. It was too late to turn back now however. Ducking into a corner you slowed your breathing, hoping that no one would care to look at the nook in which you were now curled up.

Listening to the slow creaking of the domain you suddenly felt the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as the air grew charged with magic. The room around you suddenly grew completely silent, as if even the walls were aware of something important. Not daring to sneak a peak at what was happening you closed your eyes, willing your senses to focus on your ears.

“My brethren, I’m glad to see you.”

Opening your eyes wide you gathered your control, willing yourself to not immediately turn around. The voice was familiar, its cadence smooth and soothing, polished as marble. It struck something within you, some deep hidden memory that you’d long ago forgotten. Now that memory struggled to the surface of your mind, the sketch of a long ago time.

“I know that our plans are continuing smoothly. Soon we will able to Khaenri’ah, and topple those who so callously left it to smolder, having lit the flame themselves. We will one more emerge into the world, no longer required to hide our faces.”

The words passed through you, intangible as air. What were they talking about? Nothing was making sense, not one word was something you could interpret. And yet the voice seemed almost an explanation in itself. If you knew who was talking then you’d find out the answers, or at least some of them. Vraning your head ever so slightly you looked up, jerking back slightly in shock as you found amber eyes staring right at you.

The person who was talking was immensely familiar, everything about them echoed with a long gone familiarity. Looking out of place amidst the rank and file members of the Abyss he exuded a cold sort of confidence, a determination to see his words realized. Staring at him you noticed the emblem which embellished the scarf he wore around his neck, a golden eagle which seemed to move with the fabric. A part of you was tempted to run, but you found yourself frozen, trying desperately to process the figure which danced before your eyes.

The young man said nothing, gaze shifting as he calmly began to speak again, though you couldn’t hear his words over the pounding of your heart. When his gaze once more passed yours he grinned an understanding sort of grin. It was as if you two were cohorts in some sort of pranks of scheme, rather than complete strangers who stood on opposites ends of an invisible struggle. The gesture confused you, and you found yourself sinking back to the ground. Putting your head in your arms you took a few deep breaths. You would figure out what was going on. It was alright, there was a logical explanation for this. Perhaps he just wanted to finish up this odd gathering before turning his minions upon you.

And yet the order to attack never came. After what must’ve been at least an hour the young man declared the gathering over. The air filled with the familiar mark of waypointing, and soon the ruin was once more deadly quiet. Straightening your back you studied the wall opposite of you, sure that you were dreaming a confusing sort of dream.

“You can come out now.”

You jumped, freezing as you wondered what to do. You thought that you were alone, yet he remained. Was this the moment, had you truly just been tricked.

“You don’t have to be so afraid.” Laughter drifted to your ears. “I promise the rest are gone.”

Slowly turning around you peered over the broken wall once more. True to the young man’s word there was no one left, only the two of you. Standing up slowly you summoned your sword, still not trusting the person in front of you.

“What is it?”

“That’s the last thing I expect you to ask.” The young man was smirking now. “Surely there are more important things.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You wound me! Have you truly forgotten the face of your family.”

The words felt jagged, almost accusatory. You stiffened, face twisting into a scowl as you moved your sword slightly forward.

“You’re a liar.”

“I assure you I’m not! Why, I cannot believe you truly have forgotten so much. Is it just me, or have we all been banished from your thoughts?”

Reaching into his pocket he threw something at you. Catching it you stared at the egg, mind full of half-incredulous questions. The egg was evidently a work of ambition and love, its outer shell the color of the night. Diamonds crept up the sides of the egg, embedded into gold that shone even in the dark of your current place. There were four portraits embedded into the sides, studded with diamonds and crowned with stars that seemed so bright and silverly you were almost afraid to run your fingers over them. Something that seemed to be monograms sat underneath the portraits, but the script evaded your understanding.

Shifting your gaze to the portraits you found an even greater surprise. The person staring back at you, a small smile on her face, was you – though you couldn’t recognize the complex dress in which you’d been painted. The portrait was such a good likeness it took your breath away, the miniscule brush strokes truly the work of a master painter. Rotating the egg slowly you recognized the young man in front of you as the next model. Sporting what could only be some sort of military uniform, small medals of red and blue lined up on top of a blue sash, he seemed to be joking with the artist, his cocky smile offset by the stark lighting of his eyes. Next was a woman, somewhat who could only be this boy’s mother. He face was set in a straight line, her expression one of regal aloofness, as if she was thinking of something very far away. She was wearing the same sort of dress as you, though hers was much more complex in nature. The clothing screamed importance, as if to confirm the expression on her face. Lastly you found yourself looking at the portrait of someone who was presumably the boy’s father. Surprisingly under dressed her wore the same uniform as the boy, the only distinction being the number of medals. No crown sat on his head, no sign of any particular regal bearing shone in the portrait; instead there was a tiredness about him, a cloud which betrayed the fact that he was ultimately quite unworthy of remembrance.

“Do you remember now?”

You looked up wildly, denial fighting with realization as you shook your head. This wasn’t remembering; remembering was something else entirely. Remembering wasn’t the feel of the world sinking around you, remembering wasn’t losing faith in the world around you.

“Are you telling me that this means nothing to you?” Accusation flooded the boy’s speech as he glared at you.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I, I don’t trust this.”

“Always the same sister.” The boy’s tone was mocking now. “You always were the suspicious one, and as unambitious as our poor father once was.”

“Was?”

“He’s changed his tune quite a bit. He had too, of course. How could anyone stay so weak after surviving what we survived?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about death. Or as close to it as one can get I suppose. You should know this, you were there when they stormed the place, when they took us away. You were there when we were ordered to the basement.”

A flash of memory danced in your vision, speeding up your breath as you were overtaken by sudden panic. Swaying slightly you screwed your eyes shut, letting out a cry of frustration when the memory only grew stronger. You were dancing for a moment, spinning around with the boy in front of you as a distant melody drifted upon the air. Then you were inside an unfamiliar place, the new space so claustrophobic it squeezed the air out of you, the windows, having been painted over, offered no reprise. Then it was midnight and you were shuffling outside. The stars seemed so distant; they’d stared cold and unfeeling down as you shuffled behind a familiar figure, entering a door which seemed so familiar.

You leaned against the stone wall, trying to find some sort of reprieve in the cold damp of it. Forcing your eyes open you stared once more at the strange boy in front of you. His expression was one of ill-concealed triumph, mixed with barely suppressed rage.

“Do you see now? Do you see what they did to us? A wonder any of us escaped at all, then again I suppose those wretched idiots had no sense of magic. They were after all a bunch of thugs.”

“Where… where was that place?” You heaved slightly, feeling as if the ground was floating underneath you.

“Somewhere long destroyed. No point in thinking of it now. There is only this world after all. This world and the destruction that seized it as well. Only this one can be saved.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Khaenri’ah! The city struck down by the gods who could contemplate no power except their own! Their people suffered the fate of ours, should they not get the revenge we will never be allowed?”

“You’re mad.”

“Am I? Or are you just the same coward as always?” The boy shook his head. Pointing to the egg in your hand he back away. “You can keep it. Think of it as a memento, a way to contact me. If you ever wish to see right, well, I’ll be waiting.”

And then he was gone, so fast it was as if he’d never existed, as if he’d suddenly turned to dust. Sinking to the ground you pushed scalding air into your lungs, watching helplessly as your vision spotted around you. What had you done, oh gods what had you done?

The return trip to the Winery was an excruciating one. At first panic had been your only sensation, as you half stumbled, half crawled your way out of the Abyss’ lair, stopping every few minutes to lay down as to not pass out. The moment you got into the open air you made your way towards the nearest stream, waterlogging yourself in your hurry to pour icy water down your throat. Collapsed on the back you stared up at the sky. It was still night, which meant Diluc was probably guarding Mondstadt. You prayed to Barbatos that he wouldn’t notice your absence, for how could you deal with your shame? You’d been so foolish. How could you have ever expected things to turn out well? Now you were simply paying the price for your arrogance.

Finally lifting yourself up from your position you stumbled the rest of the way to the Winery, careful to keep your mind blank, afraid of what might happen if you let panic once more set in. Tears pricked in your eyes as familiar vines appeared within your sight, and you could’ve cried for joy upon opening the sturdy oaken door and crossing the threshold of the place you’d learned to call home. Creeping upstairs, hoping desperately that you hadn’t managed to wake any of the other residents, you breathed a sigh of relief when you entered the familiar bedroom which you’d grown to call you own. Sinking down onto the coverlet you let out a soft sigh, finally letting tears fall as you drifted off to sleep.

-------

Yet your dreams refused to offer you any sort of reprieve. Finding yourself in a darkened hall you silently passed a variety of rooms, their imposing grandeur a familiar one. Someone seemed to be whispering a song in your ear, though when you turned to see who it was no one appeared.

“How can I desert you, how to tell you why.”

Reaching a room even grandeur than the rest you stared at the chairs that sat on dais on the opposite side from where you entered. They shimmered as if a mirage, and when you went to approach them two figures seemed to appear out of thin air. The man and the woman that were painted into the egg gazed at you with sad eyes, each saying nothing as you continued to make your way towards them.

“Let me have a moment, let me say goodbye.”

“Who are you?” You called out to them. The woman turned her head, as if ashamed of your lapse of memory. The man stood up slowly, arms reaching towards you slightly. Hurrying your pace you moved to meet him, spurred on by some unrecognized emotion.

“Harsh and sweet and bitter to leave it all.”

You as you reached the man he vanished, red ash falling softly to the ground in his wake. Gasping in horror you watched as the woman did the same. Suddenly the dream began to crumble, burning itself away to reveal nothing but black. Dropping you into an eternal night you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll bless my homeland ‘til I die.”

You bolted up, mind struggling to place where you were. Looking around you, your eyes were met with the familiar comforts of your home. A soft light drifting through the crack in the curtains, the foretelling of the dawn.

Besides you Diluc stirred. Sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes in a gesture which made your heart squeeze, he glanced at you through sleep eyes.

“Is there something wrong, my love?”

You meant to say no, to assure him that you’d just had a strange dream. Yet the softness of his voice was contrasted so with the venom of the young man and the silence of the people who seemed to have been your family that you found yourself cracking. The sobs were soft at first, but soon you found yourself wailing, not caring how your hoarse voice pierced through the quiet of the Winery.

“My love?”

Diluc immediately wrapped his arms around you, saying nothing as you continued to sob into his chest, staining his nightshirt with tears as you cried out all the tears you could possibly contain. You felt like the world around you was shattering, like nothing was real anymore. You felt as if all you had held to was suddenly gone, and nothing remained but searing contempt.

“It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Diluc carded his fingers through your hair, whispering soft words of comfort as your sobs diminished. Finally you felt completely spent, and as you relaxed in his arms you felt a sudden surge of tiredness, washing over you and calling you once more to the perilous depths of sleep.

“May I ask you what’s wrong?”

You fought your fatigue, disconnecting yourself slightly as to look Diluc in the face. Could you tell him what had occurred? Could you lay bare your weakness, your shame, your guilt? A part of you recoiled at the idea. And yet, as you stared at Diluc you found yourself recounting what happened, shaky breaths accompanying your soft confession. Lowering your gaze you spoke of your night, grateful that Diluc never let his arms leave you.

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry?” Lifting your gaze you found Diluc’s eyes raw, his expression one of surprising honesty.

“I was selfish, and I didn’t expect the consequences of my action. All I could think of was the past, of getting back what I’d once had.”

“And is that not a natural thing?” Diluc took a deep breath, hold on you tightening slightly. “If I could not remember what had happened to my father – if I woke up one day in an unfamiliar place with nothing but a sense of loss – I would go to the ends of the world to find what I’d lost. There is no crime in wanting your loved ones home, even when you cannot recognize them.”

“And yet it seems the only survivor has turned into a monster.”

“Does that make your past love for him any less? Do the bonds of family immediately cut the moment our loved ones turn rotten?”

You thought back to the young man in the ruins, to his mockery and his impatience. You hated him, you hated what he was doing. And yet you missed him, you somehow missed him so much. Turnign towards the nightstand you opened the small drawer. Pulling out the egg you’d been given you examined it in the dim light. How beautiful it was, how different from the image that had been put in front of you.

“Do you wish to forget what you have remembered?” Diluc’s voice was filled with nothing but kindness.

“No.” Even if it embarrassed you to say, you knew it was the truth.

“Then don’t forget it.”

You smiled, placing the egg once more in your drawer. Though it had only been a few words, though this terrible night hadn’t been erased from your memory, you somehow found yourself much lighter. Turning to Diluc you pressed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you.”

Diluc said nothing, merely leaning down to kiss you as well. Cushioned in the familiar sanctuary of his arms you allowed the darkness of your encounter to drift from your mind.

-----

Drifting off to sleep you found yourself once more in a corridor, face to face with the man who was once your father. You stared at him, wondering if he would disappear again.

“Are you truly happy as you are now?”

“Yes.” Somehow you knew it was the truth.

“I see,” the man nodded, a slight smile flashing across his face, “then we shall keep you no longer.”

Leaning over he kissed you softly on the forehead. Next to him now stood the woman who was one your mother. Smiling now, a smile which utterly transformed her melancholy aura, she wrapped you in a hug.

“Do not forget us.” She whispered.

Even as the words were spoken you knew that you never could.

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

The egg that I used this time around is a reference to Faberge eggs. The tradition having been started by Alexander III giving an egg every Easter to Empress Maria Feodorovna, the tradition was continued by Nicholas the second - who gave an egg to his wife and his mother every year. Each egg is a masterpiece of innovation and creativity and is breathtaking in its aesthetic and in the mechanic of hiding its “surprise”. The two eggs I used as reference were the Alexander Palace Egg (1908) and the Twelve Monogram Egg (1896).

The song that I referenced this time around was “Stay I Pray You” from the Anastasia musical. Highly recommend.

The parents are based off of Nicholas II and Alexandra Feodorovna. I do not have time to go into them because we will be here for 300 years. The dresses I mentioned are traditional Russian court gowns. An image will be linked in the reblog.

#genshin impact fanfiction #diluc x reader #diluc #genshin impact #requested #scenarios #my writing

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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years

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some thoughts on mag 200

i’ve been having trouble articulating this, but i wanted to get some thoughts down on mag 200, and the ending of tma as a whole, now that i’ve heard the finale twice and had some time to process it all. putting this under a cut in case people don’t wanna see it -- there’s gonna be a lot of praise here, but also some legit criticism. this is a way to sort through my feelings more than anything else.

first off, relistening to the finale, and sitting on it for a while, has made me feel a hell of a lot better about the whole thing. the episode comes off a lot better when you’re not vibrating with fear and anticipation, in my opinion. the final statement was very fitting and cool -- not my favorite ever, but i can appreciate it a lot as a final closing for the fears. and i don’t have an ear for soundscaping but the sound in that statement was cool as hell. the jonah magnus gets fucking murdered scene is incredibly satisfying. a lot of other people have said this, but i love that jon finally got his revenge, and was able to lash out against jonah for all the years of manipulation and beng used, and for tim and sasha and everything else. that was perfect. i genuinely thought we might not get a scene like this after 193 but i am so glad we did. incredibly satisfying. the girls made it out!! i am very glad that they’re ok and moving on and seem to be leaning on each other. (By God I Will Wring Found Family Out Of This Podcast If It Kills Me.) and the admiral’s okay. love that

and the jonmartin ending. oh my god. while i was never the biggest fan of the possibility of martin having to kill jon, the way it went down was so painful and good. i loved that final scene. i love the ambiguity -- that they might have died but maybe they didn’t, maybe they’re all right and happy and we can decide for ourselves -- i love that i got exactly what i wanted, that i get to have my cake and eat it too, all the angst of a jmart death and still the possibility of happiness... i am going buckwild. i love it. the longer i spend with this ending, the happier i am with it. i really really loved it

on another note... i do have some reservations about the finale and the season as a whole. i understand peoples’ irritations with the finale, and while i’m trying to focus on the things i did like, i definitely have some irritations. for one, i definitely wish the finale had been longer. i would’ve loved to see more of what wtgfs and basira were doing, and the actual lighting of the archives, etc. and while i completely understand why the scene at the panopticon went as quickly as it did -- it comes off very much as wild, frantic impulse in the heat of the moment where they’re in danger and trying to protect each other -- i do wish it had gone a little slower.

in my mind, the biggest issue in season 5 ended up being pacing. and this might be a personal preference thing -- there’s a lot of things within the show that i don’t personally vibe with, but i don’t necessarily think they’re badly written. but i do think season 5 was slow. and while slow things can certainly work in a certain context (season 4 comes off wildly slow til you listen to 160), i wish more of what actually happened in season 5 had been baked into the end game. the season felt like it had a lot of filler, which drives me mildly crazy, because the end game feels rushed and i don’t think it NEEDED to be. i liked a lot of what season 5 did -- there’s some impeccable episodes, the character interactions are weirdly lighter and softer than they have been in previous seasons, and i wouldn’t trade a lot of the things that it’s given us (all the jonmartin interactions, jon and georgie briefly rebuilding their friendship, martin and melanie friendship, wtgfs scenes and intimacy, backstory, lore, etc) for anything. but i do think it could’ve been structured and paced a little differently. i also think it could’ve given some more screentime to the character stuff we got from episodes like 161, 170, 186, 190, 191, 192, 199... i absolutely love both martin centric monologue episodes, but i hate that we didn’t get anything like that for jon. (or for melanie or georgie or basira...) the best episodes of the season, imo, are the ones that broke from traditional form of domain statement domain, and the ones that focused in hard on backstory, lore, character introspection, character interaction... i wish we had more of this.

when it comes to the jonmartin arc... i know this has been a point of contention with a lot of people, but i don’t hate it at all. maybe it’s just because i relistened to the majority of the season back in january, but a lot of the more grating moments that seemed large week to week (martin pressuring jon to smite people, the disagreements they had earlier in the season, jon using martin as bait in 176, etc etc) come off a lot more minor when you’re binging. personally, relistening to act i made those interactions come off as things they were struggling with through continued support and reassurance. there were absolutely things i wanted addressed, especially with the “kill bill arc” -- the disagreements early in the season, and how it seemed to turn on its head in the argument they have in 194. (i didn’t like martin blaming jon for the kill bill arc and i was hoping it would get brought up.) i also wanted to see a discussion of martin going with annabelle in 194 -- i wasn’t really ever mad at martin for doing it, but i did want to see them talk it out.

but! after relistening to 200, i think i have a better handle on why that couldn’t have happened. martin goes behind jon’s back to go with annabelle and they don’t talk about it; jon goes behind martin’s back to sabotage the plan everyone agrees on in order to prevent the fears from spreading. if they’d had a big talk about trust, and working through martin going off with annabelle, and then jon turned around and did the same thing, more or less... it would’ve completely soured that discussion. jon and martin needed to be in a place of discourse for this ending to work.

honestly, the more i’ve thought about this final JM arc, the better i feel about it. sure, jon and martin are in a bad place, and they’ve gone behind each other’s backs and been somewhat selfish, but i don’t think this ruins their relationship. for one, martin’s break in trust comes from a place of wanting to save jon and the world. and for another, jon genuinely feels he is doing the right thing, making a decision he can live with. (i have my own opinions as to how ethical jon’s decision was, but that’s another post. and i think the muddy ethics of this ending are on purpose -- it’s horror, a genre that often doesn’t offer ethical decisions.) their final decisions and final moments come from a place of love and protectiveness, and they change their decisions for the other. they still love each other, through all of it. i don’t think these late stage betrayals equivalate jonmartin necessarily being doomed as a couple (not that anyone has said that, but it’s worth saying). and i think it’s important to remember that this is still a relatively new relationship. it existed for approximately three weeks before the literal apocalypse, and it’s been under an immense amount of stress, as well as the constant fear that one or both of them would die. (which they did.) i’m not saying that excuses certain things they’ve said or done, but i am saying i don’t think the relationship is doomed. i think, if jon and martin have survived, they’ll need to work through things. they’ll need to talk it all out. and they’ll be able to! they’ll heal from this one way or another. the tragedy isn’t that jonmartin is doomed, or toxic. it’s that these moments of betrayal are what dooms them. and the beautiful undercurrent of it all is that they still manage to come together, and make decisions that mean they stay together. and that wherever they are, they’re still together.

all in all, i don’t think season 5 has been perfect, and i can make my peace with that. (tma’s worst is a hell of a lot better than most shows’ best.) (i also think it might be worth considering how covid could have affected certain aspects of how the season was written -- pandemics are stressful, and i can’t imagine what it’s like to finish an enormous, in the works for years project like this in the middle of that. personally, i’m impressed they’ve managed to finish the show through all of this and keep it to a similar quality.) i think critiques are valuable and worth discussing. and i think plot aspects aside, there are several other critique related things that could be brought up about this season that people have articulated much better than i ever could. but i also, personally, want to walk away from the show feeling satisfied. i tend to be weirdly positive about things i love (the x files finale was horrendous, but i managed to get to a place where i was happy with it, for example), and i think that applies here -- even more so because i really did love so many aspects of that finale. i don’t necessarily want to linger in my own mind over what i disliked, especially considering the show is over. although i did want to air out my thoughts.

i still love this show. i loved a lot of episodes this season, frustrations aside. season 5 will forever be my only live tma experience, and it got me through one of the worst years of my life, and i am very grateful for this. i genuinely did just want to air out my thoughts and get them all down on paper. these are just my opinions -- i don’t want to criticize anyone who feels differently about the finale, or the season as a whole. everyone’s opinion is their own.

i feel a lot, lot better about mag 200, to the point of genuinely loving it. i hope my appreciation only grows as i get further from that frenzied first day and have more time to sit with it. and i can’t wait to see all the art and read all of the amazing fics that are going to come out of this ending (and write some of my own). it’s been a wild ride. i’m glad i was here for it.

#tma #the magnus archives #mag 200 #tma spoilers #tma negative #not too strong i dont think but just in case #this might be completely incoherent lol but i wanted to get it down

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spookyheaad · 3 years

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Haphephobia talk

BIG TRIGGER WARNING: brief mentions of rape/coercion, mentions of suicidal ideation, self harm, physical and mental abuse, as well as dehumanization. This one is kinda heavy.

Hi again! Currently horizontal on my couch because I have full body aches from the second covid shot and my head is killing me, but I expected this to happen as it’s normal for the second vaccine to knock you out for a day or two.

Anyway, I had a realization earlier that I write both Gild Tesoro of “One Piece”, as well as Death from “Darksiders” with Haphephobia - which is “a fear of touching or being touched”. While I write them with this phobia, it manifests within them differently, and I figured I would share some differences, and headcanons for both characters (it’s been so long since I’ve talked about my sassy depressed Nephilim husband; I miss you, Death ❤️❤️). Also with Death, I ship him with an OC I created, named Zemira. I don’t think I’ve shared a lot about her on tumblr, but I’ll be making a whole post about her another time; just know I’ll be mentioning her occasionally.

So I’ll be talking about Death’s haphephobia first, it’s a little more heavy (deadass trigger warning here for the brief mentions of rape. Skip this part if you need to):

So I must start out with the obligatory mentioning of that accursed chapter from The Abomination Vault:

Death and War have to seek out Lilith and gain information from her. Death is viciously adamant for War to stay outside & away from that woman, but war protests and wishes to come in with him. Death, nearly resorting to beating his brother into submission, demands him to stay outside, and War finally relents.

When the eldest Horseman goes in to see Lilith, one of the first things she says to him is something along the lines of “this isn’t a social call, is it?”. I truly forget what else is mentioned, but there are a few times where Lilith tries to mention things of a (supposed) sexual nature towards Death, and he abruptly and angrily cuts her off. The one thing I remember Lilith saying to Death was her saying that Death was always a “sensitive boy” which makes my stomach fucking churn.

What is heavily implied in this scene, to me, is that Death and Lilith at some point in the past, had sexual encounters with one another that Death is very much extremely embarrassed and ashamed of, and with Lilith’s ability to seduce any being regardless if they want to partake or not, it’s safe to say that Death could have possibly been coerced into said sexual activity. Lilith’s ability to seduce is described almost like a date-rape drug to me, it causes people to fall under some kind of spell or go into a trance; what is a big uh-oh to me is when Death describes that War would be weak to Lilith’s wiles, or her tricks. So she is definitely capable of coercing people in any way to get what she wants. Also fucking keep in mind that Lilith refers to Death as her SON, which adds a whole new level of “what the fuck” to that situation; it’s just icky.

I feel that Death, because of this run in (or run-ins) with Lilith, developed a massive fear of being touched, which is backed up in canon in Darksiders 2. He does not allow anyone to physically touch him under any circumstance; when Death arrived in the Makers’ realm, Eideard touched his chest where the amulet pieces are embedded. Death recoils quickly and with a venomous growl, states: “Don’t touch me!”

Then of course when he goes to visit Lilith, she touches his chest as well, and he physically pushes her hand away from his body. She also refers to herself as Death’s mother, and Death angrily states: “You are not my mother!” Also from the moment Death sets foot in Lilith’s domain, he is not thrilled to be there, and acts very different towards her; more defensive, more on guard it seems.

So this headcanon stems from all of that; he will not let anyone touch him, it’s just that severe. Where my OC comes in, I actually have a story on AO3 titled “Haphephobia” and it shows how Death & Zemira try to get past this aversion to touch, so 1.) Zemira can give him affection and 2.) Death can allow himself to be loved. I’ll link it here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29860320/chapters/73476759

Death cannot even bring himself to hold her hand in the very beginning. So Zemira started there, holding his hand, physical closeness, and very slowly, started working to larger forms of touch. Obviously this gave Death massive amounts of anxiety, so this is why the process is extremely slow. It makes it even more important to go slow because Death tries to hide any weak emotions, so the physical and mental stress he puts himself under is tenfold.

I think that’s all for Death. His Haphephobia is extremely severe, from the specific traumas he has experienced, possibly being forced into sexual activity with his god damn “”mother””, as well as hiding his sensitivity and kindness (my headcanons for why he does that is a whole other post waiting to be written) and just not believing he is deserving of such love and care.

Ok, now for Tesoro (specific Trigger warnings here for mentions of self-harm, suicidal ideation, physical/mental abuse)

So I just recently realized that I wrote Tesoro with symptoms of Haphephobia; also compared to Death, it isn’t as severe or debilitating, but no less harmful to the person going through it.

For Tesoro I think it was sparked by a mix of guilt and insecurity, obviously as well as his past abuse from both his mother and the Celestial Dragons. But in Film Gold it’s obvious that he doesn’t have an issue with being touched, I’m referencing the scene with the pool girls. I think in canon, he’s on high alert when someone goes to touch him, especially if it’s someone he is not familiar with, or does not like. It’s more of an automatic thing that he learned to suppress over time, especially because he absolutely craves attention and affection, and his fear of touch gets in the way of that.

So in a way, he did learn how to work through it, but it wasn’t proper or healthy, and because of that it’s still there in the back of his mind. I also believe that he doesn’t like people pinning him by the wrists/hands/arms or holding him down in any way, or being bound (sexual or non sexual, he does not like it). It triggers severe panic and flashbacks, so, it’s a big no.

In terms of if he were to be around Stella, it becomes heightened. It’s not that he’s afraid of her; he knows her well. He is afraid for her sake, that he would hurt her in some way simply by allowing her to touch him. All through his life, Tesoro was made to feel like he wasn’t worth the space he took up in his existence. His mother did not love him, the one person that could have given him some form of gentle gesture. She instead hurt him, screamed at him, made him feel worthless. Then we all know about the celestial dragons; they didn’t even see Tesoro as a human, and that mixed with the beatings from both the celestial dragons and his mother, he is weary to allow others to get close.

After Stella died, In his heart of hearts Tesoro genuinely thought that he was unloveable, mainly because of his mother. The one woman who brought him into this world didn’t care about his dreams or his well-being, so then how can anyone else? Then, when he found the single person that cared about him, she was whisked away from him without a second thought. Tesoro feels doomed to observe yet never experience the love and kindness that the world had to offer.

That mixed with Haphephobia makes him very cautious of others, and in the case of Stella, vehemently afraid. He loves her, and she loves him in return; Tesoro knows this full well, (we’re headed to the “if Stella survived” AU) after they reunite he is so afraid to touch her and it’s painful to him when she touches his body. It’s another source of frustration and anger because he knows that he is still in love with her, but his own body is trying to push her away. He would tear open his body for the apprehension to leave, to finally feel the comfort he yearned for within Stella’s embrace. No more fear, no more being brought to tears because he felt he didn’t deserve her kindness, no more guilt.

Both he & Death feel unloveable but for different reasons:

Death feels unloveable because of the atrocities he has committed, specifically the Nephilim Genocide & the creation of the Grand Abominations. He feels knee-crushing amounts of guilt for taking part in such events, and he puts up a facade of being an uncaring monster, when he is very much the opposite. He has kindness to give, yet is afraid to show it because of that idea that he is to be seen as nothing but an attack dog for the Charred Council. But this is also the same Nephilim who was so tired of making things that took life, and chose to make something that gave life instead, and gifted said item to his sister, Fury. This is the same Nephilim who took his own life to prove that his youngest brother War did not start the apocalypse. He cares so deeply, has insurmountable love to give, yet feels incapable of doing so.

Tesoro thinks he is unloveable because the world conditioned him to view himself as such. The extreme abuse he suffered told him that he is trash; an afterthought whose only use is as a punching bag or a wasted body to rend flesh from. Ants had more worth in this world than he, and Tesoro knew it. All it took was Stella, one person, for him to see that he is worthy of such a thing, that nothing that went on in their pasts was his fault, and that he does deserve to be given gentle touches, soft reassuring hugs, feather-light kisses, and that he is able to be loved.

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cringeyvanillamilk · 3 years

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☕️ Steph, my good clown, can I get your sexy opinion on your favorite battles in the shonen series (plural) that you have read/watched?

The clown has arrived with her answer! Thank you for such an interesting topic! It was hard picking out my top 3 favorites since a lot of my favorites are great in their own right, but I think I’m satisfied with what I chose.

For anyone who’s interested, here are my other favorite shounen battles that sadly did not make it to the top 3:

Itadori and Nobara vs. Curse brothers (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Maki vs. Mai (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Gon vs. Pitou (Hunter x Hunter)

Deku vs. Muscular (Boku no Hero Academia)

All Might vs. All for One (Boku no Hero Academia)

Luffy vs. Usopp (One Piece)

Gaara vs. Rock Lee (Naruto)

Zenitsu vs. Spider Brother (Kimetsu no Yaiba)

Tanjirou vs. Rui (Kimetsu no Yaiba)

Now let’s get to my top 3 favorite shounen battles! (Under the cut!)

3. Maki vs. Miwa (Jujutsu Kaisen)

For my third favorite shounen battle, I chose the fight between Maki and Miwa during the Kyoto Goodwill Event Arc! What I like most about this fight was the set up, spectacular choreography, and interesting characterization.

Before jumping into the fight, we are introduced to Miwa and Mai talking about Maki’s strength as a Jujutsu sorcerer. Here, Mai is downplaying Maki’s ability to fight which leads Miwa to underestimate Maki as a result. We then cut to Miwa being absolutely overwhelmed by Maki’s attacks. This short setup helped give impact to Maki’s true strength and abilities to not only Miwa, but the audience as well. The fake out was a nice surprise since we haven’t seen Maki fight thus far.

The choreography throughout the entire fight was absolutely marvelous. The use of perspective and slow-motion helped give certain attacks more weight as well as how the attacks look in a first-person perspective. We not only see how overwhelmed Miwa was, but also how focused and ruthless Maki can be. Despite Miwa being an antagonist due to her team’s order to kill Itadori, I find it amusing that we the audience end up sympathizing with Miwa in the end.

I also liked how the environment was used during the fight. The transition from the forest to the small stream down below when Maki literally kicked Miwa off a cliff was a nice change of scenery. The visuals of the water due to the character’s movement and weight was also a nice detail. I won’t be surprised if all the budget went into the water effects.

The fight between Maki and Miwa was incredibly one-sided where Maki seemed to have the upper hand for most of the fight and Miwa had no choice but to be on the defense. We can see how overwhelmed Miwa was due to underestimating Maki from the beginning. If Miwa was warned ahead of time, she may have had a better chance of standing against Maki. However, due to her trust over her teammate’s words, she ended up being blind-sighted. I really enjoyed being inside Miwa’s head for the majority of the fight. We can tell that Miwa is doing the best of her abilities, but just can’t beat Maki’s talent and quick instinct. The fight overall highlight’s Miwa’s weakness of overthinking her next move. We only heard Maki’s thinking process briefly after Miwa activated her simple domain, but she’s very quick to adapt and be unpredictable. The characterization in this small fight was very fun to watch!

Overall, this may be a small-scale fight in comparison to other major ones within the anime and manga, but that doesn’t mean it should be overlooked. Having a grand spectacle of a fight doesn’t make it the “best fight”. Sometimes, a short, but well-choreographed fight that makes good use of the environment can go a long way for me.

2. The Black Bulls vs. Vetto (Black Clover)

For my second favorite battle in shounen, I chose the black bulls vs. Vetto during the Water Temple arc. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t watch enough shounen anime, but I felt like this was the first battle where a group of characters worked together to defeat an antagonist. I’m just so used to watching 1v1s, or if we’re really stretching it 2v1s, in shounen that seeing an actual group use teamwork was very refreshing for me to watch. Something to note about the difference in the manga and anime was that while the final battle against Vetto within the anime had Gauche, Charmy, and Grey join in, in the manga it was mainly Asta, Finral, and Vanessa. Despite the small difference, the fact that most of the members of the Black Bulls took a chance to fight Vetto and showcased their fighting abilities was a sight to see.

Before we get to the final fight against Vetto, if we don’t count Yami’s finishing blow at the very end, I really enjoyed Luck, Magna, and most especially Noelle’s attack. I liked how we got to see each character use their strongest attack and the unpredictability of who’s going to finish Vetto off throughout the fight. I was hype seeing Luck and Magna’s combo magic for the first time, but was surprised to see how ineffective it was to Vetto. This helped give us an idea of the power difference a normal magic knight may have in opposition to an eye of the midnight sun, which is why when Noelle gained an attack spell, Sea Dragon’s Roar, and did the most damage to Vetto, that basically hinted the potential Noelle has as a strong magic knight. But surprisingly, Noelle’s attack wasn’t the climax of the fight because that’s when Asta, Finral, and Vanessa joined in and worked together against Vetto. Now it was this specific teamwork that really made it for me.

What I love most about this team dynamic was how each of them had a significant role in winning the fight. Asta had the physical strength and most offensive attacks, Vanessa’s string magic helped propel Asta into any direction, and Finral’s spatial magic was utilized to transport Asta in any location. Both Vanessa and Finral helped give Asta the upper hand by making his attacks more unpredictable and adaptive to Vetto’s animalistic magic. It was impressive seeing Asta attack Vetto in different directions and dodging his attacks. But just when we thought they had a chance of defeating Vetto, he became a much bigger threat when he began to read through their attacks and successfully caught and broke Asta’s arms. And just when we think that Asta can’t fight without his arms, Asta reinforces his schtick of not giving up, igniting hope into his teammates. And with their final push and hint towards Asta’s devil powers, Vetto was finally defeated thanks to their determination and teamwork!

This fight had a nice combination of surprise, hope, and despair! But what makes this my second favorite fight was solely because of how each of the members had a moment to shine within the fight. There wasn’t an instance where a character was just watching and that makes me very happy! An overall great fight in Black Clover!

1. Gon vs. Hisoka (Hunter x Hunter)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Txl2imn11bM&ab_channel=CrunchyrollCollection

For my ultimate favorite shounen battle, I chose Gon vs Hisoka from the Heavens Arena arc. If there’s one word to describe this fight, it would be “tension”. What I liked most about the beginning of this fight was how no word of dialogue was exchanged between the characters. The background music was ambient with most of the attention given to the sound of movement and grunts, which only makes you feel tense throughout the exchange.

In this particular fight, Gon was very quick and light on his feet while fighting Hisoka. There were even moments where it looked like he was levitating for a few seconds when throwing punches at Hisoka which shows how fast his attacks were. I liked how we see Gon’s thought process through his actions where he’d try multiple strategies to attack Hisoka. At first, he would try and do a barrage of punches towards Hisoka’s face, but then gain some distance when his attacks fail and then face Hisoka head on again. And while Gon is struggling to get the first hit, Hisoka is just observing Gon with a smile on his face and enjoying every bit of it. And it wasn’t until Hisoka surprised Gon with a punch that we finally took a breather. It was an intense fight right off the bat!

But my enjoyment of the fight doesn’t stop there. During the first exchanges within the fight, Gon’s attempts were very straightforward and relied mostly on his strength. But during their second exchange, we can see that Gon learned from his prior attempt and decided to use his wits. Instead of attacking Hisoka head first, he cleverly used his environment to gain the upper hand and finally punched Hisoka in the face! Hisoka may have underestimated Gon from the beginning, but I still thought it was amazing how Gon managed to pull that off! I’m going to be honest, I was not expecting Gon to actually be strategic and pull out the tiles off the floor to block Hisoka’s sight. It was so satisfying to see this type of development from him which makes it a highlight of this fight.

Honestly, this was this part of the fight that makes this my ultimate favorite, but that doesn’t mean what happens afterwards was nothing interesting. Hisoka’s nen abilities were very fun to watch and very unpredictable! I feel like Gon was meant to lose from the start since Hisoka’s fighting style is very adaptive against Gon’s more simple approach. Overall, an amazing fight! I highly recommend watching the fight for yourself!

#answered #loosesodamarble #black clover #jujutsu kaisen #hunter x hunter #This took me a WHILE!!#Highly recommend checking these fight out!#I hope you enjoy the read-#I really do just ramble a lot-

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ieattaperecorders · 3 years

Text

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter 14: After the Fire

Jon has some visitors.

Note: This chapter contains a few small instances of well-meaning people touching a blind person without warning in a way that startles them.

Read on Ao3

---

He knew that he was in a hospital before he was fully awake. The texture of the stiff sheets and gown, the antiseptic smell, some indistinctly medical quality to the air filled him with the memory of wandering through distant dreams, of emerging into a cold and brightly-lit room. He came to himself gradually, slowly growing aware of an uncomfortable heaviness, of something wrapped around his face and something else restricting movement on his right side. He shifted experimentally and felt a twinge. Quietly, he groaned.

"Hey," came a voice from nearby. "You actually awake, boss? Or is this another false alarm?"

I'm not your boss anymore, Tim, he thought. Then he thought, wait a minute.

"Tim . . . ?" his voice came out hoarse and thick with grogginess. "Where – augh . . . ."

Pain shot through Jon's body as he tried to lift himself into a sitting position. He heard Tim get up and felt a careful hand on his left shoulder, guiding him back down.

"Oooh, don't do that. They've got you on the good stuff, but you're still a mess on that side. Don't be such an impatient patient."

"Where's Martin? Is he –"

"Relax, Martin's fine. Well, not fine, he's been shot, but he's doing a lot better than you. Bullet glanced off your shoulder before hitting him, tore up some muscle and fat but didn't get anything vital. He was awake before you were even out of surgery."

The hand stayed on Jon until it was clear he was going to remain still, then came away. There was an audible scrape as a chair was pulled closer, and Tim sat down again.

"We're all fine too, by the way," he added, as if offended he hadn't asked. "Just so you know."

"And . . . Jonah?"

Tim was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued.

"Didn't check if he was breathing when we left him, but he wasn't getting up," he said. "And I can't see anything coming out of that fire."

Jon lay still and tried to process it all. He wasn't sure what he should feel. What he did feel was a distant sort of unsteadiness, whether it was shock or whatever painkillers were coursing through his system, he didn't know.

"Have you been sitting up with me?" he asked.

"Don't get too big a head about it," Tim smirked. "I've only been here a bit. Sasha's come by to peek in as well, and we've visited Martin too. I was just lucky enough to be the one to see your grumpy little face when you woke up."

"Huh." Surprise and a strange melancholy rose in Jon at the thought. He smiled wryly, "and for my part, the first thing I hear on regaining consciousness is Tim Stoker's terrible puns."

"Excuse you, I am a delight to be around and my puns are charming."

Jon laughed softly, lapsing back into silence. The quiet stretched on for a while, solemnity beginning to creep in at the edges again. Then Tim spoke.

". . . You think he's actually dead?"

"Jonah? I think so. Avatars can be hard to kill, but he was very afraid of death." Jon tapped his less encumbered hand against the mattress, considering. "I think . . . if he had reached to the Eye in his last moments, it would have simply watched as his life faded away, doing what it does. Drinking in his fear."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Tim muttered, something unsettled in his tone. "What about the circus?"

". . . Depends what you mean, I suppose." Jon tried to choose his words carefully. "I'm not the Archivist anymore, so I don't think they'd have any interest in me now. We're not protected from them, but I don't think they'd have reason to come after any of us. Unless, of course," he added pointedly. "Someone draws their interest by going after them."

"Even if we get away, they're still out there," Tim pushed, something limping in his voice, "Doing what they do to people. Am I supposed to just be okay with that?"

Jon was quiet for a while.

"If you could destroy the circus," he said softly, "which is a big ‘if', but if you could, the Stranger would continue manifesting in other forms. Possibly even as a circus again. You can't keep fear from the world, you'd only be changing details. In the end I don't know if it would save anyone."

"It would hurt those things, though. Wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," Jon said. "Maybe not. Certainly not as much as it would hurt anyone who cared about you."

It was Tim's turn to be quiet. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Not sure I like this new, future-memories version of you Jon," he said. "He's kind of a know-it-all."

"You should have seen me when I was literally all-knowing."

"Nightmare. Don't know how Martin put up with you."

"Neither do I." Jon smiled, warmth running through him at the thought. He took a long, slow breath. ". . . You died hating me, you know. In that other life."

"Yeah?" Tim didn't sound very surprised. "What'd you do?"

"Plenty," Jon laughed mirthlessly. "Though by the end I'm not even sure how much it had to do with me. We were lost, hurt, broken people, lashing out in fear and pain."

"Yeah. Starting to think that the Magnus Institute didn't exactly facilitate a healthy work environment."

"No . . . ."

He heard a soft, electronic tapping in the pause that followed. Maybe Tim was texting the others, letting them know Jon was awake? He couldn't tell. A gentle shove hit his uninjured shoulder, making him flinch.

"Well. Let's try not to fuck it up this time around, huh?" Tim said. "I'm gonna go get a nurse and tell them you're up, they'll probably want to check your vitals or rotate your tires or something."

"Right. Uh, right . . ." Jon stammered, "thank you."

The footsteps faded, and Jon let his head sink back onto the pillow. He felt . . . adrift. More so than he had in a while.

He'd been confused and frightened through all of this, half the time he hadn't even known what he was looking for, but at least he'd known he was looking. Even in the long, terrible walk across the nightmare domains, the constant pull of their destination had given him purpose. He'd known what he was hoping for.

And there had been Martin there. Of course.

For better or worse now, Jonah was dead and he was alive. He was severed from the Eye, the others were freed, and dark and terrible powers still lurked beyond the edge of human perception, waiting to Become.

Jon wasn't sure what he was hoping for now. He lay back and waited for the nurse to arrive.

* * *

Time passed in a haze. He had little sense of how much he slept, and the divide between sleep and waking blurred together.

Sometimes he had visitors. Georgie came in not long after Tim, having gotten a very incomplete version of events through Melanie. He hadn't exactly intended to tell her anything when she sat down, but somehow after a few confused inquiries, and a gentle "try me" or two, he found himself spilling everything. It was far more disjointed and emotional than his recounting in the tunnels, but the bulk of it seemed to get across.

When it was over, she just said, "sounds like you've had a hell of a time."

It was the calmness as much as the sympathy that affected Jon. As if he'd just told her about a bad relationship he'd gotten out of, rather than his place in the universe's nightmare cosmology and the end of the world.

He didn't know what to say to it, really, and frankly saying anything at all risked letting the tightness inside his chest come spilling out - the pressure bandage would hide any tears, but Georgie would be able to tell. She saved him by breaking the silence, asking if he had any stock tips or winning lottery numbers from the future to share.

Melanie's visits were less steadying, twice devolving into arguments. It seemed to be a constant between them, that no matter what happened or what forces were acting on either of them, their ability to rile each other was inevitable. She was also insistent that he explain every detail he remembered about what she'd begun calling the "dark timeline." When he complained that framing it as an alternate timeline was likely inaccurate and, frankly, horrifying in its implications, she threw a pen at him.

Still, she came back again afterwards. And still, he was glad that she did.

Sasha reported that her hand was healing, though when pressed admitted he'd been right about her range of motion not returning. She also helped him set the voice assistant up on his phone, which was a great relief. Though it was a bit embarrassing to reveal how little he knew about his own device's functions.

"Honestly Jon, you're only thirty-one," she said, going through some final setup that he'd already forgotten her explanation of. "You've got no excuse at all to be so tech-illiterate."

"Yes, yes. I've had other priorities lately."

"I don't mind you asking for help, understand. But what are you going to do if I get eaten by another evil table someday?"

He felt a stab of shock at the blazingly conversational reference to it. Something must have shown on his face because he heard her pause..

"Sorry. Too soon?"

"Ah. . . depends on your perspective of time, I suppose," Jon said, trying and failing to make it sound like a joke.

"Right. You know, it's all a little distant for me. Unsettling, sure, but on my end it's really just a story. . . ." she trailed off. "Hey, what were you doing in Hainault?"

"Gertrude's storage locker was there -- are you going through my location history?"

"Just the more recent stuff," she made it sound as if he was the strange one for asking, and he grunted with annoyed resignation.

"You should be careful about that."

"About what?"

"Prying into other people. Invading their privacy," he lay his head back against the pillow. "Don't forget that you were part of a temple to the Eye until very recently. You're free of the Institute now, but the power behind it might not be through with you."

She was quiet for a while. Whether it meant she was contemplating what he said or ignoring him so that she could continue digging through his phone, he couldn't say.

"All I'm saying is that it can be addicting," he continued. "That urge to push past the boundaries that people raise against you. Trust me when I say that I know."

"I'd imagine you would." She paused. ". . . What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Being all knowing?"

". . . Hard to describe."

There was a pause, and when it became clear he wasn't going to continue, Sasha pushed out an annoyed breath and said "well you could give it more of a shot than that."

"I don't know. Overwhelming," Jon said. "In the most complete sense of the word. Sometimes I had answers, but so few of them were helpful in the end. And the things I saw, the nightmares, the pain of everyone trapped in them. Having to watch that sort of thing, all the time . . . either it destroys you, or you learn to distance yourself. At least a little. If only to keep from breaking down. Neither is very good, but one lets you survive."

Sasha made a thoughtful humming noise.

"It isn't anything you want. Believe me," he said softly. "Even if the world hadn't ended, if I'd just been another avatar . . . any rewards aren't worth the price that others have to pay."

"Yeah," she sighed heavily. "Sounds about right."

Jon relaxed, some tension he'd been carrying in him slowly unlocking. Sasha continued.

"Well. Talking about privacy, while I'm here let me at least show you how to stop broadcasting your location to anyone and everyone," she tsked and scooted her chair closer. "Honestly. No wonder you got kidnapped all the time."

"I don't really think supernatural manifestations of fears needed GPS to find me."

"Couldn't have helped though, could it?"

"Probably not," Jon smiled sadly. "Should've had you around."

"Yeah. Can't imagine how any of you managed."

* * *

Even with his visitors, there were long stretches of time Jon spent entirely alone. Laying in the dark and the quiet, his thoughts shifting like a tide. Sometimes he'd drift back to those first years at the Institute, or the time-beyond-time after the change. Other days he'd lay contemplating the past few months, all the things that he'd re-written and the worries he still had.

Mostly he thought of very little, the twin sophorics of boredom and pain medication fogging his mind into an uncomfortable stasis.

When the knock came, he'd been listening to the soft, white noise of the air conditioning and thinking of how much it resembled distant waves, putting him in mind of a cold and empty shore. Then he heard two soft taps against the door, along with a familiar voice.

"Knock, knock," Martin said.

It was the first time he'd heard his voice since the fire, since the two of them were falling to the ground together. Without really thinking he asked, "who's there?"

"Oh! Right –" he sounded embarrassed. "Sorry, it's Martin."

"Yes, I -- ah, yes." Jon sounded pitifully eager, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "C-come in. Please."

* * *

If Jon was asleep, Martin decided, then he'd come back later. He probably needed the rest -- had needed it a good long while before they'd both been shot. Really, Martin ought to be at home resting as well. But when he knocked softly on the half open door, Jon turned in his direction, wide awake.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Oh! Right –" stupid, he can't see you. Going to have to remember that. "Sorry, it's Martin."

Jon nodded, inviting him in and slowly shifting into a seated position as Martin pulled a chair up to his bedside.

He could see the edge of a dressing covering the bullet's exit wound, just peeking up from under Jon's collar. The bandages had been removed from his eyes, and the area around them was still a little bruised and swollen. He looked wrung out, small and tired. But then, Martin supposed, everyone looks small and tired in a hospital bed.

"How are you doing?" Jon asked, "they told me you've been recovering as well . . . ."

"Yeah, just got released this morning." He stretched, rubbing over the bandage that was hidden below his shirt and jacket. "Went home, had a shower, then came right back to the hospital."

"Sounds like an exciting day."

"What about you?"

"Mmm, still looking forward to a few days here, at least. They don't think I'll be needing more surgery, fortunately, and they're weaning me onto less intense painkillers. It's a little exhausting, but apparently I'm recovering well."

"Considering you took a bullet for me," Martin muttered.

A startled-sounding laugh came from Jon. "I'm not really sure that's what happened. More like we both got shot at the same time?"

"Suppose so," Martin said. Didn't quite feel that way, though. "Honestly, I don't even know if he was trying to shoot us at the end, or if the gun just went off when they tackled him."

"Neither would surprise me."

"But then I didn't even think he had a gun, let alone murdered people with it."

"I suspect he was desperate. He probably only resorts -- resorted to things like that when some disaster crept up on him. Like us, or like Gertrude. He wasn't the hands-on type. Which came back to bite him with the ritual. In a way it's the reason I'm here -- or, the memories are, I suppose."

"Right . . . ."

Martin had plenty of time to think about it all, laid up in his own bed on another floor of the same building. About all that happened, about the things Jon told them in the tunnels. More than anything else, it just made him feel foolish. Like he'd been left out of a conversation that had been going on behind his back, and now everyone was looking at him and expecting him to catch up.

Which was pretty foolish itself, of course. Jon hadn't told anyone the whole story -- there'd been no conversation, no loop he was kept out of. It wasn't as if ‘post apocalyptic time-traveling memories' was a conclusion he could have somehow come to if he'd just paid closer attention. It was a ridiculous way to feel.

Sasha had told him, between games of dominoes, that she was glad he'd been there that night because she didn't think anyone else could have talked Jon out of his plan. Which was a lot to unpack, but didn't help with the sense of being out of the loop. Not if it was that obvious. Of course, she might have just been trying to make him feel useful. The way he saw it, he hadn't done much that evening except quietly panic, shout a bit and get held at gunpoint. And get shot. And get Jon shot with him, because he'd stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry . . . ." Martin said, softly.

". . . For what?"

"I saw what was happening, just before the gun went off. I could have pulled you away if I was faster, or thrown us to the ground, or done something. Instead I just froze."

"Martin . . ." Jon tilted his head in his direction. "Even assuming you could have been fast enough, most people freeze up when a gun is pointed at them. I did the same the first few times."

". . . First few times." Martin repeated flatly. "Jesus, Jon."

"I know. It's been a difficult few years."

"I didn't even know . . . ."

"I didn't want you to know," Jon said. "I couldn't tell any of you, Martin, not until everything was ready. You saw how close things came as it was, if he'd gotten wind of things sooner . . . ."

"Right . . . of course."

The two of them fell into an uncertain silence. Jon's hand worried at a thread on the edge of the bedsheet, twisting and twirling it between his fingers. Martin thought about that hand moving slowly and smoothly over his own, about the sorrow on Jon's face when he'd pulled away. Doubt anyone else could've talked him out of it, Sasha's voice repeated in his mind.

"About what you said. In the tunnels . . . ."

Jon visibly tensed, the edge of the sheet twisting in his fingers. "Er . . . which part?"

"The part about me," Martin said, praying that would be enough, that Jon wasn't going to make him actually repeat the words. "About us?"

"Ah. Right," he smiled weakly. "Funny how much easier it is to say these things when you think you're not going to be alive much longer."

"You were really going to tell me that and then go off to die a minute later, weren't you?" There was something quiet in Martin's voice as he spoke. Calm. Like the eye of a hurricane.

"I . . ." Jon hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Bit rude."

". . . Suppose it was."

Martin went quiet. What could he say to that, to any of it? It wasn't as if he didn't get it, insecurity only goes so far when there's a declaration that explicit. He knew what I love you meant, he just . . . felt like he'd only now joined the conversation.

Before the silence could grow too powerful, Jon spoke again.

"We were together. In that other life. By the end of it, at least. I --" he laughed softly. "It took me too damned long to even realize my own feelings, let alone imagine that -- but we were together."

I can't watch that happen again, he'd said. Martin had more or less guessed that was the situation, but it was still strange to hear it confirmed. Surreal to think that Jon had a history with him, or a version of him, that he wasn't a part of.

"Were we happy?"

Jon was quiet for a while before answering. "I -- I'd like to say we were. I don't know if happy is a word I can use. At first we were in hiding, and then after the Change it was . . . well, it was a nightmare. But we had each other, and that made all the difference. And --"

He took an unsteady breath. "I think I was happier in those desperate weeks we had before the world ended than I'd honestly been in years? And there were times I'd see you in that cabin, and you'd be complaining about something, or humming while we cleaned and laughing to yourself. And you'd look different somehow, and it felt like -- there was a part of you that had been tucked away in all the time I'd known you, that was letting itself breathe again, and I was so lucky to be allowed to see it," he laughed lowly. "Or maybe all that was me projecting. Maybe I was the fool who should have paid better attention before. I don't know."

Martin tried to picture himself tucked into some remote hideaway, hiding from sinister supernatural monsters but relaxed enough to be humming and laughing while they tidied up. Tried to imagine what Jon could be referring to, how he'd been different and whether that was a good or bad thing, even. He found that he couldn't do either.

"What was he like?" he asked. "That other me."

A soft smile spread through Jon. "He was like you, Martin. A little older . . . a great deal more tired. More short-tempered, or maybe just more vocal about it," he added with fondness. "He was brave, and frustrating, and . . . and wonderful. Just wonderful."

". . . Sounds like quite a guy." Martin managed.

Jon nodded. Then the smile slipped from him, and his hands came together in his lap,

"I know that you aren't him. That is -- you are, in a sense you're the same person, but you also aren't?" he gestured outward. "Our experiences, they shape who we are, they change us. I know that."

". . . Right."

A part of him had suspected something like this might be coming, and he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. It still hurt, and he felt guiltily relieved that Jon couldn't see his face just now.

"I just . . ." Jon continued, "I don't want you to think, ah, that I expect anything--"

"No, I get it." Martin tried to smile, tried to sound like every word wasn't twisting in him. "I probably remind you of him? And -- heat of the moment, you thought you were gonna die. I get it. I don't expect anything either."

Jon frowned, looking momentarily confused.

"I know I'm not him, like, it's not the same," Martin continued, clearing his throat. "It doesn't have to be a thing, you know, if you don't want--"

"Martin." Jon cut him off. "I meant every word I said down there. I still do."

The words dried up in Martin's throat as Jon continued.

“I love you. Just as much as I always have. I still want to have a life with you, and I’m still terrified of that life being torn from us. And I don’t know how you feel about me, but I know -- even if any, ah, feelings are returned, I--” He took a deep breath, “What I feel for you, it’s, well, it’s a lot? There are so many things I’ve been through with you that you haven’t been through with me, and that’s good, I’m glad you haven’t been through them because they were mostly horrible. But I can’t deny that many of them brought us closer --”

“Jon . . . .”

“And -- and I don’t want to scare you off with the -- the intensity of my feelings but I’d understand and I wouldn’t blame you --”

Martin reached out and put a hand on Jon’s arm. The flurry of movement and talk came to a sharp standstill.

“Jon,” he said again.

“Oh. Um,” Jon’s voice was small and quiet. “Oh.”

". . . I don’t know how I’m different from the Martin you remember. And I don’t know how he felt about you, or how what I feel is different,” he said slowly. “All I know is that when you said you were going to go off to find a quiet corner and kill yourself, it felt like the whole world was falling apart.”

Jon was still under his hand, barely breathing.

“Don’t do it again.”

Quietly, Jon nodded. Martin pulled his hand away, settling back into the chair. For a while neither of them said anything,

“I mean, listen . . .” Martin finally broke the silence, shrugging uncertainly. “I’m willing to give it a try if you are?”

An unsteady sound came out of Jon, his hand flew up to cover his mouth and when he pulled it away he was smiling. "I -- I'd like that. Very much," he said.

"Okay." Martin smiled back, feeling airy, lightheaded. "Cool." He laughed. "Getting shot together'll make a hell of a first date."

"Wh-- that was not a first date!" Jon protested, his own laugh coming out sharp and startled, "that was a -- a terrifying escape from our sinister employer."

"Kind of romantic though, right?" Martin teased, "in a bad action movie sort of way."

"Everything else aside, I refuse to entertain the idea that our first date involved Jonah Magnus in any respect," he shuddered, shaking his head. "Though it -- it honestly may be a while before I'm up for anything much better. I'll still be in the hospital a bit, and afterwards . . . well, I know there's a lot I'm going to have to adjust to."

Martin felt a twinge at Jon's voice, at the anxiety creeping back into it. ". . . You won't have to do it alone," he said.

Smiling weakly, Jon reached a hand over the hard plastic rail meant to keep patients from falling out of bed. Martin took it and squeezed. Jon nodded and let go, settling back.

"There's still so much . . ." he said. "So much you don't even know . . . about us, and about other things."

"You could tell me now, you know. If you wanted."

Jon paused, looking uncertain. "Are you sure you want to hear it? I don't know what you're expecting but it's not going to be some sort of --- pleasant office romance. It's just a series of horrible, traumatic experiences, one after another."

It was a fair question, really, and Martin thought about it before answering.

"I want to hear it," he said. "If you're okay talking about it, that is. I want to know what you've been living with all these months. And . . . I want to know more about that other life. Even if it's all just awful."

Slowly, Jon nodded. "All right . . ." he said, "but it really is a very long story. It's going to take a while."

"I don't have anything on today," Martin smiled, standing up. "I'll go and get us some tea."

#tma fanfic #tma #sdayl #man it's almost done wild

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bellemorte180 · 3 years

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❤️🗣 and 🤝 for the WIP game!!

❤️ Share one of your favorite lines.

Ballad of the Sea: “Then love yourself, because that is the most epic love story that will ever be told.”

Echoes of Sorrow: “That I can’t let grief control me. That the trick isn’t waiting for it to end but learning to live with it, and learning to live despite of it.”

The War of Succession: At least Caroline was thankful Tyler was dead so he did not have to see her treason.

Midnattsol: The man laying before her was her soulmate, someone who should have died a thousand years ago.

I’m sure there are more but those are the ones I can think of the top of my head.

🗣 Share your favorite dialogue exchange.

Demonology: “So Mikael-“

“Is one of the first. He followed my father when he fell from Heaven. I believe my father once said that they had been friends a long time ago; but Mikael has a tendency to believe his own self-importance. He wanted to rule Hell and when it became apparent that was not going to happen, he created his own domain. The garden.” Klaus reached for Caroline, pulling her into an embrace. “Killing Mikael is something only either my father or God can do, and seeing that my father and grandfather are not on speaking terms...”

“I just realized that God is your grandfather.” Caroline muttered, her mind trying to process that information, while Klaus simply chuckled. She buried her face into his chest, trying to process the chaos that has become her life. “So, God is not going to help us out and I can’t believe that was even an option.”

“It’s not but continue.”

“What about your dad? Couldn’t he just be like, Satan and snap his hooves or something?” Caroline asked, causing Klaus to chuckle harder. She felt his chest rumble at her humor. It was insane to her that she had feelings for the man who called the literal devil, father. When Caroline had dreamed about the man, she would one day spend her life with, Klaus was nothing like she had dreamed, but so much better. “Can’t he do something?”

“In theory? Yes. But he won’t. I asked.” Klaus replied bitterly, clearly not happy with his father’s response. “He likes you yes and wants me happy but feels that my mark is enough to keep you safe. He is not about to kill a demon simply because I asked him too. Mikael is banished to his domain for the majority of the time. You will be safe. Then, one day when I rule over Hell, Mikael will never be a problem again.”

Wanderlust:

“I studied men like you and I realize that you’re as complex as I once thought.” Klaus muttered, a deep sigh escaping his lips. He leaned back into his uncomfortable chair and turned his ring absentmindedly on his finger. Mikeal zoned in on his finger and for a moment Klaus panicked. All the horrible things Mikael could do to his wife flowed through his mind but then he realized that Mikael couldn’t touch her. Two decades in a maximum security prison, wasting away stripped Miakel of any power he had. Once a member of a powerful and old family in England turned into something only few remembered.

“Get to the point. You’re wasting my time, boy.”

“Why? Got somewhere to be?” Klaus laughed, shaking his head. The slow realization that he never needed to come here at all; closure was something he had already found at some point along the journey of his life. “My wife is pregnant. It was a shock for the both of us. We weren’t trying because we had just gotten married. Although the honeymoon probably had something to do with that.”

A small smile crept onto his lips as he remembered the nights they spent in Paris just days after they had taken their vows. They rarely left the room, having spent several vacations together both before and after her move to London. Neither were concerned about Paris or the lights or the tower that tourists flocked too. All that mattered to them was spending time in each other's arms, and building a life together; leaving behind all the darkness Mystic Falls had brought them.

“I found myself in a state of shock. We had discussed children, of course, and we knew we wanted them, just not so soon.” Klaus thought back to the moment he held that small stick in his hand, the word pregnant written in blue words. The shock radiated through his body, making him still until that joyful smile crossed his lips. His wife’s laughter still rang in his ears as he took her into his arms. “And then came the fear. Like it or not you are the only father figure I have ever known. For the first fifteen years of my life, I thought you were my father.”

“And I thought you were my son. A relief to know that a failure such as yourself could never belong to me.” Mikael slurred and Klaus rolled his eyes, a habit he picked up from his wife. Hearing those words spoken across the courtroom stung, especially since his mother’s murder was so fresh in his mind. “You wanted to know if you’re going to be a father like me but you’re weak. You’ll fail as a father. Just like everything else. You will fail.”

“No. I’m not. I’m not weak or a failure. I’ve become a man that I’m proud of and you have yourself to thank for that. For a long time I thought I needed your approval but not now. No, I’m going to be a better father than you, but then again that is not a high bar to reach. You see, if anyone is weak it's you.” Mikael scowled at him and moved to speak but Klaus cut him off. “You beat your wife in order to feel powerful. You murdered her in a blind rage because she betrayed you. You tried to kill me simply because I represented that betrayal. If anyone is weak, it's you. Real men do not hit those they love, no matter what they’ve done.”

🤝 Share a line that introduces a character.

Caroline in Wonderland:

“ Enough!” A new voice sounded around them, sharp like a clap of lightning and loud as rolling thunder. Caroline whipped her head around and saw a tall man standing under a green archway on the other side of the chess board. He wore a navy blue suit that had silver buttons that gleamed in the sun. A top hat was perched on his head and a thunderous look appeared on his face. His eyes flickered towards Caroline but focused on both Rebekah and Freya.

Caroline knew who this man was.

It was Klaus.

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

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Chapters: 6/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Martin considers the repercussions of their argument, and he gets "his" stuff back from storage.

New chapter of my post-canon fix-it!

Read on AO3 above or read here.

Tumblr master post with all chapters is here.

***

The only word Martin could think of to describe the way he felt that morning was hangover. He woke up even earlier than usual and extricated himself from beneath Jon, who was entirely oblivious to the outside world. At least they had managed to communicate something, although it wasn’t the way he would have preferred to do it. At least they had made up, although he knew the actual fallout likely remained to be seen; arguments like that always seemed to twist their way back around.

Some of what Jon had told him was disturbing. He wished he knew what had come from Jon on that last day, and what had come from something that wasn’t Jon. Martin still couldn’t picture him willingly destroying the world. The idea that everything might have been different, that he might have been able to save Jon from that decision if he had just woken up that night, was hard to process. On the other hand, now that they were here, he had a new appreciation for Jon’s insistence on not letting the fears out. It was bad enough that they were responsible for the end of just two people in one dimension. The damage wasn’t just theoretical, and of course Jon had likely understood the possibilities in a way Martin couldn’t have before.

If he was being very, very honest, though, the thing that hurt the most was what Jon would have been willing to do to him. Before, it had felt like abandonment; Jon had been willing to leave him. It was that simple, and that selfish. It wasn’t that he didn’t rationally understand how it could be reasonable, or even an act of strength, if Jon really thought it was what he’d needed to do. It was that he himself could not have been that reasonable or strong about it. He didn’t believe he could have made a decision that would have led to them being apart, and like he’d told Jon—it had hurt that Jon could.

Now, though, he realized Jon had never seen it that way. Jon had sincerely believed that becoming the pupil of the Eye would not have changed him. He had believed he wasn’t sacrificing himself, that they could have still been together. He’d said that. Martin had almost forgotten, because he’d been trying so hard to tell Jon that Melanie and Georgie and Basira had been on their way to blow up the gas main, but now the words came back to him: We can be together, here. Until it’s over. And then—when that had failed—Jon had tried to send him away, but Martin understood now that even that hadn’t been a separation. Not for Jon, the way he was then. Jon would have kept Martin living in that world, whatever the cost, while he tortured himself driving it to its end.

Of course, it was also possible that the Eye had such a hold on Jon at that time that none of those thoughts had really been his—but if that was the case, there was no way Martin was going to allow him to do anything that would help him reconnect to it. He wouldn’t help Jon lose himself again. Whatever he wanted to do here, there had to be another way.

He had no idea how to approach any of this, and he certainly didn’t want to confront Jon with it when he woke up, so he decided to focus on something else instead—like his neck. It hurt. He supposed that made sense, given how he must have slept. After an unsuccessful attempt to stretch it out, he moved on to pick up the papers that were still on the floor. It hadn’t felt right to pick them up while Jon was gone; he’d wanted the reminder of why Jon wasn’t there, so maybe he wouldn’t let things get so heated the next time. He’d told himself he’d pick them up later, but then he’d fallen asleep and Jon had come home and it just hadn’t happened.

By the time he needed to wake Jon, Martin had decided that, for now, he was going to continue to do whatever Jon would allow to support his efforts. He didn’t imagine there was any chance Jon would slow down of his own accord, and at least that way he could make sure he was ok. The worst-case scenario would be if Jon started keeping secrets.

Jon was tired that morning. Martin could tell Jon had the same emotional hangover that he did, but it seemed like more than that. He occasionally stopped to stare distractedly into nothing. He took so long in the shower that Martin had to check on him twice, and ended up finding things to do in the bedroom until Jon was done. He was worried when Jon slipped his arm through his on their walk to work. That wasn’t a normal thing; Jon seemed to be relying on him to keep walking. Martin asked if he was ok, and Jon nodded absently in a way that wasn’t particularly comforting.

The fact was that he seemed to be getting worse, not better.

***

They were somehow only a little bit late, not that anyone was paying attention. Martin had to enter some updates in their online system, so he spent the morning at his desk. Tim was back from his investigation and Sasha was in her office, and despite his worries about Jon it was almost a nice morning with the four of them together. That concerned him; it meant he was getting too comfortable.

As he worked, checking records and following up on notes he’d made the previous week, he discovered another reason for concern. He realized for the first time that some memories of this world had blurred into others, his real memories, with no specific moment of revelation. He very clearly recalled several weeks spent tracking down some files that had been returned to the main library instead of the archives, and he didn’t realize until he was shaking his head over the enormous waste of time that it had only happened here.

Although it was an unimportant memory, it brought up a lot of questions. They still didn’t know exactly what had happened to the Jon and Martin from this world, and clearly they were connected somehow. What if Martin stopped being able to tell the difference between memories from the two worlds? Or worse, what if memories from this world were replacing memories of the one they came from? What if that was why it was so easy to feel occasional moments of contentment—because he was actually forgetting what had happened?

He automatically began to run through his memories, just to see, going backward from the moment they had arrived here. The tower, the panopticon, Annabelle Cane; his slowly expanding terror as Jon had grown more and more drawn to it all. The fear domains, all of them, but especially the corpse roots and the apartment fires and the domain that belonged to him—where people suffered without even the comfort that another living being knew or cared for their existence.

The cabin in Scotland, where everything had gone irretrievably wrong. How had it happened? He had left Jon alone, for one thing. Maybe he should have stayed, but he couldn’t have known. Jon had been trying not to know things, which should have been right. Avoid using evil powers. It still seemed like it should have been right. That was the worst part, wasn’t it? Every wrong decision looked like the right one. It had been so much worse for Jon, of course. If Peter Lukas had been able to see into him like Jonah Magnus could—if he had not pushed it just a bit too far—Martin could have very easily been the one to set off an apocalypse. Instead, he was thrown into the Lonely, unwittingly sealing Jon’s fate in the process. He wondered if he had—

An upsettingly familiar voice broke through his thoughts. Martin was so deeply distracted that at first, he thought he had manufactured it himself, out of his memories. When he looked up, though, he was met with the site of not only Peter Lukas, but also Elias Bouchard, and it took him a second to remember where he was. He started to stand up, but somehow had lost track of his physical surroundings, and managed to get tangled up in his chair. He ended up on the ground.

He could feel the entire room focus in on him, but he couldn’t look away from the two men in front of him. Peter was almost exactly as he remembered him, while Elias could not have been more different—it was hard to believe he was the same person. Of course, in most ways, he wasn’t. Peter chuckled uncomfortably while Martin continued to stare, and turned to the man standing next to him. “It seems we’ve disturbed your assistant.”

“Martin.” His name, spoken nearby, finally brought him out of his stupor. He looked up expecting to find Jon, but found Tim instead.

“Martin,” he said again, “are you all right?”

“Yeah.” He looked around. Sasha had come to the door of her office to see what was going on; Jon had gotten up too.

“I keep saying we need to replace that chair.” Tim laughed nervously and reached to help Martin to his feet. It felt like it took forever to stand up.

“Yeah. Yeah, that chair, it’s, um…” Martin’s words were swallowed up by silence as he turned his eyes to the floor.

“Looks like we’re ok here, then.” Elias clapped his hands and turned back to Peter. “Shall we continue?”

Peter took one last discomfiting look at Martin before they continued into Sasha’s office. She gave Martin a concerned glance as she ushered Elias and Peter in, and pursed her lips as he shook his head. She closed the door behind them.

“Martin, are you—” Jon started to ask.

“I’m fine.” He really was more embarrassed than anything, and set about righting his chair so he could retreat back into his data entry as quickly as possible. “I—I’m sorry.”

Jon started to say something else, but was interrupted as Elias came back into the room, setting Sasha’s door against the jamb. “Everything all right?”

“Yep.” Tim patted Martin on the back, just hard enough to startle him again. “Everything is perfectly fine.”

Elias nodded, looking curiously from Tim to Martin to Jon. “Well, in any case, I want to apologize. I meant to come by last week to see how the two of you were doing, but, well… as you all know, I hate this place and avoid being here whenever possible.” He spoke the last part under his breath and grinned, the sarcastic sort of grin that doesn’t reach the eyes. It was a look Martin could not recall ever seeing on Elias’s face before in his life, but somehow it fit. “Still, I should have checked in. I’ll catch up with you soon. And Martin—get a new chair? That’s embarrassing.”

And with that, he disappeared back into Sasha’s office.

“Well,” Tim said as he leaned back against Martin’s desk. “I’ve seen some reactions to Peter Lukas, but I think that is my new favorite.”

“Sorry.” Martin could feel how red his face was.

“Martin, are you—are you really ok?” He looked over to see intense concern on Jon’s face, and he knew Jon wasn’t asking about his fall.

“Yeah,” he replied, as reassuringly as he could. “I—I really am.”

Jon didn’t seem convinced, but Tim got Martin’s attention again. “Let’s get lunch. You need a break.”

“Oh, I—I would, but I brought mine today.” He gestured toward the paper sack on the corner of his desk. “I have to leave a bit early, so I thought I’d work through lunch.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I have to go pay some fees and pick up some stuff my old apartment building put in storage.”

“How are you getting there?”

“I was going to take the tube out,” Martin replied, realizing he hadn’t thought it through entirely. “I guess I hadn’t planned for getting back, but it’s just going to be some clothes and stuff for now… I can get a cab if it’s too much.”

“I’ll drive you,” Tim announced.

“Oh, no, thanks. I appreciate it, but—”

“It’s really not a problem.”

Martin considered; having a car really would be a lot more convenient. He didn’t know how much stuff was in storage, and he definitely didn’t know how it had been stored. Maybe it wasn’t even packed. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Besides, I want to talk with you.” Seeing the look on Martin’s face, he added, “No more questions. Mostly, I want to apologize properly for last week.”

“Well… yeah, ok. If you really don’t mind.”

“Nope. See you after lunch.” Tim headed for the door.

“Thanks,” Martin called after him.

As soon as Tim was gone, Martin turned back to Jon.

“You said you didn’t need help.” It was a statement, not an accusation, but Martin felt like he had to defend himself.

“I don’t! You heard him—he was really insistent. And he does have a car.”

“I can still go,” Jon said.

“It’s not a big thing.”

Jon bit his lip.

“Jon, you’re not feeling great, and I know how important it is to you to—to do your work. It’s fine.”

“You’re important, too.” Again, this was merely a statement, and again, it provoked too strong a reaction from Martin. This one, though, he tried to cover up.

“Yeah, well—I know that. You don’t have to prove it. And… if you’re not busy, or sleeping, you can help me put stuff away when I get home. Deal?”

Jon sighed, but agreed. “Deal,” he said, before turning back to his desk.

***

Martin ended up being very thankful for Tim’s help, and especially for his car. After they stopped by the rental office and he paid his fees, the storage lot was farther than he had imagined. Additionally, while most of his things were in bags, they were heavy contractor bags and there didn’t seem to be any logic as to what had gone where—if he’d come on his own, he would have had to spend a lot of time dumping things out and rearranging all of it to make it manageable. It would have been a pain, even if he had ended up calling a cab. As it was, though, Tim was able to help him with the heavier bags, and he didn’t have to sort everything out on the spot, so they finished with plenty of time.

“Let me get you a drink on the way back,” Tim offered, as he closed the boot on the final bag. “I still owe you an apology.”

“Tim, you just did me a huge favor. You don’t need to—”

“That was helping a friend. Apologies are measured in drinks.”

Martin considered. He did want to go. “Do you mind if I check on Jon?” he asked.

“Go right ahead,” Tim said. “I’ll wait in the car.”

Martin pulled out his phone, and thought about texting, but decided to call. Jon should be home, and that meant there was a good chance he was asleep. The phone did ring a bit long before he picked up.

“Everything all right?” Jon asked, and Martin thought he did sound like he may have just been roused from a nap.

“Yeah. I was actually just calling to ask you that.”

“Well, I’m home.”

“Good. Um… We got done a bit early, and Tim was asking if I wanted to grab a drink. Would you mind if I did?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you sure? Did you eat yet?” Martin asked. He kept his voice low so Tim wouldn’t overhear, although he didn’t exactly know why.

“Not yet.”

“I left one of those frozen meals on top in the freezer for you. Will you eat it?”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Martin cringed at what he was about to say, but did it anyway. “Would you make it now?”

There was a pause. “Martin, are you serious?”

“Yes? I mean, you don’t have to, but I’d feel better if—”

“Fine.” Jon sighed, and Martin heard the sound of the freezer door opening a few moments later. “I’m doing it. Stop fretting and go have a drink.”

“Ok.” He was relieved. “Jon—thanks.”

“Go.” The call ended, and Martin couldn’t help but smile.

“OK, we’re good,” Martin told Tim as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Sure you won’t let me get it, though?”

“One hundred percent,” Tim answered. “How’s Jon?”

Martin debated whether he should give the polite answer or the real one, and went with something in between. “He’s… ok? To be honest, I’m a little worried about him.”

“Me too.” Tim started the car. “He wasn’t looking good last week when I was around.”

“Yeah?” Martin asked.

“He just seems tired,” Tim continued. “I mean, he’s always tired, ever since I’ve known him, but this is different. Tired and… distracted, I guess. Not like him.”

Martin nodded in agreement. “I’ve been trying to get him to take it easy, but—”

“He doesn’t care much for that, does he?”

“No. No, he does not.” Martin snorted, and Tim gave him a little grin as they headed out.

Soon they were sitting together at a table with a couple of beers in front of them.

“So,” Tim began, “I am officially apologizing for how I acted last week. I was a dick.”

Martin sighed. “No, you weren’t. You were worried, and Jon and I haven’t exactly been easy to—well, easy to anything.”

“Forgive me anyway?”

“If you insist,” Martin replied. “I forgive you, I guess.”

“Thanks. Cheers,” Tim said, holding up his glass. Martin obliged with a clink, and took a polite sip while Tim gulped down about half of what was in his glass.

“And for the record, I still don’t believe that you’re telling us everything, but—well, I imagine you have your reasons. I got to thinking over the weekend,” Tim said, after he had wiped his mouth off with his arm. “Sasha asked me not to say too much, but you know I was looking into some police records last week.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah, did something turn up?”

“Sasha was right. There was more. More than people had come to talk to us about.”

“For instance?”

Well… for instance, there was a kidnapping case about a month back. It turned out to be related to this cult that’s apparently been around forever, but never really done anything before. Not anything worth anyone’s time, anyway. I won’t get into details, I promised Sasha, but some of the officers thought they saw some things that… just shouldn’t have been possible. Not one or two officers, like a lot of them. And they lost some people.”

Martin wanted to ask questions, confirm his suspicions, but after what had happened with Oliver Banks, he didn’t want to push it again. “That’s horrible.”

“And here’s the real kicker.” Tim stopped to take another big drink. “There have been enough of these incidents that they’ve started asking the officers to sign a form saying they won’t talk about it. There’s been sort of an upset over it, actually. It’s all got lots of them pretty nervous, but no one is willing to make any outside statements, either. Not officially.”

Martin nodded again. This was really bad, but if it was happening, it was better that he know. He would tell Jon too, of course.

“Well, anyway, the point was I got to thinking—I know you and Jon disappeared around the same time all of this started. I’m not sure what to make of any of it, but whatever is going on… whatever you went through or feel like you went through, I understand why you might not want to talk about it.”

Martin knew he should say again that couldn’t remember, that he was sure it was nothing like that, it was probably completely unrelated—but he couldn’t. For one thing, it was a terrible lie. Everything Tim had witnessed—the way they had disappeared, the time they were gone, the way they had shown up again—it all fit together. For another thing, he knew he’d already said too much the last time they were out, and if he kept trying to lie he’d just look like an ass. Mostly, though, Martin hated lying to friends, and he couldn’t pretend anymore that this Tim didn’t feel like a friend.

So instead, he just nodded again, and took another sip of his beer.

“Well, if you need anything, I’m here.” Tim finished the remainder of his glass. “Speaking of which—where are we bringing your stuff?”

“Oh.” Martin realized he and Jon had never actually explained their living situation, and he felt the color rise into his face. “Jon’s flat?”

“I figured as much.” Tim leaned toward him. “So is that a long-term situation, or—?”

Martin didn’t know how to answer that, because he realized he didn’t know the answer. When they’d first gotten here, of course, they had just needed somewhere to go, and Jon had clearly wanted him there. Since then, he’d been so worried about Jon that he hadn’t questioned whether or not he should stay; it had just felt obvious that Jon needed him there. He had never actually asked him though, had he?

“I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “I guess we hadn’t talked about it.”

“Oh, god, relax,” Tim groaned. “If Jon didn’t want you there, you’d know. Subtlety is not his strength.”

“Sure.” Tim was basically right, of course. Still, they had been operating in survival mode for so long that maybe Jon hadn’t even realized not living together was an option. Mostly, though, it just wasn’t how people were supposed to move in together. They weren’t supposed to do it because they were scared.

Martin took a much longer sip of his beer, and was grateful when Tim changed the subject.

***

Miraculously, Jon was awake when they got back. He offered to help carry the bags upstairs from the car, but Tim and Martin both insisted he should let them take care of it, and he did seem relieved once he realized how heavy they were. Martin thanked Tim profusely for the help—it really would have taken a lot longer without him—and Tim said again he was happy to do it, and that he was looking forward to getting drinks with both of them sometime soon, when Jon was up for it.

“What did he mean, when I’m up for it?” Jon asked, after he was gone.

“Jon, everyone can tell you’re…” Martin considered what word to use. “Tired.”

“Is it really that bad?”

Martin wanted to ask Jon if that was a joke. Instead, he went with, “Yeah. It is.”

“I didn’t realize.” Jon was nervous. “Do you think Tim suspects anything?”

He decided not to mention that Tim very definitely did; it would only add stress, and that was not what Jon needed right now. He took a different route.

“Tim’s concerned, that’s all. You’re his friend and he’s worried.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You are. I know there are a lot of complicating factors, and no, he’s not our Tim”—Martin stumbled a little over those words— “but in the simplest terms, he is Tim, and he is our friend.”

Jon sighed. “I’m not sure how friendly he would feel toward me if he knew what I’ve done.”

“What you—” Martin started to protest, but he reconsidered. He’d had enough arguing last night, and as obvious as his own responsibility for everything seemed to him, he doubted Jon would agree. “Never mind. How are you doing?”

“I’m all right,” Jon answered. “Good enough to help you sort through some of this.”

“Oh, Jon, I was just talking, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Then, with a slight smile, he added, “I certainly can’t let Tim take all the credit.”

“Right.” Martin shook his head, but also ended up smiling. “So, I’ll warn you—there’s not been a lot of organization. I maybe had to grab a little more than I actually intended.”

Ultimately, they dumped most of it onto the sitting room floor and began to sort everything into piles. Clothes Martin needed, things that could go to the office, some things they could use in the kitchen, stuff to go back to storage. As they sorted, Martin told Jon what he’d learned from Tim, which he suspected was related to the People’s Church of the Divine Host. He also told him about the police officers who had recently been sectioned. Jon nodded in concern while he spoke, but didn’t say much.

Before long, they had sorted out most of the obvious things. Martin was left going through a few boxes that had come along, containing mostly papers and legal documents and breakables and other things that couldn’t easily be thrown into bags.

“Want me to put some clothes away while you’re going through that?” Jon asked.

Martin cleared his throat. “Actually, it kind of came up when I was talking to Tim, and um—well, I realized we never talked about how long I would be staying here.”

“What do you mean, how long?” Jon seemed completely confused.

“Well, I kind of just… moved in. And we never talked about it.”

“What?” Jon asked again.

“You know, normally people talk about this. Moving in together.” Martin shifted uncomfortably in his spot on the floor.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jon asked.

“I mean, this is your place. I know I lost mine, or he lost his, or whatever, and this made sense when we got here, but—”

“Do you not want to be here?”

“What? No, I do, of course I do, but I just assumed it was what you wanted, too.”

“Because it is what I wanted.”

“I just hadn’t asked, that’s all.” Admittedly, Martin was relieved, but it still didn’t feel quite right. “I mean, we kind of had to be together before, and we have more time now to think about things, and I want this to really be a choice going forward because I do want to—well, I know I’m already on your nerves with the—”

“Stop. Listen to me,” Jon said. “I want you here. As long as you want to be here. I choose this.”

“Ok.” Martin stopped trying to explain himself, even though he wasn’t sure Jon really understood. He wasn’t trying to convince Jon he should move out, after all. He just wanted a sense of normalcy, to stop feeling like they were hurtling toward some inevitable doom. He didn’t want every moment to count; he wanted a future. He wasn’t sure how to put that into words, though.

“Can I help pay rent, at least?”

Jon got to his feet and grabbed a stack of shirts that were closest to him. “I really don’t care. At this point, money seems so… mundane.”

“Definitely in the shaving and eating category,” Martin agreed. “Still…”

“If it makes you comfortable, yes, of course.” Jon headed toward the bedroom, and Martin turned his attention back to the boxes in front of him.

He made it most of the way through with no trouble. Most of the things in the boxes could go back into storage; a few things, like his birth certificate, he would keep. And then he found a copy of his mother’s death certificate. He didn’t even have to look at the date to know; he remembered. It had happened here on the exact same day it had happened for him. Everything about it had been the same, actually. Not just when she passed, but all of it; everything about his relationship with her had been exactly the same. He didn’t understand why he felt so much disappointment.

“Martin?” Jon touched his shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” Martin glanced back and up at Jon.

“It’s just—you’ve been looking at it for five minutes. You haven’t moved.”

“Oh. It’s, um—well, look.” It was easier than saying it. He held it up until Jon recognized it.

“Ah.” Jon set down the clothes in his hand and sat down next to Martin.

“I guess—” Martin sighed. “I guess it was all just so—maybe I’d hoped that they had something to do with it, you know? But they didn’t. They weren’t here then. It was just how she was. And maybe it was how I was, too. Maybe I—”

“No.” Jon leaned against him, and gently rested his hand on the back of his shoulder. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Do you know what Elias showed me? Or Jonah, I guess? While you were—”

“I heard the tape, yes.”

“It was true, wasn’t it? She hated me.”

“She—she was ill, Martin. She loved you when she was well.” Martin nodded, and Jon leaned in even closer. “But just because she loved you doesn’t mean she was a good mother.”

“No. She wasn’t, actually.” Martin closed his eyes, and tried to just appreciate Jon’s presence, his warmth. “She was awful.”

Jon nodded.

“You know, I’ve never told anyone that.” Martin already felt ashamed. “Well, anyone except me.”

“Oh—right.” Jon knew what he meant.

“But it wasn’t her fault.”

“Does it matter if it was?”

“Yes. It does.” Martin tried to ignore the tear that squeezed its way out through his eyelids, because trying to stop them only ever seemed to bring more of them. “Jon—was the other part true too? Do I really look like my—like him?”

Jon hesitated, but eventually answered. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean you’re anything like him.”

“Do you know what he was like?”

“Yes. It was an accident, but I—” Jon paused. “I thought I needed to know what Elias could do, and, well… I couldn’t control it that well then. I saw more than I meant to. Is there anything you want to know?”

Martin felt another hot tear slide down his face, and tried to ignore that one too. “Am I like him?”

“No,” Jon said quietly. “Not at all.”

“Then I don’t need to know anything else.” A third tear fell, and a fourth, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He raised his arm to wipe his face, but Jon stopped him.

“Sorry. It’s been a long day,” Martin mumbled. “I’m—”

“No.” Jon turned Martin’s head toward him, and wiped his cheek with his thumb. “Don’t apologize.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you cry once, and it was because—”

Jon kissed him.

“Jon—”

“Hush.” Jon crawled over Martin to straddle his lap, and kissed him again. Everything that had been swimming around in Martin’s head—their argument, Peter, his mother—it fell away, and all that was left was Jon. He let himself really breathe for the first time that day, resting his face against Jon’s shirt as they held each other.

“I love you,” Jon told him, when Martin looked at him.

“I love you too.” He turned his face up so Jon could kiss him again.

They stayed there until Jon’s hand gradually dropped from Martin’s face to his neck, and eventually down his arm, and Martin realized he was falling asleep.

“You awake?”

Jon didn’t answer him, and Martin didn’t particularly want to let go—so he picked him up, shifting Jon’s arms to his shoulders and then wrapping his own arms around Jon’s waist. He’d never done it before, but it was surprisingly easy; Jon was disturbingly light. Jon woke up enough to have a moment of panic when Martin stood up, and tightened his grip on Martin’s neck, but quickly relaxed and let himself be carried him to the bedroom.

“You all right?” Martin asked after he set him down on the bed.

“Mm.” Jon turned to lie on his side, and Martin brushed back the hair that had come loose.

“Jon, I’m really worried about you.”

“I’ll be ok,” Jon replied, catching Martin’s hand as he closed his eyes again. “I have you.”

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #jonmartin #tma spoilers #tma fanfic #my writing

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xx-ingie-xx · 4 years

Text

Forgotten 14 Excerpt (oh, and hi)

Hi everyone,

I know, I know, it’s been f-o-r-e-v-e-r. And things have really changed since my last post. I hope everyone is safe and well and working to protect themselves and others through social distancing. I’m doing all right—I’m fortunate enough to have a comfortable home, and since I live alone I’m pretty used to solitude. The worst part is being unable to visit family and friends, or enjoy spring activities after a long winter. But it’s important that we all do our part to flatten the curve—reading the news reminds me of that every day.

In my last post I mentioned that I’ve struggled to find motivation to write, and that hasn’t gone away. I’m still not nearly as productive as I’d like to be, but I have started to push myself more. Social distancing has certainly given me more time to wrestle with this, so we’ll see how it goes.

Thank you so much to those of you who have reached out to see if I’m doing okay. I haven’t been answering messages, but please know I really do appreciate your concern for me and your interest in my work. I hope my lack of activity here hasn’t worried or offended anyone.

I have managed to complete the first scene of Forgotten’s next chapter, so I thought I would post it here. There are only two chapters left, including this one (plus an epilogue). Who knows, maybe I can find my groove and finish this thing before summer.

Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy it!

---

His eyes shone in the firelight, more indigo than blue, and his face bore an unspoken longing, one mirrored in her own gaze. Time slowed as a wordless invitation passed between them, an unspoken plea to abandon caution, to defy convention…

A spray of water soaked her back, and she whipped around to meet his playful grin. Feigning offense, she approached the bank and kicked up a splash of her own, shrieking when he caught her foot and pulled her in…

Fierce, icy winds whipped about her, veiling the dark pines in swirling gusts of white. Again and again she called to him, too focused, too terrified to heed her numbing toes and aching lungs…

He turned from the window, his bruised face shifting from annoyance to absolute shock at the sight of her. Raindrops streaked the glass behind him, obscuring his view of the mourners below…

She left the temple with heavy steps, her face a somber mask beneath the circlet which newly adorned her head. He waited at the base of the stairs, as close as the priests had allowed, beaming with pride as he moved to embrace her…

He lay on a black altar in a shadowy chamber, chained down by heavy, rusted manacles. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat and blood, and his dirtied face twisted in pain as he labored for breath—

Zelda woke with a start.

The images retreated, scattering like dust on the wind. Only fragments remained, all of them dim and distorted. The emotion was gone, the significance lost.

Slowly she sat up, blinking as a tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away in a daze, taking slow, deep breaths as she waited for the sensation to pass. The fog soon began to clear, allowing her most recent memories to surface...

Link.

“Oh, thank the Sisters…"

Zelda looked up to see Impa rush to her bedside. Gently she felt Zelda’s forehead, her face drawn with motherly concern.

"How are you feeling?" she murmured. "Any pain?"

"No… I'm all right."

She did have a rather nasty headache, but she barely noticed it. It was nothing compared to the deep sense of loss she felt inside, as though some part of her had been pried loose and torn out.

“Where is Link?" she asked, meeting her guardian’s unwavering gaze.

Impa sighed. “He isn't here. He’ll be away for several days, I'm afraid."

“Away?" Zelda breathed. "To where?"

"He didn't say. He was… beside himself."

Zelda stared at her, slowly piecing together the gravity of the situation. Guilt churned in her stomach as she remembered her confrontation with Link.

"This is all my fault,” she whispered.

"Ne'lear, no," Impa soothed. "It was inevitable. This is something he must face alone, in his own way."

Zelda shook her head and threw the covers aside. “No, I can't leave it like this. I must go to him."

Impa caught her elbow to stop her. "You're not going anywhere until Maddox has examined you."

"I don't need an examination, Impa. He didn't hurt me. He would never…"

That, she realized, was the strongest revelation she had gained from her exposure to the bond: the truth of his love for her—or rather for his Zelda. It was tender and fierce and pure… Her recollection was vague and dreamlike, but she ached to feel it again—to receive such love and return it, without the burden of uncertainty or regret…

"You were out cold when Link brought you to me, and he was beyond shaken. You will not leave this bed until I understand what happened between you two."

Zelda glanced down at her hands, saddened by the thought of him in such a state. Gently Impa lifted her chin, her face reflecting Zelda’s sorrow.

“I want to help him too,” she murmured. “I want to help both of you. Watching you struggle through this… it hasn’t been easy for me either. Please... tell me what happened.”

Again Zelda hesitated, wondering how she could possibly find the words.

"We… connected. Our minds were… joined somehow…”

Impa’s expression did not change. "Can you describe it?”

Zelda closed her eyes and focused on the memory, trying to extract more detail.

She remembered feeling lighter, as though some unknown burden had fallen away. Another presence caressed her own, warm and hauntingly familiar. She had rushed toward its source, sighing with elation as their spirits joined together…

But the pleasure vanished as soon as it came, smothered in a flood of anguish and disjointed memories. It was a consequence she had failed to consider, and one he had dismissed. With the bond, there were no defenses, no separation.

Only truth.

"It was so brief,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “But… in those few moments, I knew him. I knew everything, felt everything, as though I were him—or a part of him. I can’t remember much of it, but I know it was incredible and painful and… just so much all at once…"

“Too much,” Impa murmured. “I did not expect him to go this far. He’s shown such control until now."

“No, Impa, I asked him to do it—I practically begged him. Don’t blame him for this, please."

And I kissed him, she recalled, her heart quickening. And he kissed me back…

It was something she had been waiting for, even yearned for, since her return from Zora’s Domain. Yet it seemed so small in retrospect, eclipsed by her experience with the bond, ruined by the pain she never meant to cause.

That kiss wasn’t for me, she realized with a pang of disappointment. I should have known better. He was tired… and vulnerable.

“You were not ready for that exchange, Zelda. Telepathy alone is still very new for you, but this…” Impa glanced toward the window, breathing a weary sigh. "He regrets it, that much is certain."

Zelda looked up, startled from her thoughts. "But I don’t want him to regret it… He’s miserable as it is, and I…"

Her heart sank as she remembered the more intense emotions she had felt in the bond. His emotions. Some had been directed at her—feelings like frustration and disappointment. But the darker feelings, like shame and loathing, he held entirely for himself.

He carries them every day, along with all his uncertainties, all his responsibilities…

“I’ve only made things worse," Zelda said bitterly. "I didn’t understand; I—I thought I could help him move on. At least, that’s what I told myself. But now…"

"How could you understand?" Impa soothed. "No one can truly understand another's grief, even with all their memories intact."

"But I've been pushing him… You asked me to consider his happiness when I made my choice, and I… I can’t say I’ve done that. I’ve had so many dreams, Impa. I’ve seen things, felt things I can’t explain, things I know I should ask him about. But those things scare me, and I… I wanted him to accept me, as I am now…"

Her face burned as she gave her confession, but Impa’s gentle gaze held no judgment.

"Even now," Zelda added, her voice thick with sorrow. "Nothing has changed for me. The thought of… yielding to her and vanishing into obscurity… it still frightens me. You said it's irrational, and maybe it is. Link thinks me selfish, and maybe I am. Maybe I have been blind and stupid in letting my ridiculous feelings guide me…"

She buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back her tears. Impa held her close, shushing her gently, comforting her like she had when Zelda was a child.

“You have the right to choose your own path,” she murmured. “We will love you just the same. Even Link will make peace with it… in time."

Zelda sniffled, too overcome to speak.

But why? A small voice spoke in her head. Why put your fears above the needs of those who love you?

With that thought, Zelda felt something deep within her click into place. Her tears slowed as her emotions calmed, giving way to a single, clarifying thought.

Why give into fear?

Slowly she lifted her head from Impa’s shoulder, blinking as she processed her newfound clarity.

"...You may be right," she murmured. "Maybe I could stay like this. Maybe it would turn out all right in the end.”

Zelda paused to wipe the tears from her face, her expression solemn when she met Impa’s gaze.

“But there would be damage. To you, to Link, to anyone who’s ever cared about me. You will all remember the person I was, and you would wonder what might have been, had I chosen differently. That sadness would never leave you. Even I might come to regret my decision, when it’s too late to change it…”

Determination swelled in her heart, and her voice grew stronger as she sat up straighter.

“All this time, since I woke without my memories, I've been ruled by fear. I did not feel seen, and I wanted control over my life. I can’t control my past, so I rejected it.”

Zelda sighed, feeling another stab of shame. "...But that was an illusion. And I didn’t understand how much pain it caused. Not truly. What I felt last night, in the bond… I’ve never known that kind of pain.”

“You have,” Impa said gently. "And your experiences are imprinted on your soul, whether you remember them or not. They will stay with you, one way or another."

Zelda fell silent, considering her words. “But, without my memories,” she said slowly, “none of that would matter, not to me. Those experiences might as well belong to someone else.”

Impa studied her with concern but offered no reply.

“I can’t be afraid anymore,” Zelda said. “I need to believe that embracing my past is the answer, even for me. I have to trust in you, in Link, and in the person I was… even if it scares me.”

A rare emotion crossed Impa’s face, and she drew Zelda into a tighter embrace.

“My brave girl,” she whispered.

“I used to be,” Zelda said, pulling away with a weak smile. “I’d like to think that much hasn't changed.”

Impa shook her head. “It’s ingrained too deep, ne'lear. But all of this can wait. You should rest and reflect on your decision, on all that's happened. Meditate on it."

"Meditation won’t help me. I was joined to the bond for only a moment, and I gained more clarity than I have from weeks of meditation."

Impa looked skeptical. "Those were Link’s memories, Zelda… Link’s feelings. You need to explore your own."

"But there has to be some way he can guide me. The bond is powerful magic… I can’t achieve that on my own.”

"Link has yet to master his telepathic abilities. Everything he knows, he learned from you. Using the bond might not be the best approach, for either of you."

Zelda gave a resigned shrug. "I won’t rest until I try.”

Impa sighed. “I don’t suppose you plan to wait until he returns.”

“Not if I can help it. I assume he took the Ocarina... Is there no way to reach him?”

“I’m sure we can track him down… but we’ll need a little help.”

#Zelda #Forgotten #Fortitude #excerpt

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haberdashing · 4 years

Text

fog on a mirror

TMA fanfic. Sasha begins to unravel, but an unexpected meeting provides some relief.

Continuation of breath in a graveyard by @akosyy. Definitely read that before you read this.

on AO3

Sasha had known that Tim was her anchor for a while now. Even before he knew it was her, knew that they’d been close well before she became little more than a voice on a tape recorder, they had talked, long hours spent together, their voices intermingling when their bodies no longer could. He had cared about her even when he hadn’t known her name. Even her death hadn’t been enough to force them apart for good.

His death, on the other hand...

Some part of Sasha had hoped that he would turn up there in the Institute, stuck here like she was. Not that it was a fate she’d wish upon him, or upon anyone, really, but... it would be nice to have the company, at least. It seemed, though, that if Tim was haunting anywhere it would be that damn wax museum in Great Yarmouth, far from her domain, far from her watchful eye.

Sasha wasn’t all that surprised to find that when Tim was gone, she began to drift away, unanchored as she was.

Martin tried, bless him. Martin really tried to be there for her when nobody else was. But there was only so much he could do to help. She wasn’t the only one who was suffering because of the aftermath of that explosion, after all. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost her anchor.

Maybe it would be different if Melanie or Basira knew about her, but while Martin could conceivably had told them about her, given Sasha others who could both hear her and recognize what it was they heard, he never offered and she never asked. It was probably for the best, really. Neither of them seemed like they’d take the idea that somebody they didn’t know had been watching them all this time without their knowledge or permission terribly well.

Maybe it would be different, too, if Sasha could say anything useful, pass along the information she’d learned along the way, but that old static still rose up when she tried to explain about the Institute, about Elias, about anything of any real importance. All she could offer was a conversation partner, and as it was, it sounded like Martin talked to a ghost often enough when he visited Jon, though Sasha at least could talk back. Martin was probably growing tired of having only ghosts to speak with, anyway.

As it was, Martin’s chats with the tape recorder grew less and less frequent as days turned to weeks turned to months until they ended entirely. Sasha hadn’t known their last conversation would be exactly that when it happened, but then Peter Lukas...

Well. Martin was still technically in the Institute, but once Peter Lukas got a hold of him, he might as well have been gone, too.

All of them were gone, then, and Sasha began to fade as the aching certainty of it set in.

She’d pass by someone she knew and not remember their name, or how she knew them, or any of the little things she’d gleaned about their life in her time spent as the Institute’s resident ghost. She’d forget the lyrics to the songs she made herself keep singing despite everything, would mix up tunes and not realize that they didn’t go together until she was through. She’d see something that triggered a memory of her life before her death but the details would be hazy, like she was trying to see them through a thick pane of glass, or through dense fog.

She knew that this place was hers, that the people in it were hers, that she was here to watch and listen and not to act, but little by little, the rest started to fall by the wayside.

It was... some months later, though she couldn’t have given a date, or even a number of months that had passed, when she saw him, a thin, dark man with a cane slowly but steadily making his way down the stairs into the Archives.

A lightbulb went off in her head as the man turned the lights of the Archives on--it was night, now, and the residents of the Institute had already long since left--and she knew he wasn’t supposed to be here, though details beyond that initially eluded her.

Her first thoughts were that he was an intruder, like that man with far too many limbs who had attacked the Institute months ago, the sight of the Archives staff fending him off both fascinating and horrifying to her uninvolved eyes. But no, he didn’t look like an intruder, thin and weak as he was, and he clearly knew exactly where he was going as he wandered into an office that had been vacant for quite a while now and sat down within it, sighing slightly as he sank into the chair.

Then she remembered, distantly, that he had died. That it had all gone wrong--that was the phrasing that Martin had used, then, that it had all gone wrong--and he had died. He wasn’t the one who had been her anchor, but they had died side by side, fighting the same fight. Except that he was here now.

He was here now, and he wasn’t a ghost like her. He’d turned the lights on, after all, was able to take his jacket off and adjust the chair and turn on the computer in front of him. He had died, and yet he was physically present in a way she could only dream of, in a way she had only been in those distant, foggy memories of hers. A zombie, perhaps, but not a ghost.

And as she stood there and watched this strange visitor to the Archives rifle through dusty files, after a moment, he looked up and watched her right back.

“...Sasha?”

It took her a moment to realize that that was her name, and another moment to think to speak up, and another silent moment to remember that speaking didn’t work like that for her, not now, not anymore.

If the man noticed her silent, slow processing, though, he didn’t show it, shaking his head--his hair was long and shaggy, black and silver strands clinging to his face after every movement--and smiling weakly before digging through his bag for...

Ah. For a tape recorder. Which he set on the desk, looking her in the eyes as he pressed the play button.

“Sorry, is that better?”

Her breathing came through the tape recorder loud and clear. How long had it been since she’d heard the sound of her own breath?

“For a certain definition of better, I suppose.” The words came out of her almost as smoothly and naturally as her breaths did.

“Right. Right, that makes sense.” He laughed, soft and sharp, with no humor in the sound.

“Jon?” It had taken her longer than it should have to remember that name. They had been close, once. Too much had changed, but perhaps that part didn’t need to. “Jon, what happened? Martin said you were dead.”

Granted, Sasha knew that that wasn’t entirely true, given that hospitals generally weren’t in the business of taking care of dead people, but while Martin had touched on Jon’s condition in their chats back when they’d had them, he never outright explained what state Jon was in now; Sasha had gotten the feeling that it was something of a sensitive subject, and she hadn’t pushed. She knew that Jon had been in the hospital, that he was still technically considered dead, and that he wasn’t expected to recover, but that wasn’t enough to put together the full story. She’d assumed brain death, when she’d assumed anything at all, but that didn’t exactly match up with current evidence.

“Not quite.” Jon broke eye contact with Sasha, looking down at his cane, which he began to fidget with absentmindedly. “It’s... it’s a long story.”

Sasha shrugged. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

“Do you?” Jon stared back up at Sasha. “You look... fuzzy. Are you alright, Sasha?”

She could tell he was trying to change the subject, but she couldn’t entirely blame him, either. Maybe he wasn’t ready to talk about his near-death experience, or whatever, yet. That was fair enough.

Besides, he had a point.

Sasha laughed, her laughter soft and shaky and slightly tinged with static as it rang out from the tape recorder. “I do feel a little... fuzzy, actually.”

“Probably not a great sign, that.”

Sasha shook her head, her laughter a little louder this time, but still shaky and filled with static. “No, probably not.”

“Do you want to... to talk about it?” Jon went back to fidgeting with his cane, though he kept his gaze locked on Sasha, the gleam in his eyes downright eerie in the dim archival lighting. “You know, I never did get a statement from you, even though I thought that’s what you were here for at first... maybe that would help, getting to tell your story, having someone hear you out.”

Sasha thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, she suspected Jon had more reasons than he was sharing for wanting to hear her story, and she could tell he was still trying to get out of explaining what had happened to him. On the other hand, he looked about as bad as she felt, and... and maybe it would be good for her, being able to explain it all to somebody who’d be glad to listen.

And she wasn’t the only one without an anchor here, was she?

“I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours afterwards.” Jon opened his mouth to speak, and she held up one hand to stop him. “Doesn’t have to be right now, right away. But I want to hear it one of these days. When you’re ready.”

“I...” Jon let out a long, slow breath. “Alright, fair enough. We have a deal, then.”

“And the tape recorder’s already running, of course.”

“Of course.” Jon laughed a little, and Sasha noticed that his voice sounded slightly hoarse as he did, just before he cleared his throat. “Statement of Sasha James, regarding...”

“...Her death and subsequent existence.” Sasha finished, trying not to notice how Jon’s eyes lit up as he switched into statement mode.

Jon nodded silently before continuing with his speech. “Taken direct from subject, 16th of February, 2018. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

That bit was new, and it stuck out clearly enough in Sasha’s mind; Sasha had heard him record statements more times than she could count, now, and it was always always always “Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London”. A few times she’d spoken the words along with him, when she’d known that she wouldn’t be heard, getting the same rhythm that he always used down after a couple practices. The fact that he was calling himself just “the Archivist,” now, the term she’d only ever heard used by those who were in too deep and saw people as roles more than as individuals... well, it wasn’t a great sign.

But then, neither was the fact that Sasha was apparently fuzzy to Jon’s eyes, albeit not to her own, or the fact that the static crept up on her sometimes even when she was saying nothing of consequence.

They were both drifting, perhaps. They both needed an anchor.

Sasha forced herself to summon up a smile, weak but present just the same, and Jon smiled back at her, and though he looked like hell and his eyes gleamed unnaturally as they stared up at her, in that moment, everything seemed almost okay.

“Statement begins.”

#ghost sasha #sasha james #tma #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

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minsyal · 5 years

Text

Not sure if theres any super important rules I somehow didn't see, but if its alright (and hasn't been done already) id like to request Revali, Link, and Sidon's reactions to a dying s/o? v-v

Revali

He’ll be PISSED

Immediate anger and immediate blaming of himself for your death even if there was no possible way it was his fault

He’ll be a quiet mourner though

He won’t cry.

He won’t want to talk about it to anyone.

He probably wont acknowledge it to anyone for awhile as it takes time to process through his brain.

Instead of crying, he’ll spend a lot of time thinking

He’ll think of all the good times you had together

He’ll think of all the ways he could have possibly saved you

And finally he’ll think of what you would want him to do when you’re gone

He’ll pull himself together faster than most and will immediately go back to whatever goal he was heading toward - IE defeating the Calamity

He’ll train more by himself

He’ll half to force himself to take time to stop training to take care of himself because he knows it what you’d want him to do.

For the actual process of dying:

If it’s a slow death

He’ll want to leave to go find a way to cure whatever it is

He will take a lot of convincing to stay

When you convince him to, he’ll still want to go looking

He’ll stay at your side all day and night only taking breaks to go get food/blankets/ etc

He’ll talk to you as if you weren’t casually dying next to him as he doesn’t want you to be alarmed or worried

He’ll hold your hand a lot - awake, sleeping, doesn’t matter

You’ll have to listen to him read a lot too

If it’s a quick death

He’ll still want to leave to find a way to cure you

and you’ll still have to convince him to stay

He’ll be more frantic

You’ll be able to actually hear the worry in his voice as he cradles you in his arms and tucks his head next to yours

He’ll tell you all the things he hadn’t told you BC HE’S DUMB AND IS SO CLOSED OFF

His walls around him will fall as he holds you

He’ll shed a tear once he realizes you’ve passed away, but will collect himself quickly

Sidon

Oh he’ll be devastated, like what the fuck dude?

He’ll mourn and mourn and mourn some more

He’ll think about you a lot

He’ll not let it stop him from fulfilling his royal duties though because he’ll see it as him failing you

He will do anything to keep your memory alive whether it be planting the flowers you liked around the Domain or dedicating a day to you

I don’t see Sidon as being the type to move on though.

He’s too set in one mindset to even consider loving someone else at the same level

Instead, he’ll keep living on as if he and you were still together

To you actually dying, like the process:

He wont cry until you’re gone - he’s too happy and uplifting to let any tears spill

He has to stay strong for you.

If it’s a slow death, he’ll ensure you have the most comfortable place to live out your last days and he won’t leave your side the entire time. He’ll tell you stories of the times you spent together and relive his happiest memories with you one last time.

If it’s a fast death, he’ll hold you in his arms and tell you all the things he loves about you as fast as he can. He wont let you go.

Once you pass, he’ll fast forward through the stages of grief to bargaining and then to acceptance.

I just feel like he’d be the type to beg for you to come back while crying or something.

OVerall Anon you’re a monster for making shark boy cri.

Also go read 100 Years, you’ll love it

Link

He’ll be likely to just hold you and try to keep you calm

He’ll become super determined afterward

He’ll bury you himself because he knows all the places around Hyrule that you shared together

He’d be the most likely to move on (in my opinion) only if you tell him that you want him to either while you’re dying or sometime beforehand.

He’ll try to use anything he has in his bag to save you, fairies, potions,etc etc

To the actual dying process:

If it’s a slow death

He’ll put everything off to stay at your side

He’ll take you back to his home in Hateno

There’ll always be a fresh meal for you waiting

He’ll show you photos from all the places you’ve visited and tell you something funny/cute that happened there

He’ll lay in bed with you all day/night if that’s what you want

If you want to go outside, he’ll carry you and find a comfortable place for you to relax

If you can’t go outside, he’ll bring it inside.

Plants will be scattered around the place and all the windows will be open

If its a quick death

He’ll go HAM on anything that hurt you before coming to your side

He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe and comfortable as you pass

He’ll brush his hands through your hair and rub circles on your back

Lots of sweet whispers of “it’s okay” and “I’m here” and “don’t worry.”

He’ll assure you that he’ll be here for you no matter what

He’ll eventually take you back to Hateno to bury you

Yo anon, why you gotta ask stuff like this?

jk I live for angst <3

519 notes · View notes

theaceace · 5 years

Text

I started writing a funny little piece about Martin listening to gossip, and then the spirit of hugjonsims2k19 took over. Set in a nebulous s4 au wishy-washy sort of timeline. Enjoy?

It takes Martin longer than he is proud of to realise that there’s something off – that there has been for a while, really. He’d like to say it’s because he’s always so busy these days. Peter keeps him bogged down with endless paperwork, and should he ever manage to find a spare moment between forms, scheduling, budgets, and worrying, then he’s trying to take to heart what Peter told him. That he needs to keep himself isolated – that a clean break is better for everyone involved, that dragging the process on will only hurt him more in the long run.

Hurt him more – at least Peter had the good sense not to lie and say this way would be painless.

So between all of the… everything going on, it’s a while before Martin walks in on Sonia and Rosie giggling over something Cam had supposedly said and realises that he has no idea what they’re talking about.

They don’t notice him walk in, and if they look up and see him leaving, neither of them reacts.

It’s stupid. It’s office gossip. His stomach shouldn’t be twisting and cramping like he’s about to be sick, there shouldn’t be sweat starting to bead along his hairline, he shouldn’t have to swallow down the thickness in his throat. It’s stupid.

But Martin had always known exactly what was going on. Birthdays, weddings, all the antics people’s children or nieces and nephews got up to, all the quiet little fallings-out and goings on that came with cramming so many people into one building and asking them all to work nicely together. He doesn’t remember how it started, or quite why, but he had always been considered trustworthy – a good person to talk to. Once that might have made him laugh. After all, so much of who he became at this place was built on lies; harmless, maybe, but still lies.

In retrospect, it’s impressive that it took so long for anyone to figure him out. Somewhere like the institute – the domain of the Beholding, that draws in the sort of tenacious people unable to resist a mystery – isn’t conducive to keeping secrets.

Martin, though, Martin’s always been good at keeping secrets – he knew about two pregnancies, an engagement and four divorces weeks before anyone else, and once word got around that he was a good person to talk to (compassionate, quiet, always ready with a smile and an offer of tea), well. Suddenly he had a lot more secrets that needed keeping.

He remembers, sometimes, how quickly he had given up the truth to Jon, and wonders how much of that was the Archivist, and how much was simply that he was sick, so sick, of keeping everyone’s words bottled deep beneath his ribs. If he hadn’t just been so grateful to give up this one thing that he would have blurted it out anyway. (It isn’t a fair comparison, of course. He would tell Jon anything, because he’s Jon and there’s very little Martin wouldn’t desperately wish to tell him, but was it really Jon asking?)

Now, Martin is out of the loop. He has no idea how Rosie’s nephew is getting on with preschool. Knows that Jenna’s birthday is coming up but hasn’t heard anything about her plans, even though she’d always invited him along for drinks with everyone from artefacts storage to celebrate. Doesn’t know if Dale ever managed to work up the courage to ask Rob out. His tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth as he hurries back to his office and near slams the door shut. When was the last time he had a conversation with someone – anyone other than Peter? When was the last time he had to say something more than ‘excuse me’, or ‘have you seen a stapler round here?’

He doesn’t know, doesn’t know, doesn’t know.

Too long, he thinks a little hysterically, and has to take a moment to get his breathing back under control. It’s good, he tries to tell himself. Or, well. Not good, maybe, but necessary. Right.

And so what if he doesn’t know all of the ins and outs of every employee under the institute’s roof? That’s not a bad thing. He doesn’t need to know any of it (doesn’t need to know in the way that Jon needs to know, that pressure, the weight of a single question that could force someone to their knees, and).

No.

Enough.

Now that he knows, though, he can’t help but listen in gently to all of the conversations he hadn’t realised he was missing.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by how many of them are about the archives.

And Martin can’t help but feel bad when he listens in – like he’s spying, almost. Of course, if anyone actually paid any attention, they’d realise he’s there and listening, and probably yell at him, or throw something (and it’s awful how there are times when he thinks that’d be preferable to nothing). He doesn’t feel bad enough to stop, though. He doesn’t dare venture down into the archives, knows that he’d be lost if he did, so this is the only real way he has to gauge what’s happening beyond the odd statement tangled haphazardly in his coat pocket, or Peter’s snide little comments.

He… isn’t sure how to feel about what he hears.

Basira, he learns, spends a lot of time outside, officially following up on statements. Unofficially, she has a bad habit of dropping completely off the grid for days at a time. There’s a lot of speculation aboutlll where she goes and what she does, but never anything in an official capacity. Martin suspects that Jon knows where she is should he ever think to check, so it doesn’t really matter if half of accounts assume that she’s just slacking.

Melanie – it sounds like she’s recovering. Slowly, but when he hears her name these days, it’s less wary, more conspiratorial. Of course, there are rumours that she can’t be in the same room as Jon; that the last time Jon stumbled sleep-deprived and almost hilariously unobservant in the break room while Melanie sat sipping tea, she threw the mug at his head. Martin isn’t quite sure if he believes that one or not, but there is a suspicious new stain on the wall at roughly Jon’s eye level.

There’s also talk of a new figure that’s been seen lurking around the archives – no one’s met her, and the way they tell it, no one’s even caught more than a glimpse of long limbs in a patterned suit and a cloud of dark hair. Martin tries not to think about it, and checks that he remembers every door he opens. So far, she hasn’t done anything more than exist in the same building as him, but even so.

And there’s Jon.

At first he’d tried, tried so hard not to hear anything about Jon. Left the room when his name came up, once even resorted to sticking his fingers in his ears like a child until he was sure the conversation had moved on. But his resolve only stretched so far until it snapped, and left him hovering uncertainly in the doorway to the institute’s library and trying to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping on the gaggle of new researchers sat around a nearby desk. Though generally unnoticed these days, he hasn’t quite worked himself up to Peter’s level of sneaking around.

“No, seriously! I walked in and he was just curled up in the armchair asleep! I’ve literally never seen him set foot outside the front door of this place,” says one of them whose name Martin doesn’t know, but has spitefully decided to call Too Big Glasses. She’s speaking far too loud to be polite for a library, and waving her hands around as she talks. “And he just had actual piles of those statements lying all around him like a nest. I think someone had piled a couple of them on top of him too – like it was so funny, you know like those videos of people stacking things on cats? Yeah, like that!”

“Funny?” Asks someone Martin thinks is called Toby. “Wait, you actually think something about that guy is funny?”

“Yeah?” Too Big Glasses says – she sounds confused. “I mean, if he’d tried to turn over the whole lot would’ve toppled!”

“Yeah, but,” Toby glances around and lowers his voice as though that might encourage her to do the same. Martin has his doubts. “How can you find anything about that guy funny? He’s – ugh, he’s creepy, and I don’t say that lightly these days.”

“I guess,” says Brown Jumper, looking up from her book for the first time and blinking owlishly at them both. “But I overheard Rosie saying that a lot of shit’s happened down in archives lately, so I mean, it’s not like he’s the only creepy thing down there.”

Martin bristles, almost forgets himself, almost marches over. A thing. A creepy thing. How dare – they have no right –

He catches himself just before he steps across the threshold. Can’t go undoing all of Peter’s hard work now, he thinks sardonically.

“What kind of shit?” Asks Too Big Glasses, who must be even newer than the other two.

And Martin – he doesn’t want to hear a play-by-play account of the last six mon – the last yea – any of it. He doesn’t want to hear these strangers talking about any of the things that have happened since he moved down to archives like they know a single damn thing about it, like they have any sort of authority to be talking like that about his life, about the things he had to see and do just to keep himself sane and mostly human.

More human than Jon, at any rate, he thinks before he has a chance to stop himself, which just brings back the awful twisting knots in his stomach.

He steps forwards, purposeful and completely unnoticed, and starts browsing through the shelves for the book he’d originally come down here in search of. It’s hard to completely tune the researchers out, but he does his best – he even manages to hunt down a few older editions of the book he was looking for that might offer some valuable comparisons to the conclusions a previous follow-up had come to on his latest statement. In fact, he’s almost made it back to the door, to the corridor beyond, the stairs beyond that, and finally to his safe, quiet little office.

Almost.

They’re still talking about Jon, he registers dimly, and doesn’t notice the way his feet slow. He doesn’t listen because he doesn’t need to know. In fact, he does such a good job of not listening that it isn’t until he hears a hushed

“- dead!” Whispered across the table that he freezes up, shoulders lifting high and curling in as though bracing for a physical blow. He has no context, he tells himself frantically, they could be talking about anything now. A statement, probably, that they’ve finished researching and passed on to Jon to be archived. That’s all it is, he tells his shuddering lungs and frantic heart. More words filter in through the static suddenly buzzing through his mind, between his ears and behind his eyes, but he can barely make sense of them. He knows they’re still speaking English, but the sounds are all wrong, jumbled up.

He isn’t, Martin tells himself. He can’t feel his arms. He’s fine. You’d know if he wasn’t.

At least, he thinks he would. Even Martin – secluded, isolated, lonely Martin – would have heard something. Basira would have – or, or Melanie – even Peter –

The books are on the floor, he thinks hazily, and the researchers have turned to stare – at the books, but then up at him. He doesn’t have enough space in him to be embarrassed at the looks they’re giving him. Can’t bring himself to be horrified at his lapse. So they can see him. And? And? If he’s failed already anyway then what does it matter.

He’s already hurrying down the corridor, doesn’t hear them muttering to each other about Wasn’t that Martin? Didn’t he used to work in archives? Haven’t seen him down there in a while, wonder if he knows what’s going on? Don’t know, haven’t seen him anywhere in a while. Maybe he’s scared of the spooky archives ghost too, woooo!

He doesn’t hear any of it. By the time they’ve moved onto a new conversation, he’s already racing the familiar halls of the archives, the sound of his footsteps swallowed up by the carpet. There are more twists that he remembers, an asinine part of him thinks, more branching paths than there should be, and he isn’t sure if it actually takes him twice as long as it should to reach Jon’s office or if time has just slowed to a thick, lethargic stream clinging at his legs and slowing him down. Like running in a dream.

There’s nothing dreamlike about the way the door bounces against the wall when Martin throws it open, the way it rattles on its hinges. Nothing dreamlike about the way Jon flinches so hard his chair rocks back, the way he begins to splutter –

“Good lord I – Martin? Martin are you quite alri – are you about to faint, god, come here, sit down, I – “

Jon. Stuffy, fussy Jon, with his brow creased heavily over filmy eyes that haven’t cleared since he woke up, reaching out to Martin like he wants to help him into the worn desk chair but isn’t quite sure how, hands fluttering and twitching around. For a moment, Martin doesn’t move, doesn’t speak – isn’t sure he can. His throat is dry, and he has the horrible, creeping suspicion that that’s because every drop of water in him is threatening to spill from his eyes in a horrible, humiliating mess, but he doesn’t care.

There’s more grey in Jon’s hair, he thinks as he takes a determined step forward. Deeper bags under his eyes. He’s been chewing at his thumbnails, and when Martin finally gets close enough to feel the unseen barrier warp and strain, and finally give way, he can smell on Jon’s jumper that he’s been smoking again.

The smell is almost comforting, he thinks, as he presses his nose into it.

He’s imagined hugging Jon before. Of course he has. Thought about how easy it would be to completely envelope Jon, who is narrow and angular enough that Martin sometimes thought he’d be able to wrap his arms around him twice. He’d liked to imagine Jon laughing as he did, just the softest little huff of breath against Martin’s neck.

It’s nothing like that.

Martin is still biting back tears and bowed over until they’re almost the same height; Jon’s skin is icy where Martin’s cheek is pressed against the side of his neck, and there’s no comforting thrum of his heart between their chests. Jon is drawn tense as a bowstring, arms by his sides, and Martin thinks he can see his fists clench and open, clench and open. He should pull away, he thinks, and apologise but as soon as he tries to bring himself to, he can feel that static push trying to crawl its way between them, and so he can only cling tighter.

He’s already made a mess of things. Might as well go all-in now.

“Martin?” Jon asks softly. Disbelievingly. There’s a hesitance in his voice that Martin doesn’t think he’s ever heard before – that he definitely doesn’t want to hear again. He shakes his head mutely, still afraid to try to talk to Jon (afraid that he won’t be able to) but somehow Jon seems to know what he’s trying to say. Or maybe he Knows. Martin can’t bring himself to care.

Very, very lightly, Jon’s hands rest on Martin’s back, smoothing broad strokes across his shirt so gently that Martin could almost believe he’s imagining them. But his imagination’s never been this good, and he’d never think to include the smell of Jon’s cheap laundrette washing powder, or the heavy weight on the back of his neck that feels like someone staring.

“Martin?” Jon asks again. There’s no real question to it, no compulsion – still just that faint disbelief, as though he is as afraid as Martin that this isn’t real. Martin doesn’t let go, but neither does Jon, and he doesn’t speak again. Just guides them, eventually, to sit against the wall, still clinging, still pushing back against the static that hums along Martin’s skin. There will be consequences, says a voice in Martin’s mind that sounds disconcertingly like Peter.

But consequences, Martin thinks, are for later. When he can breathe steadily again, when Jon stops running a clumsy hand over his hair. For now, he looks up and offers Jon a watery smile.

“I didn’t say it earlier,” he manages. “But I’m glad you’re not dead, Jon”

#tma #magnus archives #hugjonsims2k19 #martin blackwood #jon sims #and then helen barges in like 'get a room'#'here you can borrow one of mine'#and later jon will be able to say 'I'm glad I'm not dead too'#and actually mean it for the first time since waking up

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tirewineh7-blog · 4 years

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#web hosting India

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katedoesfics · 4 years

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Breath of the Resistance: Chapter 6

It was late in the afternoon when Link’s phone finally rang. Urbosa’s name flashed on the screen. Her voice never sounded more comforting than at that moment when she told Link that Zelda was with her. Even sweeter was her promise not to tell the king what had happened.

Link didn’t waste a second, taking the highway straight into the desert. The road stretched on endlessly, and at this time of night, there wasn’t another soul on it. Except for his headlights and the light of the moon, the desert was absolute darkness. In the distance, he could just make out the vast shape of the Divine Beast Vah Naboris lit by tiny lights that could have easily been mistaken for stars.

He headed straight for the Divine Beast, knowing that Urbosa and Zelda were likely still inside. Urbosa promised to be there waiting for him since he wouldn’t be allowed inside Gerudo City. And just as she promised, she and Zelda were there, Zelda asleep against her. She looked over her shoulder as Link approached.

“You certainly got here fast,” she said, taking care not to wake Zelda. She brushed a lock of hair out of the princess’s face. “She’s kept herself busy most of the day, trying to open some old shrines out here. Still as the sands now.” She turned and met Link’s gaze. “So? How are you two getting along?”

Link hesitated, but Urbosa continued.

“She puts up a tough wall, I know. I’ve known her most of her life. She gets so frustrated with these ideas of destiny. It’s all her father’s ever pushed on her, and she feels like a failure every day that passes without any hint of the power that sleeps inside of her. Don’t take it personally.” She sighed lightly and turned her gaze out into the desert under the silver glow of the moon. “In truth, she’s been working to find her power since she was very young, and she has nothing to show for it. That’s why she works so hard with her research. She has more determination than anyone.” Urbosa turned her eyes back to Link. “You make sure to protect her with your life.”

Zelda shifted against Urbosa, awakened by her voice. She blinked in the darkness, then stretched her arms. She followed Urbosa’s gaze towards Link and her brows knit together.

“What are you doing here?” she asked angrily.

“I called him,” Urbosa said as she got to her feet. “You shouldn’t be alone out here, or anywhere for that matter.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Zelda muttered as she stood.

“Well, he’s here now, and if I’m not mistaken, you still have one more Divine Beast to activate, hm? It will be a long drive to Zora’s Domain, so you might as well stay in the city for tonight.” She turned her gaze to Link and winked at him. “I’d extend the invite to you, but even I cannot break the law of the Gerudo. But don’t worry, she will be safe with me.”

*****

Link felt uneasy being away from Zelda, but he knew she was in good hands. If he had to leave her with anyone, Urbosa would have been his first choice every time. He knew she would be safe within the walls of Gerudo City, but he still couldn’t help the unsettling feeling in his gut. He wasn’t quite sure what it was. In fact, he almost felt like he missed her. He had grown so accustomed to her presence over the last couple of weeks, even if her presence was unbearable at times. It was odd, but then again, completely reasonable. She was his responsibility, after all. Of course he would feel vulnerable without her; if anything happened to her, his own life would be in the king’s hands, and he would show him no mercy.

So when morning came, Link waited anxiously by his car for her. She promised to meet him outside the motel just at the edge of the desert at exactly eight, and it was already fifteen past. He tapped his foot impatiently, his arms crossed as he looked out into the desert, but there was no sign of her. From time to time a car would pass, but none belonged to Zelda.

Finally, he gave up waiting. He didn’t know what was keeping her, but he was anxious to leave, so he slid into his car and started the engine. He pulled out onto the road and headed towards Gerudo City. Before he got half way there, however, something caught his eye. It appeared to be a cloud of dust in the middle of the desert, far from the road. He slowed, noticing at that moment that tire tracks marked the road. The tracks weaved along the road before plunging into the desert sands.

He spun the steering wheel and the car careened off the road. The tires spun until they caught traction once more and he flew across the desert towards the dust cloud. As he neared, he heard the distinct sound of gunfire, and he quickly pulled out his own weapon.

Out of the dust cloud, Zelda’s car emerged, three others following suit and closing in quickly. Link slammed his foot down on the accelerator, driving himself between the cars. The three vehicles that chased Zelda swerved, just narrowly missing him. He brought the car back around, leaning out the window and firing at the vehicles. The third shot popped one of the tires and the car swerved until it skid to a stop.

The other two cars, however, had closed in on Zelda. One pulled ahead and inched closer until she lost control and the car spun against the sand before coming to a stop. As Link neared, two men jumped out of their vehicles, their weapons raised at Link. Link fired two more rounds and the first man dropped to the ground. He ducked into the cover of his car, reloading quickly, but when he leaned back out the window, the other man was dragging Zelda out of the car.

Link slammed his car to a stop just before them and jumped out, his gun raised and ready, but the man was not about to give up. He pressed the barrel of his gun against Zelda’s head. Even behind his mask, Link could tell by the way his eyes pulled up at the corners that he was grinning at him.

“Let her go,” Link growled.

“I can’t do that,” he said. “You know how this works. Drop the gun and I won’t have to kill her.”

He had a feeling he knew what would come next. “Fine.” Link lowered himself slowly and let the gun drop on the ground. Just as he predicted, the man’s grip loosened just slightly and he moved to point his weapon at Link. But Link was two steps ahead, quickly pulling another gun out from behind him and firing a shot before the man shot his. He dropped to the ground and Zelda didn’t waste a second sprinting through the sand towards Link, practically falling into his arms and sobbing.

“Okay, okay,” Link muttered, pulling away from her slightly. He pushed her off of him and pocketed his guns.

“I almost died!” Zelda shouted at him, then proceeded to punch him in the chest.

“The fuck? I saved your ass!”

“Stupid fucking Yiga,” she shouted between punches until Link grabbed her wrists.

“Stop!”

Link stared at him for a moment as tears welled in her eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Link said.

But the tears came out, anyway.

Link hesitated, unsure of how to handle the situation. “No, stop, okay?” It was all he could think to mutter out.

Zelda's gaze turned fierce.“I almost died and you’re telling me to stop crying? What’s the matter with you?”

“You’re fine,” Link said, exasperated. “Okay?”

Zelda pulled her wrists out of his grip angrily and marched towards the car. She slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door closed.

Dumbfounded, Link followed, getting in behind the wheel. He stared out the windshield for a moment at the bodies on the ground.

“Can we get out of here?” Zelda muttered. Her eyes were on the floor, avoiding any sight of the dead Yiga Clan soldiers.

Link threw the car into drive and tore his own gaze away. “Yeah.”

“Don’t tell my father,” Zelda said softly as Link pulled back onto the road.

“I’m not an idiot.”

Zelda glanced at him. “Isn’t that your job? To report shit?”

“Nothing to report,” he said simply. “Just an uneventful trip to the desert.”

*****

They were quiet as they drove out of the desert. It wasn’t until they were back on the highway when Zelda finally spoke.

“I guess I should thank you,” she said softly. She kept her gaze out her window, watching the world pass by. “For saving my life.”

“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I did otherwise.” He realized it was probably a shitty thing to say the moment the words left his mouth. He turned his gaze to Zelda, but she wasn’t paying attention. He turned back to the road. “You’re welcome.”

“I guess you were right,” she said. “They must be following us.” Her voice softened. “What do you think they want?”

Link hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he should tell her, or how much she even really knew about the Yiga Clan and about Ganon. And with his suspicious with Dorian, it was likely they were even being followed right now. Maybe someone was even listening. The car could have been bugged. They weren’t safe anywhere. That much was becoming more and more clear to him.

He checked the rearview mirror quickly and took the next exit. He checked the mirror again and turned quickly down a side street. He continued this process for a few minutes, driving and checking, turning and checking, until he was sure they weren’t being followed. He didn’t stop until they reached a small park and he pulled into the lot.

Zelda stared at him. “What are -”

Link said nothing but motioned with his chin. He stepped out of the car and leaned against the fence, watching a group of children playing on the swing set in the park. Zelda trotted to his side.

“What the hell?”

“Listen,” Link said quickly. “I don’t think we were followed, but someone is obviously keeping tabs on us. There’s a good chance the car is bugged. We have to assume that nowhere is safe, understand?”

Zelda hesitated, looking Link over carefully. She had never seen him so serious. She nodded and prepared herself for what he was about to say.

“If Dorian is right, this thing is bigger than we realize. I don’t know who the Yiga Clan are, but they’re obviously Ganon’s followers, so it’s likely they want the same thing: power. They want to overthrow your father and gain control of Hyrule.”

“So,” Zelda started. “We have to find Ganon and stop him.”

“We won’t find Ganon until Ganon is ready to be found,” Link said. “And at that point, it might be too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Sheikah have written records that span over thousands of years. Records of Ganon’s return, and the only two people that are able to stop him and seal him away. It’s an endless cycle; as long as the Triforce exists and Ganon possesses a piece of it, he will continue to rise and attempt to regain power along with the other two pieces. Once he has all three pieces, he will be unstoppable.”

“The Triforce… But where are the other two pieces?”

Link met her gaze. “You have one,” he started. “I have the other.”

Zelda stared at him for a moment until she burst into laughter. “You’re kidding, right?”

Link pushed himself closer to her. “Listen to me,” he hissed. “The Yiga Clan are after us. If they get their hands on us, they will have the other two pieces, and when Ganon rises, it will be all over for Hyrule.”

“You’re serious…" Zelda's voice softened. "My father must know about this," she said quickly. "And Dorian. Why wouldn’t they tell us?”

“I don’t trust Dorian,” Link said. “He’s been hiding information. It’s possible he’s working with the Yiga Clan. I can’t confront him yet. Not until I find out the truth.”

Zelda’s face whitened. “Does… does my father know?”

Link hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “But if I’m right, we can’t say anything. Dorian will be keeping a close eye on us. He’ll be watching everything we do, listening to everything we say. He can’t know that we know.”

Zelda hesitated, her eyes cast downward as she thought over everything Link had said. “So, what do we do?”

“We activate the last Divine Beast,” Link said calmly. “We do what they want. We’ll focus our efforts on finding your power after that. Exactly what Dorian wants us to do.”

Zelda met Link's gaze once more. “What about Ganon? Dorian can’t do anything if I find my power. I’ll be able to seal Ganon away and it will all be over with.”

“I haven’t gotten that far, yet,” Link said, turning his gaze back to the kids on the playground.

“What do you mean?”

“You won’t be able to seal him away without the help of the Master Sword.”

“The Master Sword… it’s real?”

Link nodded. “Dorian wants me to take it. I’m the only one who can.”

“And if you do that," Zelda started slowly as she put the pieces together, "Dorian will try to take it from you so Ganon can’t be sealed." Her brows knit together. "You can’t get the sword.”

“I know.”

“But without it… we can’t seal Ganon…”

“I know.”

“So, we’re fucked.”

Link sucked in a breath. “Unless we can stop Ganon before he even returns.”

Zelda nodded slowly. “Prevent him from returning. But how?”

Link shook his head. “I don’t know. I said I haven’t gotten that far, yet.”

“What about Impa? We can trust her… can’t we? She might be able to help."

“Don’t breathe a word to anyone,” Link warned her. “Even if we could trust Impa, someone else could be listening. Even our phones could be tapped.”

Zelda rubbed her face with her palms. This was certainly not what she had signed up for.

“Let’s go,” Link said, turning back to the car. “We need to get to Zora’s Domain before we raise any suspicions.”

#breath of the resistance #botr6 #chapter 6 #loz #legend of zelda #botw #breath of the wild #fic #fanfic

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datascienceunicorn · 5 years

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Replicated from my article on Medium (https://link.medium.com/jyp3jUzjuX)

In the classic Data Science Venn diagram a data scientist exists at the convergence of skills in mathematics & statistics, hacking and domain expertise¹. But alongside this is the importance of soft skills in a data science role². To be truly effective a data scientist should possess strong communication skills; be able to negotiate and persuade stakeholders; and ultimately lead projects and teams to success, in a range of commercial or industrial environments.

This motivated me to compile a list of book recommendations for burgeoning data scientists to consider reading as part of their personal development. In my growing responsibilities to coach and lead project teams, I realised that although data scientists are generally very conscientious about their continuous development, they often focus heavily on the technical skills of the role and neglect to balance this with dedicated learnings on the softer skills side. I’ve found it very rewarding to incorporate soft skills learning into my personal development plan, to strengthen my commercial awareness and understanding of how businesses, and more importantly people, operate. And I have encouraged that these learnings be picked up in the projects and teams that I have helped lead, with great effect.

In these recommendations I summarise the key data science learnings from each book that can be put into practice in the role. I focus on the books I think most strongly complement each other to round-out the many soft skills an effective data scientist should hold, gathered from my experiences growing from a Junior role to Senior role and as the Tech Lead on a variety of projects.

“How to Stop Worrying and Start Living” — Dale Carnegie

This was the first ‘self help’ book I read when I transitioned into a data science role, and it was an excellent introduction to the effectiveness of personal development.

Recommended for: anyone who has ever experienced imposter syndrome!

Main message: recognise the cause of your worries, then rationalise them and form a plan to conquer them.

Key learnings for data scientists: when worrying about project briefs, code bugs, presentations to stakeholders, etc. it’s helpful to identify and mitigate the risks, so that you / your team / your stakeholders can be assured things are understood and under control.

Fave quote: “Decide just how much anxiety a thing may be worth — and refuse to give it any more.”

“How to Win Friends and Influence People” — Dale Carnegie

After enjoying Dale Carnegie’s writing style I next read his book on influencing people, which is itself top-ranked as a highly influential book (so meta)! Don’t let the title put you off: the advice is rooted in being your most authentic self, with a focus on interpersonal skills and the importance of empathy.

Recommended for: sociopaths (j/k!) anyone looking to become more empathetic or personable.

Main message: be sincere, honest, positive and humble when engaging others, treating them with genuine interest and respect.

Key learnings for data scientists: various projects and teams will bring together a diverse range of people whom it is important to empathise with to understand their motivations and behaviours so you can bring them on a journey of building an ideal solution, which may or may not align with their initial expectations.

Fave quote: “The only way to get the best of an argument is to avoid it.”

“Thinking Fast and Slow” — Daniel Kahneman

Great book to become aware of the differences between our conscious and unconscious thought processes.

Recommended for: those who want to bring more reasoning and deliberation into their actions and behaviours.

Main message: by recognising our ‘fast’ and ‘slow’ ways of thinking, we can better control the use of logic in our decision making and reduce any overconfidence that stems from emotion or unconscious bias.

Key learnings for data scientists: in the various engagements with people across DS projects it’s useful to understand how both your and their decision-making happens since not everyone involved will think in the same way, so you should tailor your approach to the situation and engage ‘slow’ thinking where necessary.

Fave quote: “He had an impression, but some of his impressions are illusions.”

“The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People” — Stephen R. Covey

Introduces seven approaches for being effective at attaining your goals, especially when working with others.

Recommended for: those in project management, team leadership, or a consultancy role.

Main message: how to move from dependence to independence (self-mastery) and interdependence (working effectively with others).

Key learnings for data scientists: the effective prioritisation of tasks is demonstrated through measures of urgency and importance (priority matrix of “do”, “plan”, “delegate” or “eliminate”), which is useful for breaking down requests from stakeholders so you can focus on the most valuable parts. Methods to “synergize” a team are outlined to help ensure data scientists are aligned to the same goals and work positively towards them, relying on effective leadership to ensure a “win-win” situation.

Fave quote: “Seek first to understand, then to be understood.”

“The Personal MBA” — Josh Kaufman

A condensed version of the typical lessons covered in an MBA program. It highlights key aspects of business education and strategies with examples.

Recommended for: those with limited business background or training, especially if now working with businesspeople or in a commercial setting.

Main message: the thinking behind effective strategies and decision-making throughout a business model; from evaluating the market and measuring value to building a product and managing uncertainty.

Key learnings for data scientists: stakeholders, higher management, and 3rd party providers or consultants, will all usually have a stronger foundation and background in business than a data scientist. To understand their motivations and essentially speak their language in order to gain their trust, it’s crucial to study business theory; covering forms of value creation & delivery, marketing, finance, psychology, and the function of business models and systems.

Fave quote: “Where there’s hassle, there’s opportunity.” — (Hassle Premium)

“The Bullet Journal Method” — Ryder Carroll

A method for improving your productivity through effective note taking and to-do lists.

Recommended for: anyone who struggles to keep track of their ever-growing to-do list.

Main message: using a simple written system of symbols and rules for recording actions, events and notes, you can improve your productivity.

Key learnings for data scientists: work in tech tends to be fast paced, with various dynamic requests from the business, so it’s important to manage this on a daily level — which is where the bullet journal method can help. A data scientist might wear many hats in one day, compiling various to-do lists that it’s useful to then order and prioritise, so you know what to action now, schedule for the future, or just eliminate if unimportant (see “7 habits…” above).

Fave quote: “Track the past, order the present, design the future.”

The following books hold a variety of logic, reasoning and insight on the softer side of data science & biz-tech skills.

“Freakonomics”, “Super Freakonomics”, “Think Like A Freak” and “When To Rob A Bank” — Steven D. Levitt & Stehpen J. Dubner

These are a fascinating read that show how economics is at the root of so many parts of society, highlighting its importance and influence.

“Adapt: why success always starts with failure”, “The Logic Of Life” and “The Undercover Economist” — Tim Harford

The psychology of people in society is explored through examples of economics at play in business, marketing, strategy and innovation.

“The Four: the hidden DNA of Amazon, Apple, Facebook and Google” — Scott Galloway “Are you smart enough to work at Google?” — William Poundstone “Outliers: the story of success” — Malcolm Gladwell “The Lean Startup: how constant innovation creates radically successful businesses” — Eric Reis

These books highlight how the ability to think creatively and act on innovation are what current tech companies thrive on and seek to add/grow in their employ.

“The Leader’s Mindset: how to win in the age of disruption” — Terence Mauri “The Five Minute Coach” — Lynne Cooper & Mariette Castellino “How to Develop Self-Confidence and Influence People by Public Speaking” — Dale Carnegie “Getting Things Done: how to achieve stress-free productivity” — David Allen

These four books introduce aspects of good leadership, from having the right mindset and the ability to coach others, to being confident in yourself and able to influence people so they become highly productivity without becoming stressed.

“Nudge: improving decisions about health, wealth and happiness” — Richard H. Thaler & Cass R. Sunstein “A Field Guide to Lies and Statistics: a neuroscientist on how to make sense of a complex world” — Daniel Levitin “The Return of the Economic Naturalist: how economics helps make sense of your world” — Robert H. Frank “Predictably Irrational: the hidden forces that shape our decisions” — Dan Ariely “The Signal and the Noise: the art and science of prediction” — Nate Silver “Struck By Lightning: the curious world of probabilities” — Jeffrey S. Rosenthal “How Not To Be Wrong: the hidden maths of everday life” — Jordan Ellenberg “Coincidences, Chaos, and All That Math Jazz: making light of weighty ideas” — Edward B. Burger & Michael Starbird

These are some great reads on the use of maths & stats to help understand the behaviours of people and society, how we misunderstand and misjudge our biases, and how to better use probabilities to inform our decisions and the way we evaluate risk and the predictability of outcomes.

“Wake Up! Escaping a life on autopilot” — Chris Baréz-Brown “The Rules Of Life” — Richard Templar “Happiness by Design: finding pleasure and purpose in everyday life” — Paul Dolan “The Algebra of Happiness ” — Scott Galloway

Last, but by no means least, are some books about the importance of a positive and happy mindset; which is a good balance to have in the biz-tech industry because, as much as we work with logic and metrics and efficiency measures, we are not robots and should always invest in our mental health and wellbeing.

I’m curious and interested in anyone’s further recommendations on biz-tech., leadership or soft skills resources for data scientists. These and other resources are gathered at my datascienceunicorn.com blog³. Please hit me up!

P.S. As I’ve compiled this list I’ve realised the dominance of male authors in it and have made a mental note to seek out more female-authored books in these areas. All recommendations welcome.

References

¹ http://drewconway.com/zia/2013/3/26/the-data-science-venn-diagram ² https://towardsdatascience.com/soft-skills-will-make-or-break-you-as-a-data-scientist-7b9c8c47f9b ³ http://www.datascienceunicorn.com

Contact

Twitter: @datascienceuni

#data science #data scientists #data scientist #soft skills #personal development #books #biztech #tech skills #people skills

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