All Might is Puzzled because the kids are following him even more than usual and staring determinedly at their phones for some reason. (All Might is a goddamn mobile pokestop where various rare pokemon gather. Literally every pokemon with an alt. form or that looks like him.)
I STILL DON’T REALLY KNOW HOW THIS GAME WORKS BECAUSE THE SERVERS ARE ALWAYS DOWN WHENEVER I TRY TO PLAY, JUST PRETEND THIS IS POSSIBLE
shoutout to ppl who do think of violence & vile things because of their mental illness, but arent disgusted by it
shoutout to ppl who dont have a knee-jerk emotional reaction to ensure they wont push their friend off that ledge, or kill their cat with that brick, or swerve their car into that family. who have to dig up reasons & consequences manually because their brain wont give them the chemicals to be an intrinsically good person
shoutout to ppl who have to manage their intrusive thoughts with laws & rules & restrictions at every turn. to whom “right and wrong” is only ever an external guideline, never an internal compass, never something they can blindly trust. who show compassion out of self-preservation & so are told all their good acts are lies, even if theyve done more for the world than the ones calling them monsters
shoutout to ppl who act like good ppl despite everything telling them not to
It literally is so annoying when people say “happiness is a choice”, because… HOW? FUCKING, HOW? If people could just pick and choose emotions, why wouldn’t we all just feel perfect all the time? It’s such a stupid thing to say, as if you’re blaming people for being unhappy, saying it’s their choice to just feel depressed - WHY would anyone pick that by choice? Get over yourself with this hippie garbage and help people who are unhappy, don’t shove the blame for it their way
Elna Munch, Helga Larsen, Karen Ankersted, Mathilde Malling Hauschultz. I hope we all know these names. These are four women who were the first of their gender to gain a seat in Parliament in 1918, and thus ended the Parliament debate about whether women are cut out to be politicians. To all those who wish to debate whether women should enter politics on equal terms with men and ultimately make Prime Minister, I can only say: You’re 100 years behind. So many insignificant topics have been discussed. Did any of you really believe I intended to resign and become a housewife? You must not know me at all then. I very much want to end all these foolish discussions. Today, the last part of the government reform package was passed. We’ve shown you where we want to take Denmark. I’m very pleased and proud of that. That’s why I’m going to let the Danish voters decide. Not what gender the Prime Minster should be, but whom they feel is the best Prime Minister for Denmark.
This is a dream- no, a memory - no, a remnant. Of him but… not. Cataclysm bubbles around his hand like boiling oil, but that is nothing compared to the crevasses that fracture across the land from the power of his strike. And this is nothing but pure power and elemental magic. This is Cataclysm, raw and undefined, with nowhere to go but out.
Nothing is spared. Houses crumble as the ground falls apart, animals cry out as the rubble buries them, and everywhere, people running, screaming. Destruction, and no escape.
This is Chat, but this is not Adrien.
That still doesn’t stop
the shiver of wonder running up his spine as he watches the city fall. A natural disaster, he knows they’ll call it, an earthquake, a volcano- but it is only him, and a single touch.
His hand flexes, and the heavy ring he bears gleams back at him through the smoky light. The sickening crunch of stone falling to the ground gives him a fierce thrill, and the sobbing, the screaming of people meeting their imminent end inspires a swell of rapture to rise from his stomach, to fill up his lungs until it comes out in a roar, in a laugh-
Adrien jerks awake in a violent start and immediately rolls to dry heave over the empty edge of the bed. His stomach and throat burn, but nothing comes up. He wishes something would though, because all those screams, all that pain is still trapped within him, tearing up his insides like Cataclysm.
A tiny weight comes to nuzzle against his neck. Plagg’s “I’m sorry” is soft, but it helps quiet the tremors wracking his body. Movement comes from the other side of the bed, but Adrien doesn’t register it until warm weight wraps around his bare back and Marinette’s forehead rests against his shoulder.
She takes a deep breath and he unconsciously mimics her. They stay like that, breathing as one, until the panic subsides and the shaking in his mind ceases.
Something bitter still aches to claw its way out of his raw throat.
It wasn’t, but he had felt it. He still feels it. Adrien stares down at his hands, at the heavy silver ring on his finger. Through all his years of being Chat, he always wondered how many people he and Ladybug saved. He felt the absence of her in his dream- memory- remnant- and a bone chilling ache steals over him as he wonders why. There are a thousand possibilities, but the one inescapable truth is the utter annihilation his hand had brought to that unsuspecting city.
A shudder runs through him, and he blindly reaches for Marinette until he feels her fingers lace with his, her palms pressed over his fevered skin.
“Whatever Chat you dreamed of,” Marinette murmurs, “he belongs in the past.”
“They don’t stay there,” Adrien whispers. “They never seem to.”
“Tough luck to them.” Marinette kisses his shoulder, and when he tilts his head to look at her, her shining blue eyes burn all his shadows to ash. “You belong with me.”