i will FOREVER remember JL as that kid who wore a regular tshirt and jeans to a formal event while everyone else and especially the girls were all freaking out about what to wear 😭😭😭 didnt think id ever see the day it will happen but i must say that he kinda ate us up 😭 gave no fucks whatsoever

another day of Getting hirakagi injected into my veins like real drugs first thing in the. precisely noon when I wake up.

like okay immediately you open the chapter and the. strong start It’s a fucking date hirano. and then you get the chapter page where we’re framed in hirano’s place holding the umbrella for kagi and as such get the look in kagi’s eyes head-on. The gap between givers and takers. Slowly but surely. Ha ha ha haa ha.

like Man. big bolded OH. over kagi’s arm looped into hirano’s with the dynamic action zooming in mindpalace ass framing hirano’s curiosity about how long kagi’s liked him and kagi’s coy reply about it.

the fact that I missed tashiro and shirahama going down the stairs hirano was coming up until I saw everyone else mention it.

EVERYTHING about niibashi here. You need to get your shit together! and jolting on-edge like he got caught in the headlights and ngh… misery at seeing kagiura and his ‘hirano-san’ being Themselves literally right in front of him and

kagi’s blush here.

and then niibashi’s tactical retreat incredibly abrupt clutching his hair and covering his ears. whoever the hell just passed him in the hall going ? not knowing what sort of shit he just put up with. I’ll have to remember to thank Niibashi later. sweet boy I’m pretty sure niibashi needs like a week’s time to recover from the psychic damage

then the fucking. stairwell. I’m like twitching even still hirano stubborn as all hell about this his hands trembling his face spelling doom. There’s nothing I can’t do if I put my mind to it. kagi’s face as he watches on. like genuinely what if I killed myself. like THIS PAGE WITHOUT ANY WORDS.

kagi slowly lowering his phone screen kagi’s focus on hirano’s hands clumsily doing something for kagi. his resolve on the next page. hirano’s brows furrowed, incredibly stubborn and mildly frustrated,

until kagi puts his head on his shoulder.

and THEN it’s all kagi like trying to absorb himself into hirano’s bony shoulder while whining about it. this, hirano’s bony shoulder, being something that makes his heart race. anatomy! objective fact! a part of the hirano-san he’s been in love with for a very long time.

hirano’s palpable disappointment …It doesn’t make mine race, though. followed by It’s still not bad at all. what is it by the way with these two and just looking at each other Oh… was that 10 seconds already? can you hear me god

also noticing belatedly that kagi was wearing another jacket that entire time in the stairwell, with an A on the front, and it’s the same one from the title page in the rain.

him. trying to foist his burden onto miyano this time, laughing at the immediate rejection. and actually the entire conversation happening in the background that hirano staunchly refuses to engage with.

—What manga is it?

I-I can’t tell you, Mr. President…

—Wow, you really are just one of the guys, huh, Miyano?

What are you imagining right now?!

also hirano’s Sasaki, you aren’t even a Committee member!! I’m standing in the corner facing the wall

him! a little dejected at miyano being busy a little flustered from having been able to talk with him. I love you sasaki shuumei.

and now. miyano being a little petri dish dwelling freak. Closely and intimately?? threats of violence Have I said lately how much I love the hirano miyano dynamic. watching both of them exchanging words shouting Get his ass!!! but like. Actually there’s a tangent I could go on here and I think I’ll refrain. at least this once. honesty of character is all.

I’m going to the sea to disappear mysteriously. I’m going to kill hirano before I do.

like For fucks sake hirano (cutely) continuing to grasp onto anything that even vaguely supports his belief (confirmation bias) that hirano’s heart palpitations from the nurses office were so totally from surprise he was just surprised while also a) thinking to himself I guess I really can’t feel that way about Kagi-kun, huh… (disappointed) (for some reason.) and b) not hearing the part of miyano’s bl fanboy lecture that actually directly correlates to the fact that HIRANO AND KAGI HAVE ESSENTIALLY BEEN MARRIED SINCE THEY MET. ‘like family’ hirano thinks, ‘that sounds so familiar for some reason. or it would, if I was listening to miyano right now. disregard.’ count your days hirano taiga I’m on my way

I’m not even gonna say anything to th I lied delayed reaction violent flush and violent Slamming the damn window as if to recalibrate his thoughts. his heart POUNDING now, making up for lost time. and then he gets SO pissed off about his own confusion at HIMSELF that he TEXTS KAGI.

But… it is a fucking date, hirano. and ONCE AGAIN frustration written all over his face until he gets a reply from kagi and it’s gone, a little Heh. something to hold him over til kagi gets here.

violence! killing and violence! get in this unmarked car with me hirano we’re just going around the block

For your fic challenge, can I please request: Warm me up + Sam Wilson + “I don’t know if you’ll get any presents with that filthy mouth.” 🥺🙏🏻 If you don’t feel like doing it, no worries!!!

Title: Warm me up

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Implied Smut, Ouchies

A/N: hey all!! i got this lovely anon request for my Bone-Tastic, Super Bombastic Sleepover. my prompt, “I don’t know if you’ll get any presents with that filthy mouth” will be in bold. i hope you enjoy this holiday fluff—with cursing. so much cursing.

🤬

“Motherfucker!” You wail, pain rocketing up your leg. You’re still not used to chairs and tables being moved a full six inches out from where they used to be, and your left foot has paid the price. You hop as you wait for the pain to recede, clutching your last, hastily purchased and wrapped gift in your hand.

The light clicks on behind you as you nurse your injured foot, still hopping like an off-balance rabbit.

“Stealth mission to check the presents didn’t go so well I see?” The amused baritone makes your head snap up. It was late enough that you didn’t think you’d run into anyone else as you snuck through the hallways to the enormous Christmas tree Tony had erected in the common area, the skirt underneath laden with presents.

You’d expected even less to run into the very man who’s present was hidden under your arm.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed too, Wilson?” You shot back, grimacing as you limped over to the chase lounge, careful to keep the label turned toward your body—secret Santa wasn’t much of a secret if you knew who your gift-giver was. “And I’m not sneaking.”

“Oh?” He was draped across the doorway, muscular arms crossed over his chest. He had to have been taking shopping tips from Steve, because it was certainly tight, emphasizing the curve of every muscle. “Lights off, everyone asleep, you were literally crouching on the ground like a gremlin.”

You did your best not to stare. It was bad enough that you’d drawn the name of your crush from the secret Santa hat, all while Wanda had looked on with a knowing smile. You didn’t want to blow your cover six ways from Sunday in one evening.

“A gremlin?” You ask incredulously, and he laughs.

“Evil Christmas elf?” He supplies, and you both laugh before you release an offended sniff.

“Better, but still not happy,” you quip, watching as he pushes away from the wall and comes to sit next to you on the couch. If you must know, I was putting my present under the tree. Prime conditions for secrecy.” He smiles at you, and you hate the high-school crush that makes your chest tight, and your stomach fluttery.

“So you were sneaking.” He jokes, before looking around conspiratorially. “Who’s your person? You can tell me, I can keep a secret.” He’s too close, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

“That’s against the rules, Wilson.” His eyes drift down to the box that you hurriedly cover with your hands. “Come on, you’re going to ruin the fucking surprise, Wilson!” He leans even closer, trying to peer over you to see the label.

“Hey, hey now. I don’t think you’ll get any presents with that filthy mouth.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.” You reply quickly, jumping up. At least over by the tree, he can’t hear your heart about to pound out of your chest. Maybe Sam hasn’t realized how alone the two of you are in the common room, or maybe he just thinks you scrambling around is funny. Either way, you hold the present behind your back, the pine needles brushing against your hands as you turn to face him.

“Now shoo. I want to put this down without worrying about you peeking like a kid.” You quirk an eyebrow, and Sam raises his hands placatingly.

“Okay, okay. You drive a hard bargain.” He turns his back, and you squint at him, trying to discern whether or not he’s playing a trick on you before you turn quickly, and stash the small box behind a bunch of larger ones. When you’re satisfied with it’s placement, you turn around—

And Sam is right there.

You almost ran nose first into his firm chest, and you squeaked, almost falling backwards. “You alright, there?” He asks, chuckling.

“Now who’s sneaking?” You ask quietly.

He’s too close.

“Me.” Sam admits, his honey brown eyes resting warmly on yours. “I heard you leave your room—you’re only two doors down from me.” You that too—you avoid him as much as you can, trying to minimize the instances of your embarrassment. “It’s just… every time we talk, we do this stupid back and forth, and then you leave, and I never say what I want to say.”

You almost don’t want to ask. “W-what do you want to say?”

“I like you.” His breath smells like cinnamon, and it ghosts across your face. “I asked Wanda to…” Sam makes a whistling noise and wiggles his fingers. “You know.”

“You messed with the rules?” You ask, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. “Of course you did.” You laugh, shaking your head. “I… I like you. Too.”

The clock in the hallway sounds loudly as midnight hits, the chime startling you.

“So, do you think you could… give me my present early?” Sam grins at you, and you shove at his chest.

“No! Ugh.” You wrinkle your nose at him. He has the nerve to look wounded, and you laugh. “But… maybe a different one.” You move fast, before you lose your nerve, pressing your lips to his stubbly cheek. His skin is soft, and he smells like a warm summer day, like smooth, sweet honey.

When you pull away, he’s grinning again, wider than ever.

“Best present.”

Join my 5k Sleepover!

Who'd like some good old fashioned name analysis?

Okay, so, I been doing so much research for Resident Evil stuff and learning shit about fairy tales and timelines and genome editing and searching for impossible Romanian poetry I got overwhelmed and went, fuck it. Why not just look at their names? Maybe I'll learn something there.

So, here I have done it. Name meanings for characters of the Mold Saga so far aka 7 and 8 aka Biohazard and Village.

(Sorry I'm on mobile I'll put a cut here when I can)

Ethan: Firm, enduring, strong, impetuous, long-lived. An incredibly consistently common and popular name. E name just like Eveline, so could be a successor of sorts to the mold.

Mia: Derivative of numerous other names of many possibilities. Mia as a word means “mine” in Italian and Spanish. Mamma Mia is a well known Italian phrase, particularly due to the ABBA song and musical of the same name, and it being the catchphrase of the Nintendo character Mario. The phrase means “my mom”.

Winters: First and last season of the year where everything becomes dormant and cold and either dies or sleeps.

Eveline: Contains “Eve”, as in both the biblical first woman. Also means a night before an event, and the game takes place in the span of one night. The name Eve means “ life”, “living one”, “mother of life”, or “giver of life”. Another possible name origin is as a variant of Aveline, which is a diminutive of Ava, which is the same pronunciation as the name Eva as pronounced in Village.

Baker: Occupational surname. In older times consider an upper-middle class job, much like the family. Also adds the emphasis of the “food” and also how they essentially make more molded.

Jack: God is gracious, supplanter. A nickname for John and other related names, but also a name in itself. It is also a word with a couple meanings, including a heavy lifting tool, to steal something, to take control of something, or an everyman.

Margueritte: Pearl. French name for ox-eyed daisy. Derived from Margaret. Sounds like maggot.

Lucas: Light. Derived from Lucius which means “the bright one” or “the one born at dawn”. Luke is also an Apostle of Jesus and was a physician.

Zoe: Life. Came from the name Eve. Fitting as Zoe was practically pushed out of the family after Eveline’s arrival, replaced as the daughter of the family.

Joe: He will add. Was added as DLC. Short for Joseph. Joseph is the name of multiple biblical figures. One is a child of Jacob and Rachel and Jacob’s favorite son in Genesis (note: Jack is a nickname for Jacob) who was sold into slavery by his jealous brothers, but rose to become vizier, the most powerful position nest to the Pharoah, and forgave his family and brought them to Egypt. One is the husband of Mary, the mother of Jesus, who loved and raised a child he knew was not his against social norms. Another is a disciple known as Joseph of Arimathea who notably took Jesus down from the cross for his burial and testified when he revived and was gone. 

Rosemary: Dew of the sea. Combination of Rose and Mary or the plant rosemary. Roses as a plant vary in meaning depending on color. Mary and its variations have many differing meanings, among them being, “beloved”, “love”, “bitter”, “rebellious”, “wished-for child”, and “drop of the sea”. There are also the allusions to Mary, mother of Jesus as she is sometimes worshipped with roses, and you say Hail Marys on your rosary which is only two letters from her name. In regards to the plant, it is relatively resistant to drought and cold, though some breeds are susceptible to frost and they don’t like too much water. They have fibrous roots, so they spread and fan out like we see with the mold. They thrive in more alkaline soils and seem to have been named by a taxonomist named Carl  Linnaeus. In stories, folklore, and tradition, the plants or flowers are often used for remembrance, specifically for the dead. It’s also been used as a spice and in medicine.

Miranda: Worthy of admiration. Latin in origin. Character in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, and whether she is a strong female character or not is highly debated, as she frequently defies men like her father, but often when they expect and/or want her to. She is otherwise compassionate and naive. The titular character of a Polish novel in which everyone is a mage and Miranda is a medium connected to another character, Damayanti, who is portrayed as the ideal woman and has a romance with the male protagonist, yet sacrifices her body so her spirit can experience a higher state of consciousness. Miranda can contact her soul, and disappears when she dies. Miranda in the US refers to the required practice by police of reading suspects their rights before interrogation.

Eva: Latin form of “Eve” and meaning “life”, “mother of life”, or “giver of life”.

Duke: A ruler of a duchy. A title bestowed by royalty or passed through family, often given to royalty or nobility, but can be given to anyone. In France,  the peerage system was abolished in 1789 (vive la révolution), brought back in 1814, and finally perma-abolished in 1848. 

(Note: While the wife of a duke becomes a duchess, the husband of a duchess does not become a duke. At least, from what I gather. This shit is confusing.)

Alcina: Strong-willed. Greek origin. There are two operas using the same story about a sorceress named Alcina who lives on an island with her sister Morgana and seduces every knight who comes to the island, but turns them into plants, animals, or stones when she bores of them. When the source of her power is destroyed, she, her sister, and their palace crumble to dust. The Hungarian name for Alțâna, a commune in Sibiu County, Romania in the historical region of Transylvania.

Bela: Bela Lugosi was an actor who famously portrayed Dracula. His name is Hungarian and meant to be spelled Béla meaning “heart”, “insides”, or “intestines”, roughly translating to “having heart” or “having guts” in modern terminology, as in being brave. However it is considered a male name and as Bela is female there is also the possibility of the influence of the name Bella short an l, Bella an Italian name meaning “beautiful”.

Cassandra: The one who shines and excels over men. Name of a Trojan princess and priestess in Greek mythology. She was given her gift of prophecy by the god Apollo but, in most versions of the tale, he asks for sexual favors in return, and she initially agrees but then rejects him once she’s gotten her gift. In anger he cursed her to always tell true prophecies that no one would believe and was thus thought a madwoman. She served a temple of Athena, goddess of wisdom, handicraft, and warfare. When Cassandra was assaulted and possibly raped in Athena’s temple and dragged out while desperately clinging to Athena’s statue, Athena was so enraged by the damage done to her temple and/or her priestess that she enlisted the help of both Zeus and Poseiden to exact revenge on the Greeks for failing to punish the man who attacked Cassandra and caused the resulting damage. Zeus gave her one of his own bolts of lightning and she struck them down at sea. While Cassandra was never believed, she was always right.

Daniela: God is my judge. Feminine form of Daniel. Daniela is also a genus of moth with only one species in the genus, Daniela viridis. It is also another name for the Italian wine grape Prè blanc.

Dimitrescu: Child of Dimitri. -escu suffixes in Romanian are like -son suffixes in English, it derives from parentage (ex. Jackson is Jack’s son, Dimitrescu is Dimitri’s child). Dimitri means “devoted to Demeter”. Demeter is the Greek goddess of the harvest, agriculture, sacred law (i.e. cycle of life and death), fertility, and the earth. Like many Greek myths, she is repeatedly wronged, and rather severely, by multiple male figures. Demeter in particular is a mother who has her daughter Kore, later known as Persephone, stolen away from her and goes on a rampage searching for her and those responsible.

(Note: Considering the founders had these names it’s a bit dumb seeing as this trend of parentage -escu names supposedly came about mid 19th century (1800s for those who find that confusing cuz I do), long after the Village was founded)

Donna: Lady or lady of the home. Italian name and a title of respect. Derives from the Latin term Dominus. The Romanian form of the word (not the name) is Doamnã. The Atropa belladonna aka deadly nightshade have berries and foliage that contain tropane alkaloids including atropine, scopolamine, and hyoscyamine which are extremely toxic and can cause hallucinations and delirium, but are also used in pharmaceutical anticholinergics. Throughout history people cluelessly used the berry juice as eye drops to cosmetically dilate their pupils, giving them a seductive doll-eyed appearance. Symptoms of belladonna poisoning are dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, hallucinations, delirium, and convulsions. The plant's deadly symptoms are in atropine’s ability to disrupt the parasympathetic nervous system’s involuntary regulation like sweating, breathing, and heartbeat.

Angie: Diminutive of many names containing “angel”. Angels are messengers and warriors of Heaven, a realm souls go after death. Angel statues are also common grave markers. Children are also often told they have guardian angels, a being watching over them to protect them.

Claudia: No sure meaning has been found, but some think it comes from claudus, meaning “lame”, “limping”, or “crippled”, or clausus, which means “shut” or “closed”.

Beneviento: Good wind. Neapolitan spelling of Benevento, the name of both a province and its capital city, located in the Campania region of Italy.

Salvatore: Savior. Italian name. In the movie version (I specify as I have not read the book and the movie synopsis has more on the characters) of The Name of the Rose, the character Salvatore is hunch-backed and twisted, and has a history of not-really-acceptable religious beliefs. He was also tortured and falsely accused of witchcraft. He dies when a library is set on fire.

Moreau: Moorish, dark-skinned. French surname. Titular doctor in The Island of Doctor Moreau, in which said doctor performs disturbing and torturous experiments on people and animals, especially through vivisection, to make beastial humanoid creatures.

Karl: Free man, strong man, manly. Werner Karl Heisenberg was a German theoretical physicist who made notably important contributions to hydrodynamics, ferromagnetism, cosmic rays, and subatomic particles. Karl Marx was a German philosopher, economist, historian, sociologist, political theorist, journalist, and socialist revolutionary who believed societies develop through class conflict, and in a capitalist society this is the “ruling” class (the bosses) having power over the working class. He believed people should have equal footing and should and would inevitably fight for it. Karl Jaspers was a German existentialist philosopher and psychiatrist. His humanist ideals had him dissatisfied with the medical community’s approach to mental health and worked to improve it, and philosophizing on it after.

(IMPORTANT NOTE: Since I’ve seen accusations of the RE character and his influences being so, I feel I must state it here. Karl Heisenberg is NOT a Nazi. Both Heisenberg and Jaspers lived through World War II and neither were Nazis. Jaspers was blackwalled because of his Jewish wife. Heisenberg was forcibly drafted into the Army Weapons Bureau, but pre-war he had been repeatedly slandered as a “white Jew” and his career held back, and post-war became more political, worked against traditional primacy in the education system, and actively protested the government considering equipping the army with American nuclear weapons. Capcom reps have also stated that Karl Heisenberg has nothing to do with Nazis.)

Heisenberg: Calling mountain (could not find a specific definition, “heisen” means “to call” and “berg” means “mountain or hill”). Reference to Werner Karl Heisenberg, (explained above). Likely unrelated, but another well-known (in the US at least) name thief of Heisenberg comes from the popular TV show Breaking Bad as the alias/street name for the main character Walter White who takes the name and starts selling drugs when he is unable to afford medical care for his in-need child, but grows more twisted throughout the series. Also place name.

Berengario: Italian form of Berengar, which is derived from Germanic root words meaning “bear” and “spear”.

Cesare: Italian form of the Latin word Caesar, which is an imperial title like an emperor or empress. The word Caesar itself may come from caesaries meaning “hairy”. 

Guglielmo: Italian form of the Germanic William, meaning “vehement protector” or “desired helmet”

Nichola: Anglicized form of the Greek Nikolaos meaning “victory of the people”. Also a variant of Nicholas (Considered a female variant but fuck gender roles and the description says he.). This character is also referred to as Father like a priest I looked into saints and while I found no notable Saint Nichola (meaning on Wikipedia) there are multiple Saint Nicholases, most notably Saint Nicholas of Myra, also known as the Wonderworker and the model of Santa Claus. Stories of him include gifting gold coins through a window of a home for three nights to prevent three girls from being forced into prostitution, calming a storm at sea, saving three soldiers from execution, and chopping down a possessed tree. More connected to where his treasure is found, there is also a tale of him resurrecting three children who had been murdered by a butcher who had had intended to sell their meat as “pork” during the famine.

*BONUS TIME*

By that I mean these are less important so I did slightly less research and/or didn’t  feel like typing all the research so there’s less info, but it’s still relevant, so here you go!

Chris: A rare name in its own right, often a shortened version of names like Christopher, meaning “Christ-bearer”, and Christian, as in the religion.

Redfield: Literally red field. Fitting for the trail of blood in his wake because have mercy on any of his enemies, but regrettably including many of his friends and allies (rip in peace Piers Nivans). 

Elena: Shining light. Greek origin.

Leonardo: Strong as a lion. Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese version of Leonard.

Lupu: Wolf. Romanian surname. Fitting as the surname of the man we saw become a lycan before our eyes. 

Luiza: Renowned warrior. Polish, Portuguese, and Romanian name.

Iulian: Romanian name from the Greek iulius meaning “youthful” or “juvenile”, or ioulos meaning “downy-bearded”.

Vasile: Romanian name from the Greek basileus meaning ”king”. Vasile Voiculescu wrote a poem called Schimnicul, The Recluse in English, about varcolacul.

(Note: For those who don’t recall or didn’t notice his name in Ethan’s diary, this is Luiza’s husband.)

Rolando: Famous throughout the land. Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese variant of Roland.

Elba: Spanish form of Alba, which can mean “dawn”, “white”, or “elf”, depending on origin.

Dion: Shorter form of Greek Dionysios meaning “of Zeus”.

Wilson: Lineage surname, “Will’s son”. Very common surname in English.

Charlie: A name in itself but often a nickname for names like Charles meaning “man” or “warrior”

Graham: Gravelly homestead. Habitational surname, apparently derived from Grantham in Lincolnshire, England.

John: God is gracious. The most common name ever with the most variations.

Perlman: Ashkenazi Jewish surname. Also literal, “perl” possibly meaning “pearl” thus being an occupational name, or Perl being a woman’s name making it mean “husband of Perl”.

Emily: Rival. Latin name. 

Berkoff: Could be Jewish, Dutch, or German surname. Definition not quite certain, but likely related to birch trees.

Josef: German, Czech, and Scandinavian version of Joseph.  

Simon: He has heard. From Hebrew Shim’on.

Roxana: Bright, dawn. Latin form of Greek Rhoxane and Persian Roshanak.

Anton: Priceless, praiseworthy, flower.

Sebastian: From the Latin name Sebastianus which meant “from Sebaste”. Sebaste is a town in Asia Minor and comes from the Greek word sebastos meaning “venerable”.

Eugen: Well-born.Romanian form of Eugene. From the Greek name Eugenios. 

(Note: This is the man who lived in the house with the red chimney.)

Ernest: Serious. Germanic name.

(Note: This man is noted to be missing in a letter to Luiza and his diary is found with the Cannibal’s Plunder in Otto’s Mill.)

A Cure for Insomnia CH.2

Getting back to your little one story cottage, you can only manage to rush in and run about in a mad dash as you try to accomplish getting ready for work and getting something to eat. Running through choices in your head as you change and freshen up, nothing sounds good. There's not much time since your shift starts at nine and to make it to the store you need to leave by eight twenty. You got home at eight fifteen, and while Nate, your manager, has never seemed to give a fuck what you did at work you're still in your probationary period and would like to keep the easiest job you've ever had.

It's a really simple gig, seeing as the store you work at is actually a front for some illegal activity. The variety of crime you aren't sure of, but you are aware there's no way you guys do no business and yet they can afford to pay thirty dollars an hour. Thankfully just keeping your mouth shut and being nice to little Jo, the owner's daughter, is enough to keep you in the cushiest job in the world. The store's front is a regular old book store, all the books are real, the registers work, you're able to sell books and you've run to the bank to do the weekly deposits twice for Book & Nook. The front is very legitimate or it would be if the amount of customers ever equaled the sales made.

Again you don't ask questions, because for thirty dollars an hour you get to goof off for a couple hours a day, plus you get a bonus when you watch little Jo at the shop. She's a real sweet eleven year old, she's got tourettes and took a shine to you the first time she saw you tic. While you both might not suffer the same disorder she finds the common ground nice, like it's not just her. It's not even hard to watch her or enjoy her company, she'll come bouncing in with her excited chittering and hands clapping spilling all the latest gossip that comes with being in middle school. And boy is there a lot of gossip.

It's really nice seeing that Jo has friends at school and is even considered a “popular” kid. You remember how tough school was because no one understood you and teachers never cared enough about your personality to bring up the fact that it was clear to most faculty members that you had Autism. You excelled academically so what did it matter if you got picked on for oversharing information or for finishing assignments the minute they were handed to you. As bittersweet as the parallels are you're so glad Jo doesn't have to go through that. Never would have thought a southern school could be so accepting, much less a middle school at that.

Tearing through the kitchen you honestly can't find anything that you want to eat right now. And even after a long night of hiking/dissociating you don't think you're that peckish at all. Figuring it's best to at least take something to quell any future nausea you grab a Pedialyte Pop from the freezer. As fast as you entered your home you left, and not before ensuring twice that the door was locked and secured. While living on the outskirts of town saves you from many potential robberies, and worse salesmen, there's still the chance of some lunatic with an ax hiding out in a closet to murder you. Better safe now than sorry later.

Pulling into park behind the shop right at nine is a blessing. You run into the shop to clock in blurting out a quick 'Morning' to Nate, who was carrying a particularly large box, as you passed by him. In a flash you were back at your car retrieving your newly prized deer skull. Lungs burning a bit from the all out sprint you just did you took a little extra time to close the trunk and lock your car up to catch your breath, and avoid any light headiness you might get from the empty stomach workout. Eager to share the wonders of death with your best work friends, and by that you mean Nate your manager...and only other coworker, you rush back into the building.

The shop was quiet as usual as you made your way through the door though you were in the back room where only employees could roam you had the slightest suspicion that the front of shop was just the same. It's there you find Nate, now lugging a medium sized box around to a side table. He did this a lot you suspect some type of smuggling but hey plausible deniability and all those legal matters. The taller dark haired man sees you and just as he's about to wave you over, notices your prize with a raised brow.

“The fuck d'you bring in the store?” he doesn't seem amused by whatever it is he thinks you're up to. “Deer skull.” Lifting it up in one hand and pointing at it, “Found this guy on my hike last night...or rather this morning actually.”

“YN, we talked about this, you said you'd get some sleep last night. No adventures remember.” he's only two years older than you and yet he acts as if he's ten years. He must be an old soul, or enjoys the role of care giver...or you're making him go gray prematurely, anything's possible.

“Eh, I remember saying I'd 'try' and get sleep.” for someone who's body is running on fumes your cheekiness is astronomical, “operative word being 'try', remember.”

It's a long silence as Nate decides if he wants to deal with your bullshit at this moment. After a minute or so he concedes leaning back on the table behind him. “Let's hear it.” and you perk up immediately.

“Cool, so I was walking along the tree line and spotted him, tried to find more but seems there's only one piece. Judging by the size of his antlers I'd say he was nearly fully grown. Now my plan is to do whatever treatments taxidermists do to bones and,” you continue to word vomit at the tired twenty-six year old in front of you, about the joys and wonders of taxidermy and the likely hood of ever finding a skull so nicely preserved.

“I can do that in here right?” even though it's been phrased as a question, you aren't asking permission, you're just being polite and letting Nate know the storage room will house your creepy deer skull antics for today...maybe the week you need to find a taxidermist book to figure out what you need to do.

Nate gives up and leaves with his box of new books to let you have full run of the back to do your weird vulture culture shit. He figures he's just too old to understand the new obsessions with the macabre. He hopes his cousin won't take to shit like this, the kid's weird enough as it is, no need to put another target on her back. Nate sets off to take down the Harry Potter sets in favor of this new comic series little Jo wanted.

Already taking his silence as the go ahead you place your found skull on the table and rush off into the store front to find a book on taxidermy and hopefully more specifically about bones. The set up and organization of the store reminds you a lot of the scene in Brendan Fraser's The Mummy 1997 where Evie is on the ladder and somehow causes all the book shelves to fall like dominoes. So unsafe, yet all book stores and libraries seem to have this set up. With the tall shelves it makes it difficult to accurately get a read on the spines. You don't even know what section taxidermy actually falls under, education maybe?

“Nate, where do you think a book on taxidermy would be?” you called out as you passed by him.

“...hobby?” that didn't sound right but you'd give it a shot anyway.

This should be fun, the hobby section was so disorganized and it took up nearly half the store too, Book & Nook had everything from fishing, to crochet, cooking, the art of film making, hell even had a cryptid hunting book a book that you may have to look into a bit later. You closed your eyes and let your intuition guide you, when you looked up you saw a thin black...vine, no whisp? It undulates in less than rhythmic movements nearly like a snake but it has no head, and not unlike a tentacle but without suckers. It's another hallucination so you were keen to ignore it until it stretched past your head, giving you an added auditory hallucination where you swore you could hear wind rushing past your ears, it swirled around you until it flew to the shelf and tapped on a book. Cautiously you walked over to it, it's never good to play into these delusions. Once you got close enough the black shape was gone but on the shelf was a creme colored paper back titled “Manual of Taxidermy: Complete Guide of Preserving Birds and Mammals.”

Walking to Nate with the book in your hands you asked him to read it and make sure you weren't having an episode and making everything up right now. You'd have to try harder to go to sleep tonight if that were the case.

“Oh you found your book huh?” he said looking down at the title.

Well this is getting weird fast, but you nod nonetheless. Might as well thank the weird hallucination gift right. Leaving him to do whatever it is he plans on doing the rest of the day, you go to the back. And just as the book instructs you set to cleaning the skull by setting it in some water and changing it as many times as the water runs murky. The book is quiet helpful to a beginner like yourself but it does seem a bit outdated from the bits of information you know from taxidermists blogs and vulture culture posts on the internet. Reading it in between water changes is a great way to pass the time though, not like you guys get any real customers anyways.

The bell rings as the front door opens and closes alerting you to someone's arrival on your third water change. Needing a little bit of mental stimulation you walk out into the front where Big Jo and Little Jo are talking to Nate. Little Jo sees you and skitters away from her father to rush you, she stops about a foot away and holds her arms wide open. She's a hugger but upon meeting you had never even thought people could be touch adverse so keeping in mind that you might not want to be touched she's learned to invite you into hugs and it's your choice to allow it or not. Placing a hand on your bicep you give a squeeze, checking your tolerance you find the thought bearable. Placing your arms outstretched at your sides Jo rushes your torso for her hug.

After she nearly body slammed you into the wall, and  let her death grip go she was off on a tangent about so many things. Her excited rapid blinking tic, one she developed after meeting you, triggering your own.

“Ok so you remember how last week I told you that Jessie Kinsleton said that Micheal Saleisa told Gigi B, not Gigi S. that Meghan,” you had no clue the lives of eleven year olds had gotten so complex, from the gossip you heard from Jo it seemed that the school's sixth graders were plotting for a war with an ice cream parlor up the street. No clue why, maybe just to fuck the system, kids are weird, preteens are weirder...and angry.

But you nod to Jo listening to her every word, and trying to calm your eyelids so you could actually open your eyes. After being told the sequence of events that would happen in the Tween Armageddon, something to do with Marco Salvator ordering three dozen donuts and a flock of geese, your eyes finally gained their ability to see back. Black whisps, much like the one from earlier, wandered all around your vision, it looked like a  dark smoke had settled eye level within the shop and was snaking through the isles.

Catching the movement of your eyes Jo looked around the shop too. Seeing nothing she turned back to you concerned, “Hey it's okay, nothin's there.”

Hearing the drop in volume of the normally chatty tween, Big Jo and Nate pause their conversation to turn their attention to you and follow you're gaze.

“Kid, you ain't sleepin' again?” Big Jo can already gauge by the bags under your eyes but he's a polite man so he feels the need to ask rather than state his assumptions.

“Day 6.” You answer simply, ever since you've started at Book & Nook the whole Cowell family became acutely aware of many of your disorders. By their record your longest time spent awake was ten days, you however adamantly say that you were an hour's mark away from ten full days so the longest you've been up is nine days in a row. And those are just the cases they know of since you've moved to Kepler.

Big Jo shook his head as a stern father would, which he is, “I have half the mind to send you home to rest.”

“That won't work.” you really don't mean to sound so coarse but it's so irritating having to go over this at least once a week.

“What about those gummy things Dia got you?”

“Long term that kind of stuff has no effect, sure it'll make me drowsie for an hour or two but even if it made me sleep one night I can't use it all the time. And before you ask the same questions again, caffeine has no real effect on me so limiting my intake will do nothing and weed doesn't do a thing for me either.” you state plainly, monotone as you present facts that everyone in the room already knows.

Looking at the stern face of Big Jo's and the exasperated face of Nate you continue, “I know it must be frustrating for you to not be able to help, but I'm content living like this. I like my late night adventures and when I do sleep it's really pleasant.”you threw in a smile for added comfort.

“Kid tha's not the point, there's somethin' wrong with you, medically I mean.” he's pinching the bridge of his nose, probably counting to ten to calm himself from raising his voice.

“Tons of people suffer from insomnia and there isn't anything a doctor could do for me except look for underlying conditions.” Big Jo's about to retort when you continue with, “Plus my dad and uncle both have insomnia as well so my case is due to the genetic lottery I lost.” You say with a hint of finality of your situation, you had to come to terms with this condition all the way back in high school. Having a decade to get used to your strange condition and the limitations it places on you from time to time. Whereas the Cowell family's only had two months to process this information, and you understand it'll take awhile before they stop being concerned. Same thing happened with you parents and friends back then too.

For now you're only met with more head shakes as if they were saying 'what are we going to do with you'. Leaving your medical issues aside Nate and Big Jo continue to talk shop, when the set up Nate just put on display catches Jo's eye.

Like lightening the tween was away from your side and by the new display shelf it looked like it held graphic novels. That's a first since you've been here, you walk over to join Jo knowing the second you do she'll start on about what's got her so excited. Most people might say you over indulge the child and coddle her but you actually just think it's really important to take interest in what makes kids happy. It helps them find their voices and also shows them that it's normal to get excited and like things.

“We got the TAZ graphic novels in?!” you hate rhetorical questions but smile and nod at her anyway.

“Have you read them? No, well you've listen to the podcast...what omg! Ok so there's these three brothers and their,” Jo begins regaling you with tales from the podcast known as The Adventure Zone and how fun they've made dungeons and dragons seem with their amazing story telling and funny characters.

You aren't sure if a show where the main group of heroes being called Tres Horny Bois is exactly age appropriate but when you look to Big Jo he kind of just shrugs it off. Turning you attention back to Jo who's now monologing about mongooses you just smile at the weird family you've found yourself in.

Let it be said that a tween with a slightly unhealthy fixation on something can find anyway to drag it back to that fixation. The day flew by with Jo explain the inner workings of dungeons and dragons, fifth edition, to you, her father, and her cousin after you mentioned why she didn't play. Apparently she'd love to but wanted a story fitting for her friend's to adventure. So being the good older cousin, father, and weird family friend you all were you came up with a story plot for her to use with her campaign.

The Jos had a lot of fun bonding over this little workshop and you guys even had food delivered so you and Nate could stay later. What was meant to just be a quick workshop turned into a mini family game night after you made several nearly impossible puzzles that wouldn't be used in Jo's campaign due to no one at the current table understanding how to solve it even after you showed them several times.

Overall it was fun and you think you might actually be tired enough to go to sleep tonight. You tried to stay and help clean up but Big Jo put his foot down and told you to go get some rest, he'd seen the way you occasionally look around the room as if something was moving behind them all. You may have started off as a cashier two months ago for him but his daughter has opened up a lot since meeting you and discovering that tics aren't so uncommon and there are people who wouldn't care or make a big deal out of them. Because of that you've earned your keep in his family, he already has you down on the list for Christmas cards.

Knowing you can't fight the six foot four man you roll your eyes and bid everyone good night, little Jo coming in to steal another hug from you and thank you for helping with her game. Checking on your skull you see the water's clear and dump it in the sink of the break room before leaving the skull to dry overnight, it's for sure gonna make Nate scream tomorrow, you can't help but chuckle at that.

Leaving through the back door and into the dusk colored parking lot you notice your trunk is popped open slightly. You definitely heard it shut earlier this morning. You blink before your head jerks to the right, unsettled by possibility of a break in and not risking it you head back inside.

“Hey, I think my car may have been broken into.” you stand awkwardly in the door way unsure of how to proceed.

Big Jo and Nate are out of the door as fast as they can. They find your car unlocked with the trunk popped, you know they weren't trying to brush you off when they asked several times if you did in fact lock your car this morning. After hearing your affirmative response each time, they began to inspect your car checking to make sure all wires are properly secured under the hood, Nate even retrieved the jack out of his own car to take a look under the car, ensuring the brakes hadn't been messed with. They started the car up just fine and it didn't appear tampered with. Even though nothing looked out of place and Nate's car, sitting in the same parking lot, hadn't been touched you appreciated them checking to make sure you were alright.

Knowing you're perceived as a woman by most, even outside of this small town, makes you uneasy when it comes to terms of abductions and violence. You know the chances and hear the stories whether it's from the victim's mouth or a podcaster's telling the story the dead can't. Nate offered to follow you home and make sure you were ok but you declined and said you'd call them both when you got home. Big Jo said to just call his home phone because Nate would be coming over tonight anyway, and if they didn't make it there before you called Dia was already at home and would pass the message along. You'll probably still try and give the shop a call if Dia answers, it wouldn't sit right with you if you wound everyone up just to not and at least try to settle their nerves.

With one final check of you car, the men even going so far as to lift seats up and feel under them, they sent you off. You drove carefully on the road tonight, ready to pull off into the shoulder at the slightest hint that something was wrong. Not even the radio was on something that you really didn't like driving without, but if there was the chance for you to catch a shift in tone of the machine you wanted to. Eventually you did end up making it home in one piece and you had called the Cowell family home, from the safety of your car, and got a spazztic eleven year old asking if you'd made it home alright. It took a little bit of coaxing but Little Jo calmed down and shouted to her parents that you were on the phone and alright.

“Kid,” looks like Big Jo took the phone away from Little Jo, “Everything ok on the drive.” Big Jo could hear the movement and shutting of your car door, he'd have to say he was relieved you waited until you were on the phone before exiting. He knew you lived out past the quiet zone in Old Lydia's house. A fact that did little for the unease he felt when he thought you were being watched.

“Oh, yea drive was fine, too quiet but fine.” you said simply as you began circling the cottage. Nothing seemed out of place on the outside, even looking above eye level where people tended to get sloppy in stalking or home invasion cases, everything seemed fine.

“Hope you don't mind if I keep you for a bit.” You had just unlocked your door and stepped in.

“Nah, kid 's fine.” you give a hum of acknowledgment as you look through the kitchen in cabinets, under cupboards, and even under the table.

“You're a smart kid.” he's taken that fatherly overtone that makes you roll your eyes. You understand the sentiment of parents and parental figures having pride in their child or ward but it's always been so weird to you when they feel the need to bring it up. Especially when they bring it up in situations that are dangerous, like can you not make it sound like someone's about to die.

Finding nothing in the living room, hall closet or bathroom you make sure all the windows are locked and dowels are in place to keep them from opening. And you double check that both the back and front doors are secured. You can hear the hushed whispers on the other end of the line, Dia must have just found out about your car, as you rustle through your kitchen utensil drawers taking out two forks before you make your way to your bedroom.

Once in your room you checked your closet and under your bed. Finding nothing you  went to the window in your room, the one right by your bed, you checked the lock, secured it in place with two dowels, and then covered it throwing a thick blanket over the curtain rod to ensure no one would be viewing you in your sleep or the precautions you were about to do. Turing around and locking your bedroom door you then jam one fork into the closed door crease, right below the locking mechanism, and jammed the other fork perpendicular through the prongs. You attempted to open the door with all your weight but only could get an inch in before the forks would stop more movement.

“Kid you alright over there?” it's rushed, he probably heard the commotion with your make shift lock.

“Yea, just had to add another lock to the door.” you trust the Cowell's but you understand how stupid it'd be to let them know exactly how you were defending yourself. Even if it wasn't them there's no telling if the person who broke into your car was outside and just good at hiding. You could also be too jumpy from your true crime shows but you figure it's better to be safe.

“I think everything's good Big Jo.” taking a final glance around your room eye's landing on the bed, “Think I'm even ready to go to sleep tonight too.” a small half laugh leaves your mouth.

“Alright kid, you call if you need anything got it.” it's an order not a request.

“Got it, good night.” Big Jo might think that'd been rude coming from anyone else but from you he can only roll his eyes at the brevity and the dial tone he's met with. He has his own sweep to do, if they were targeting his employee there was a reason. He hasn't had any problems since coming to Kepler but someone always eventually comes along who can't take a hint.

Even combing through your home with Big Jo on the line you didn't feel safe having your bed by the window anymore and moved it away and in front of the closet door. You'd rearrange your room later but for tonight this would have to do. By some grace of god you were actually able to shut your brain down tonight and rest. Maybe it was the excitement and merriment from hanging out with the Cowells or more likely the situation you find yourself in of perhaps being a target for something insidious.

Whatever the case may be you are off to the land of dreams before you know it. And unbeknownst to you the same eyes from this morning watch your home. They may not have seen what you did in there but they'd be sure to catch you when you come out. They'll wait all night to catch you if they have to.

Well hello HeyJude!

Just dropping by to tell you I /FINALLY/ got the chance to read Between Certifiable and Bliss and I ADORED IT!!!

You are such a lovely storyteller and writer and I always enjoy your work.

I have craft questions. Forgive me if you covered any of these in an authors note..sometimes I read so late into the night and my babies interrupt and I miss these things...

Firstly, title. Where did it come from for you? It really spoke to me in thebeginning chapters with how unraveled Draco felt in 6th year and beyond the war with the unattainable "happiness" he couldn't let go of. What brought the title to you?

Secondly, Theo's ability. It was such a unique (at least for me...I hadn't read anything quite like it before) trait for a character! Seeing, occlumemcy, legilimency and such are all wonderful plot lines we've read but the dream giver plot was so cool! Where did that come from?

And finally, can i ask what line, scene, chapter was the stories inception? You said you'd thought of this on a run and the story grew bigger than you'd planned...what scene or moment did it all begin on????

Thank you in advance if you're so humble to indulge my curiosities! Much love, Ash.

Well hello Ash!

I love craft questions! Let’s go!

First, the title. It’s a song lyric I misheard years ago from “Precious Illusions” by Alanis Morissette: “'Cause I want to decide between survival and bliss.” I maintain that the way she sings “survival” sounds like “certifiable” and no one can change my mind. Both concepts work well enough for the themes in BCAB, but Draco trying to avoid being branded “certifiable” for his dream obsession appealed to me more. Blaise does the job of laying out this viewpoint in chapter 4, when Draco is really spiraling over the dream.

Second, Theo’s ability. I find dream psychology and interpretation fascinating, and so wanted to explore something like that in the wizarding world separate from the practice of Divination. When I originally conceived of this story, it was just a series of vignettes from Draco after he has a dream about Hermione. But in plotting how the dream might come about, I remembered in OotP how voldemort was able to plant a vision in Harry’s head of Sirius being tortured at the department of mysteries. He planted a thought, and so I wondered, well what if wizards could plant emotions too? What sort of repercussions could result from a sort of empathic dream ability?

Your final question: I like to play a game when I run and that game is “trick my body into thinking it’s not currently running.” I do that by thinking through fic scenarios. There’s an empty parking lot by my old apartment that basically became “dramione central” for a while. I owe a lot of plotting to that place.

BCAB started with Draco’s dream in chapter 2 and then everything grew from there. Depending on where he is in his life, that dream is going to affect him in different ways. I think I originally still pinned the timepoints on his birthdays, but I began with Draco as an adult and it was more of a pining co-workers situation. But that felt too easy, so in my endeavor to have him suffer more, I decided Sixth Year, with Draco at his lowest, to be given a smidge of hope then have it ripped away? How does that fuck with his psyche? How does that inform his actions/inactions and then his post-war outlook?

Thank you for reading, and for these questions Ash!

Lost In Zero Gravity (P.15)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Fifteen) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 3,145 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: The reader here is someone who celebrates Christmas, just a heads up!

Part Fourteen || Part Sixteen || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Something touched your face and you jerked awake, blinking in alarm.

“Shit, sorry,” you heard Tony say as you came to clearly. You exhaled sharply hearing his voice, relaxing back down onto the couch. He was trying not to laugh and failing. He brushed at your forehead again affectionately and said, “Look at two of my favorite girls snuggling on the couch together. A nice thing to come home to.”

You turned your head, seeing Luna was curled up behind your back against the back of the couch. Tony reached behind you, petting her. She got up immediately and crawled up onto your side to get more, stretching her back legs. Tony obliged and she stuck her tail up before hopping down to the ground and sauntering off.

“Well, she got tired of me quickly,” Tony said sounding sour. “Little bitch is holding a grudge I was gone for a week.”

You sat up and moved your pillow, waiting for him to sit down. He simpered in response, “Well, at least one of you still wants my attention.” He sat down and you laid back down, using his thigh as a pillow. “And it’s the better looking one, so that bodes well for me.”

Considering you had fallen asleep, the movie had gone back to the main menu and was playing on loop.

“Interesting choice,” Tony commented seeing it.

“Polar Express has become a classic for Christmas,” you told him seriously. “And I fell asleep on it. And I did want to watch it.” You reached for the controller and started it over.

“Is there a reason for that…? Should I be prepared to be bored?”

“I had watched about three other Christmas movies before this and I was really relaxed,” you returned.

Tony admitted, “Fair enough.” He looked around the room and said, “You really went to town on the decorations.”

“I had a lot.”

“Looks like my tree was the perfect thing for your ornaments. Perfect gift giver.”

You snorted and said, “Is that you digging for a ‘thank you’ again, Santa?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tony answered, his hand coming to your waist. “Where are my cookies in thanks?”

You turned your head to look up at him and asked, “Do you really want me to make you some cookies? Because the only ones I can make on a whim right now are peanut butter.”

Tony smirked, gripping your side. “No, sweetheart. Thank you for being so on the ball though and ready to indulge my whims. You’re a treasure. But I ate enough desserts and bullshit at Disneyland to last me for months.”

“Did you have fun?” you asked, turning to look back as the movie started over again.

“Mhm,” Tony nodded. “Loved standing in lines for an absurd amount of time not only for rides but also for pictures with people pretending to be characters. But it made the kids happy, so that’s what counts. And before you even ask, yes I did use a Max Pass. The waiting was still atrocious.” Before you could ask anything else, he cleared his throat, “How was it here?”

“Fine,” you answered, giving a slight shrug, not offering anything else.

You were truly sore from how much sex you had been having. Steve had wanted to go at it every day the last week and he made sure it happened, alternating between rough and caring. It was lucky, for him, that his wife was gone for the majority of the week, so he was able to come here every day after he got done with business.

“Hmm, sounds like I should pry more but doesn’t sound like you also want to talk about it,” Tony commented quietly. “Conundrum.”

The feeling riled up again to speak to someone about the gala. You pushed away from him, pausing the movie, and he leaned his head back, looking at you with narrowed eyes at your sudden movement.

“Steve was really horny this week. Like every goddamn day kind of horny. So, I’m pretty sore and tired,” you told him. He rose his eyebrows in response, and you said, “You asked me to elaborate, so I am. Also, I don’t know how he’s feeling because he’s been forcing me against tables but then being gentle other times. It’s very hard to read. He really hurt my hip against the kitchen table.” Tony looked concerned, his mouth opening like he was going to ask a question, but you pressed on, wanting to mention this to him, “And that guy from Monaco was at the gala we went to and he was watching me.”

Tony cocked his head. “What?”

“Laurie. That French guy.”

That caught Tony’s attention and he asked seriously, “He was stateside? At the gala?”

“Yes. Is that not normal? Cause he was looking pretty creepy.”

For a split second, you saw genuine apprehension in his face. But, Tony cleared his throat and adjusted in just another second, the mask coming up. He forced a smile, covering up the concern that had been there moments before, and said, “It’s fine. Just weird that he was watching you is all.”

You did not believe him for apparent reasons, mainly his body language. And he changed the subject quickly, “I brought you some gifts over here in this bag, but you can’t open them until Christmas.”

Holding back a sigh that he had brushed it off so easily, you asked, “Did you wrap them?”

“No,” Tony admitted, and you frowned. He explained, “Definitely paid to have that done.” He noticed the look on your face and asked jokingly, “Is that going to be a problem? I can send them back to the park.”

“No. It’s just astounding to me that people don’t like wrapping presents. It’s one of my favorite things. Make sure they look perfect.”

He leaned over the side of the couch and dug through the bag he must have placed down when he came in. “Speaking of cookies…” He came back up with a plain box and handed it to you. “That one you can open now cause it’s perishable.”

You took it from him, opening the box to find Mickey gingerbread cookies and an assortment of other Christmas decorated fudge and cookies.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” Tony commented.

“What a dad thing to say. Have you not left that mode?” you retorted, shooting him a look.

“I see your wit hasn’t lessened. Why do you try to push my buttons?”

“Because it’s fun,” you told him and he sucked his bottom lip in at that slightly, watching you.

Taking one of the pieces of fudge, you closed the box and put it on the coffee table. You took a bite and then held out the other half to him. He leaned forward, taking it, his lips wrapping around your fingers. You smirked at the flirtation, savoring the piece in your own mouth.

“Too bad you’re feeling sore,” Tony said after he swallowed his piece. “That was mighty rude of Steve.”

“Quite,” you agreed.

“Well, we will just have to wait then. Let you get good and limber again. That should take what/ A night?” You snorted at that. “What? I can be patient. And thoughtful.”

Satisfied knowing he was not going to try to push you tonight, you laid back down, tucking yourself back under the blanket, snuggling up on his thigh.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you told him sincerely as you started the movie again.

You felt his fingers caress your side at that.

<><><>

“How was it here?” Tony asked the next day at the office, as Steve placed a coffee on his desk from the intern that had gone on a coffee run for the office.

Steve shrugged, “Alright. She was well behaved. We went to the gala. And I spoke with Richard there, got that all sorted out. He’s going to open up the port when we need it.”

“Anyone notice you two speaking about that matter?” Tony questioned.

“Of course not. Everyone had their noses too far down in their drinks.”

Tony snorted in response before he asked, “Did you notice Laurie?”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Laurie who? Capron?” Tony nodded. Steve shook his head, “No. Why?”

“Y/N did. He was watching her.”

“Okay?” Steve said slowly, not getting it. And he should not because Tony had omitted the part about the bet when he mentioned to Steve that Laurie had been displeased he was meeting with Alexandre.

“Well, you know how I raced?” Steve nodded in acknowledgment. “He challenged me. Laurie did. Wanted to bet on Y/N.” Steve’s lips parted, vexation washing over his features. Tony said quickly, “That’s why I raced. I wasn’t gonna leave it in the hands of that random person they were having race for the company.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Steve demanded. “Tony, what the fuck?”

“It wasn’t relevant. I won, didn’t I?”

“Why did you accept at all?”

“Because you know he would have just asked to take her right then. You know him. And I didn’t want to start that shit right there in front of all those cameras or put Y/N in that position or embarrass her.” Tony exhaled sharply and leaned forward over his desk, “Just… keep your head on a swivel. I don’t like that he’s stateside. He was really not happy about that meeting with Alexandre.”

Steve’s jaw was tight staring Tony down before he finally sighed, “Fine. Yeah. I’ll… we’ll figure out what he’s doing here.”

<><><>

“I still can’t figure out what to get you for Christmas,” you told Steve, watching him from the bed. He had come home during the day for a quickie. He had stayed away for a few days, much to your muscle’s relief.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” Steve told you as he pulled his pants up, working on his belt. “You’re enough.”

Picking at the sheet, you stared down at it, chewing on your bottom lip. Steve was moving around getting ready and he broke the silence, “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Are you going to let me go home for Christmas?” you asked, looking at him hopefully.

Steve stilled for a moment in buttoning up his shirt, his eyes running over you there. You did not break eye contact, wanting to make it clear you were serious about this.

“I have been thinking about that,” Steve admitted. “Most of the guys have family they want to be with. You wouldn’t have anyone here – that I would want to be here that is – to watch you anyway.” Steve gave a tight-lipped smile. “So, my hands are kind of tied here.”

Hope was blossoming in your chest.

“I need to talk to Tony about it. But there will be rules. You’d need to check in regularly. It’d be a short trip. A couple days.”

“That’s okay,” you said eagerly.

Steve’s eyes crinkled and you closed your mouth, trying to relax again. He watched you for a few more moments before he went back to finishing buttoning up his shirt. He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair and put it on too.

Coming over to the bed again, he gave you a kiss. “Don’t forget to wash the sheets before Tony gets home.”

“I will,” you said to his retreating back.

<><><>

You walked up the front steps, already hearing the chatter from inside. You could see some of your family in the living room window, laughing, already playing games. That was a Christmas Eve tradition. Taking a deep breath, you opened the front door. You had not called your grandma to tell her you were coming. The only ones who knew were a couple of your cousins you had reached out to.

When they noticed it was you, there was a chorus of happy greetings.

A wide smile coming across your face, you said hello in return as one of your aunts brought you to her, squeezing you close. Your bag fell by the wall by the door and you left it there to make the rounds.

Your grandma and grandpa were both in their respective chairs, your grandpa excited to see you. You made sure to hug him tight, kissing him on top of his head.

Turning you looked at your grandma. You had not spoken to her since you had left here weeks ago.

You asked gently, “Merry Christmas. How are you?”

“Better now that you are here, dear,” your grandma answered sincerely, a warm smile gracing her lips.

You broke at that, closing the space between the two of you and you wrapped her up in a tight hug. She held you back in return, and you blinked back tears knowing what she had said when you saw her last was true about her not being upset with you. Steve and Tony had not ruined your relationship after all.

<><><>

You looked down at your phone on the table and saw Tony was calling. You quickly snatched it off the table to avoid your cousin from seeing the name. One of your uncles had just begun to serve dessert. You had agreed to texts, not calls. What was Tony doing? You had just texted them an hour ago, sending them a pic that you were really at the house.

Getting up from the table, you said, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Well, hurry back! You don’t wanna miss my cake!” your uncle said as he cut in, placing another piece on a plate to distribute.

You smiled, “Of course not. It looks delicious.”

Turning away from the table, you saw the call had already gone to voicemail, much to your worry. But he was already calling again.

Coming into the hallway, you brought the phone up to your ear and answered in a hushed tone, “Hello?”

“There you are,” Tony responded, sounding taut. “Thought you were ignoring me and I was going to be pretty fucking irritated.” He sounded well on his way to being drunk; you knew the switch in his voice by now. “Make me regret letting you go off at all.”

“Well, I’m here. I’m at the house.”

“I know you are, sweetheart. I just… you’re gonna find a private space for yourself and then call me back on FaceTime.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m horny, Y/N and I needed a distraction for a moment. Get the tension out of myself. I hate the missus family. Go to the bathroom or something and give me a show.”

“Tony,” you hissed into the phone as you continued walking down the hall and the staircase leading to the lower part of the house. “We are in the middle of dessert. That’s—”

“You’re wasting time,” he interrupted you. “I’ve got to get back to this stupid party sooner rather than later. I’m already halfway worked up. Don’t leave me hanging, love. I just need to see you. Real quick. Promise. Call me back.”

He hung up the phone and you stared down at it dumbly for a few moments before letting out a strangled, frustrated noise. Your hand gripped the newel post as you propelled yourself down the staircase to go to the bathroom downstairs. Not following what he was asking would only get you in trouble and really make him regret letting you come here and have him refuse you in the future.

You locked the bathroom door for good measure. Turning around, you took a deep breath, trying to relax. You had given shows like this before, it was not foreign to you. All he wanted to see was you playing with yourself.

Pressing the callback for FaceTime, he answered, “Thank god. What were you doing?”

“I had to go downstairs,” you told him.

Fortuitously, you were wearing a skirt and it was loose. You pulled your underwear down, kicking them off. Taking your top off, you tossed it by your underwear. Looking around the bathroom, you looked for something you could use to prop up your phone and you spotted a small statue. Snatching it off the shelf, you sat down on the ground, your back against the tub. Using the statue, you propped the phone to point towards you and you spread your legs.

“Yeah, that’s good,” you heard Tony say softly and you could hear him already starting to jerk himself.

Your hand came to your pussy and you ran your fingers slowly up and down, not moving past your lips yet.

“How do you think I taste?” you asked, stroking slowly.

“So fucking good,” Tony returned, strained.

“You like tasting me?”

“It’s my favorite.”

Pressing one finger in, you moaned lowly. Your fingers came up to your mouth and you sucked on them before coming back to your clit, circling quickly.

“I wish it was you,” you keened, your fingers delving deeper.

“Fuck, me too,” Tony husked, speeding up.

Freeing your tits from your bra, you played with them, moaning as your fingers moved quicker. You kept your voice low as you teased him, hoping that no one would come up to the door. You had chosen the bathroom at the back of the house for a reason; the bigger one was closer to where everyone was.

Tony let out a groan as you described how wet and hot you were for him.

“I’m yours. All yours,” you told him, sultry.

“Shit, baby, I’m so close,” Tony groaned.

“Come for me, please,” you half whined, spreading your lips further apart to give him a better view inside. You continued encouraging him, circling your clit quickly.

“Fuck!” Tony exclaimed, shuddering breaths leaving him, and you knew he had finished. Your hand slowed and you waited until you were sure he was done before you dropped your hand. Picking up the phone, you covered your pussy again. The phone was pointed up at the ceiling; he must have laid it down on the counter.

After a few moments, he exhaled deeply, “Christ. Thank you, baby. That was good.” He picked the phone back up and said, “I gotta get cleaned up. Don’t forget to text. Have fun at your party.”

He hung up and you let out a breath of relief that he had one, gotten off, and two, no one had interrupted you.

You got yourself straightened out again, remembering to flush just to keep up the allusion. You did wash your hands though for real before leaving the bathroom.

“Thought you fell in,” one of your cousins joked when you appeared back in the dining room.

“No, sorry to disappoint,” you returned, pulling your chair back out and you sat down, picking up your fork. Everyone was almost done or already done. You took a big bite and chewed, savoring it. You gave your uncle the thumbs up down the table and he looked happy.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx @buttercandy16

Instant Comfort

Oh Heyy. Here we are, back at it again. I had a couple of prompts in my mind, but this one stuck out to me. POC reader, per usual because it just makes sense and what I need right now. Hopefully this little one gives you the same feeling as the title, a lil comfort.

I’m keeping with these one-shot type of deals for now, but thinking of creating a bigger Baku/POC fic for the holidays. IDK, but enjoy!

Summary: Bakugou tells you to stay inside while he fights villains. You go outside. Also, no pillows are safe. Bakugou X POC reader .

Instant comfort, no matter the stress. 

“Instant comfort my ass.”

That was the current thought that ran through your mind as your fingertips gripped at the sides of the so called comfort pillow that was stuffed in-between your legs. That pillow was a gift from Bakugou. He was a very strange gift giver; his gifts were either overtly practical or something you’d casually mention during conversation when you had thought he wasn’t even listening. He knew you were a terrible sleeper and one time you had blamed it on the pillows in his bed. When you finally moved in a year ago, it was the first thing he changed. It was sweet. But now you would definitely have to apologize to him when he got home because by the time this villain situation that you were watching is over, the pillow would be in shreds. 

‘If he get’s home.’

You hated that thought. Currently you were sitting on the couch, your eyes were glued to the television screen. A rather infamous villain who had been keeping the hero’s on edge the past month finally made their reappearance, right in the zone your boyfriend was patrolling. And now, you had the watch the horror of him fight for his, and innocent civilian’s around him lives on live television. You tried to ignore it, going to lay back down in bed, on his side, but you couldn’t shake your desire to watch, and here you were on the couch, clutching the feather filled device with entirely way too much pressure and force.

Usually you got a kick out of watching him fight. He always had that cocky grin on his face when he blasted through his foes. You hated that grin on most days, especially when he threw it your direction when he bested you at something simple as household chores. 

“You gotta keep up, you’re living with a pro hero now, you know.” He would tease you with that damn grin.

Correction, you hated that grin on most days. But, you secretly loved it on all the days. 

But he wasn’t grinning. He was snarling. He was on the defense. He wasn’t in control as he normally was. Backup hadn’t arrived (but the camera crews did, per usual) and his usually regimented attack patterns became more sporadic. 

You gripped the pillow tighter, hopping to push out what remained of his scent into your nose. He was going to be okay. He was always okay. He would be home soon.

You had tried on a few occasions to get to his location whenever he was fighting. The last time you showed up he was pissed to say the least. He had always said it wasn’t safe for you. 

“It’s not because you’re quirkless, so get that out of your head, okay! I just...I need to know you’re home when shit gets bad...” 

You were quirkless. But you held your own against Bakugou and the pro heroes. Even teaching them a few tricks when it came to close, hand to hand combat. Quirkless folks even looked up to you. Bakugou, the explosion hero in both quirk and personality and you the quirkless yet assertive tactician that stood at his side. Beyond being an interracial couple, together you represented both parts of the society you lived in and served. The ultimate power couple. 

A very attractive power couple. (you added that last part). The thought made you smile, and your hands loosened on the pillow.

Then it happened. Bakugou was caught off guard, and the pillow was ripped in half.

“Fuck it.” You leaped from the couch, grabbing your house keys and jacket before rushing out the door. 

*** 

Bakugou let out a ragged breath. This was definitely going to scar. He had been stabbed by many things in his hero training and life as a pro. Lava spikes, that was new. Perhaps it was karma of all the times he overworked Kaminari into his stupid state. Or the time he threw Kirishima into a wall during a training exercise at U.A just to get him off his back. Either way, this was going to be nasty scar. 

But even worse, this would be scar with no heroic tale. Regardless of his efforts of capturing the villain, the whole ordeal took entirely too long, both his gauntlets had been destroyed, there were casualties. He knew it. He understood he couldn’t save everyone, but he wanted to push the thought of someone waiting for another that was never going to come home out of his mind. He needed to go back to the agency, file the reports and get the fuck home himself.

“Hey, you okay man?” The redhead asked while catching up. 

He grumbled out a ‘fine’ while rubbing at his sore shoulders. He was thankful Kirishima was there. He was much better at talking to the press than he was, and their quirks made for a good team (when it was needed, of course). Now the pair walked back to the agency a broken but victorious team. 

Rounding the corner Bakugou paused, seeing you standing outside of the agency under the awning. Despite how gorgeous looked with your braided hair and tan skin glowing against the lights of the city, your face looked just as worn and fatigued as his was. And he hated seeing you like that.

“Hey isn’t that-” 

Bakugou quickened his pace before Kirishima could finish, marching right up to you with determination. 

“Before you say anything,” You began softly, knowing that the more you had control over the conversation the less likely you were to break down in front of him, “I know you told me I’m not supposed to be here and I’m stupid for coming, but I was watching at home and...I just couldn’t watch you get hurt and I just wanted to make sure you were okay and I was scared and-” 

He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, cracked lips and all, but it was the validation you needed that he was here, and he was okay. You pressed into him, connecting together like two puzzle pieces. Arms circling around his waist and hands roaming up his back. You ignored the divots of bruising skin, you would take care of those later. Right now, you needed to just feel and take in all of him.

 Afterwards, you both let out a simultaneous exhale. The relief you were both anxiously needing from the tensions of the evening had finally arrived.

you murmured an ‘I’m sorry’ and he smirked.

“Stop apologizing, Just don’t do it again, kay?” 

You wanted to reply with ‘Just don't get stabbed on national TV again, kay?’ but you simply nodded in compliance against his chest. You’ll save it for tomorrow. Bakugou has a phase of being cocky or overtly sweet after a tough battle, then he turns into a cranky gremlin the next day once the soreness of his injuries kick in.

“Hey man, why don’t I take care of the reports and stuff and you both get home.” Kirishima interjected, “I’ll get a request in for the new gauntlets too.” 

Bakugou muttered an extra extra quiet thank you, followed by you who spoke a bit more clearly, “Thank you Kiri. We both owe you.” 

“Yeah no problem but uh...I don’t know if it missed it but, why are you all covered in feathers?” 

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 100 - I guess you had to be there

Note on the title: "I guess you had to be there" tops even "Takeaway" for things that are hilarious when said in a spooky voice.

Also I'm not even going to start quoting most of these interactions, they're too painfully awkward, but I do appreciate how what we have here is - 1 encounter with the Desolation recounted by Ms. Too Terse To Be Scared who apparently only ever speaks when spoken to and is just here for the cash - 1 encounter with something that is perhaps the Dark, given how reminiscent it is of a previous statement ("The End of the Tunnel"), but is being misinterpreted as The Government kidnapping people for nefarious purposes by someone with perfectly justified but utterly misdirected paranoia - 1 encounter with the Spiral, whose powers of confusion and misdirection apparently have nothing on dear Rob here, who is also a master of confusion and (accidental) misdirection and who beat the Spiral through the power of REALLY WANTING HIS MUM'S COOKING! - 1 encounter with the Web by someone who is so freaked out he can't tell a coherent story, which, you know, FAIR!

And literally all of these stories COULD be a terrifying statement but... well ...

Melanie: Yes. Yes, it’s, it’s fine. Sorry, I just, I just don’t hold out a lot of hope for… coherence. (...) Our Archivist is on leave

We never knew how useful Jon's powers were for reigning the statement givers in. This is kind of fun as a revelation because, well, I had just blithely assumed that people were such good storytellers because otherwise the format wouldn't work and pretty much every time I go "It doesn't really make sense, they're just doing this so the format works" they come up with an in-universe explanation for WHY IT ACTUALLY DOES MAKE SENSE!

Peter Lukas: Not to worry. I’m sure I can find it. And I’m sure you need some time to get used to your new situation.

This was the only part of the episode that actually creeped me out rather than just giving me huge amounts of second-hand embarassment. Poor Brian, getting nonchalantly Lonely-fied by Peter Lukas (the bastard!) just because he happened to be there. Well, at least his spider problem is solved. There's just not going to be much in the way of any OTHER living beings in the remainder of his life either...

My impression of this episode

Oh Jesus fucking Christ, this episode. I like to listen to the Magnus Archives to be unsettled in a pleasant manner, but awkwardness, unlike horror fiction, is unsettling in an entirely UNPLEASANT manner. This was BY FAR the most difficult episode to listen to in the entirety of TMA and I'm only relistening to it because of my massive streak of completionism. I see what they did here, they did it well - perhaps a bit too well! - but I am fucking glad they only did it once and never again, so there. (My partner, incidentally, was laughing her fucking arse off while I was dying of terminal cringe, so there's that.)

Hello good morning and welcome to chili's- is that even the right reference? Whatever. Anyways, welcome to 'auri can't stop fucking writing about party poison and cherri cola' hours. They have such a fascinating bond ANYWAYS also welcome to a fucking trainwreck that i wrote all this morning.

Title: everybody wants to change the world

Wordcount: 2047

Summary:

Party Poison goes out, gets hurt, and chooses a different place for help than they usually would.

This has literally no plot beyond me making Poison have a bad time.

Warnings: injury, blood, death mentions.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen​ @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

Party Poison swore under their breath as they staggered back to the Trans Am, pressing a hand to their side. They were going to fucking bleed out here, outside a Mad Gear concert in Zone 4, all because they were a fucking dumbass and got themself stabbed. Because Poison could never live quietly, they didn't know how. All they knew was picking fights with random 'joys and listening to the music that blared from the speakers, way too loud and easily drowning out their thoughts. Now that was catching up to them, they guessed, as they slid into the car and put their bloody hand on the wheel.

"Home we go, baby."

No. Not home. Kobra had said, Kobra had told them 'don't go out and get hurt again, don't go picking fights, dumbass'. And Poison had gone and done it anyways. Gone and been a fucking idiot, as Kobes would say. So no, they were not going back to the diner yet. Not bleeding this heavily, anyways. The Girl didn't deserve to see this, nor did she deserve to watch them and Kobra fight about it.

That left Poison with the question of where, exactly, they were going to go. There weren't a lot of people in the world they trusted to see them like this, injured and exhausted and close to crying because it all hurt, it always had. In fact, most of those people, four of them, lived in the old diner where they couldn't -wouldn't- go. Most of those people...but not all of them.

Poison turned the Trans Am to a different path, speeding towards a little radio shack in the middle of the desert. If nothing else, they knew Dr. D would be happy to fix them up and send them on their way again, and then they could head back to diner late at night when no one was awake and no one would need to know they had gotten stabbed like a dumbass.

Unluckily for them, it was one in the fucking morning, and Dr. D was soundly asleep when they stumbled into the station. They assumed, at least, given that he was nowhere to be seen and the radio station was quiet. Empty, in fact. Or at least the living room was. Poison stumbled towards the broadcasting room, hearing a low voice from that direction.

Cherri Cola looked up they stumbled in the door, pausing in the middle of reading off a poem. "Poison?"

"Pepsi! I got stabbed." Poison tried to grin at him, the smile turning into a grimace at the pain in their side.

Cherri stared at them for a few moments, then turned back to the broadcast. "Well, WKIL listeners, I'm afraid this where I leave you for tonight, given that we've got a bit of a situation going on, but I should be back for later this night- well, this morning, technically, I'd say we're coming up on one am now. Cherri Cola, signing off." He turned back to Poison with a sigh. "Where did you get stabbed?"

They tried not to be offended at his huff. "Here. Where my hand is."

Cherri stood, gesturing to them to follow him back to the living room area, where he grabbed a first aid kit. "Lay down on the sofa, that much blood means I probably need to stitch you up."

"Great."

"I'm going to peel back your shirt, okay? Only as far as I need to clean and stitch it," Cherri promised.

Poison shrugged, pulling their jacket off before they laid down. "Do what y'have to."

His hands were scarred and calloused, the skin rough, but he was gentle when he pulled the bloody fabric away and started cleaning out the wound. They gasped in pain anyways, gritting their teeth as their side sent flickers of agony running through them.

"Sorry, sorry," Cherri said quietly. "I promise only a bit more to go, I just need to stitch this."

Poison nearly screamed when he started the first stitch, letting out a strangled yelp instead. "How much longer?"

"Three more stitches, then I'm done."

They gritted their teeth again, clenching their fists by their sides as he tied off the next stitch, and the next, and the next.

"Okay, done." Cherri set the needle aside, closing the first aid kit. "You okay?"

Poison would have laughed if they weren't in so much pain. "Of course 'm not fucking okay. Why would I be fucking okay?"

They hated the pity on his face as he gently scooted them over to sit down next to them. "Silly question, I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

Poison could have been dignified, but they chose to lean against him instead as the feelings they had been bottling up came pouring out. "Everything. Everything is wrong because Kobes is always angry and Jet's always sad and Ghoul's scared and Motorbaby shouldn't have to grow up here, shouldn't have to see us fall apart. What's the point? What's the point, Cola? What are we fighting for? Is there even a future ahead of us? What's even the point of life?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"There isn't a point." Poison gaped at him. "There isn't a point to life, not unless you make one. You have to decide what you want, what's worth fighting for."

The words fell softly into the quiet of the radio station, shattered by Poison's harsh voice. "And how the fuck am I supposed t' do that?"

"It's hard to describe, but..." Cherri trailed off. "Find what means something to you. What you love. For me that's poetry, and Newsie, and D and Pone and you and your crew, and the stars. Also, Mad Gear, they're vastly superior to Benny and the Trampolines."

Poison managed a small laugh. "True that. But what is the point, to you?"

“Well, in the simplest form...the point of life is happiness.”

“I thought the point of my life was to change the world,” they muttered bitterly. Maybe it made them an asshole, maybe the other was trying to help, but it was their fucking job to change things and they were tired of it.

Cherri’s voice was heartbreakingly gentle. “It doesn’t matter how big of a difference you made to the world. All that matters is that you made a different to you.”

Poison found that their eyes were stinging, tears collecting in them. “Are you sure?” Their voice sounded small and pathetic, and they hated it.

“I’m sure. You deserve happiness, more than anything else. It should never be your job to save the world, not so young. Never.”

They tried to speak again, but all that came out was a shuddering, gasping sob. Some small part of them was embarrassed, mortified to be crying in front of Cherri Cola, of all people, but the bigger part of their mind couldn’t bring themself to care. Not when their heart ached more than the wound in their side, not when Cherri was holding his arms out silently, clearly an offer.

Maybe it made them weak, but Poison took the comfort, letting themself be encased safely in the older killjoy’s arms. “I don’t want to die, Cola.” They hated how their voice shook. “I don’t want to die.”

“I know. I know.”

“I want to save everyone, I want to make a difference.” They let out another sob. “But I don’t want to die.”

“Your life should never be the price,” Cherri murmured.

“But it is. But it is! I have to- I’m going to die ch- changing the world. I’m supposed to- to save everyone, even if I have to d-die to do it.”

Poison thought they heard his usually unshakable voice waver a little. “No, Poison, no. This never should have been your job."

"Well who- who was g- going to do it?"

They couldn't see his face, but his voice was very quiet. "It was supposed to be D and I, years and years ago. Me, and D, and Lily. It shouldn't have even been Newsie and Chimp, shouldn't have been Pony, definitely shouldn't have been you. I'm sorry, Poison."

"'s okay." They found themself curling up further, head leaning on his shoulder. "Who's Lily?"

"White Lily, leader of the first rebellion, said to be one of the first of the killjoys," Cherri murmured. "Giver of plastic flower hairclips, the only person who was allowed to call Newsie 'News', and one of my three siblings. In a way."

"Oh." Another sob made its way out of their throat, but this mysterious 'Lily' was a good distraction. "Tell me about her?"

"Well, the day I met her, she was twenty-one and she asked me 'Did this softy offer you a place to stay?'..." Cherri launched into a quiet story about two kind killjoys who offered a desperate sixteen-year-old the first real home he had ever known. His voice was low, soothing, and Poison let themself relax a little bit as they listened to the story.

"D' you have any more stories about 'your day'?"

"I think I have some poems about it, actually," Cherri replied dryly. "Stories, yes, but also poems, which are easier."

"Not easier to understand," Poison muttered, but they let him half carry them back into the broadcast room and proceeded to drape themself over his lap when he started up again.

"Hello there, my late-night crash queen friends, it's me, Cherri Cola, back again. At the request of my companion, the next few poems of the corner will be about the olden days, back before you rock and rollers were out on the road." He started on a poem which Poison thought must have been about Dr. D, plenty of metaphors about the voice of the desert. After that one and one more was finished, he switched on some music and turned back to them.

"When is your crew expecting you home?"

"Don't know. Concert was over at midnight, but they know I sometimes stay out later. For all I know, they all went to bed."

"I'm going to radio the diner, if that's okay?"

"Don't want them t' know I got hurt." Their words were mashed up more from sleepiness than blood loss by now.

"I'll say you got lost." Cherri's tone was joking, but his voice grew serious again as he went on. "Or I'll just say you're staying here tonight, you don't owe them an explanation of why. You do owe it to them to make sure they aren't worried for you, though."

"Okay." They felt rather schooled, staring down at the perpetually dirty floor of the radio station as Cherri fiddled with the radio.

Eventually, Fun Ghoul picked up, sounding sleepy. "Hello?"

"Hey, Ghoul."

"What is it, Cola? You got word of Party?"

"They decided to drop by after the concert, so we're hanging out tonight. They'll be okay, just too tired to drive the Am safely. I'll send them back tomorrow morning by the time you need the Trans Am for anything, but please tell the others not to worry."

"Gotcha. Motorbaby got sleepy, took Jet and Kobra to get her to sleep 'cause Pois is out, then they conked out. I told them to. But if they wake up, I'll tell them, and I won't worry toooo much. Tell Pois I said hi!"

Poison was incredibly thankful Ghoul had picked up instead of one of the other two, since xe wasn't the sort to ask many questions. Kobra would have been suspicious, and Jet would have been pretty decent about it but concerned. And Poison didn't need those two's concern right now.

"Right, well, sleep well, Ghoul. Pois says hi," Cherri said. That was technically a lie, since Poison hadn't said anything, but they didn't really mind. Ghoul deserved some reassurance, even if it was false.

Cherri clicked the radio off. "Right, my stabbed friend. I've got some more broadcasting to do, but you're welcome to stay."

"You're an insufferable bastard," Poison yawned.

"Yes, I am. Sleep well, Sleepy Poison."

Poison had absolutely not intended in any way, shape, or form to fall asleep on Cherri's lap, but they found themself yawning again as he started on another poem. And before they or he had a chance to say goodnight, they were out like a light.

The Mountains Are Calling And I Must Go

Pairing(s): Romantic Dukeceit

Warnings: Self deprecation, mentions of shitty parenting, Remus being Remus Characters: Deceit Sanders, Remus Sanders, Virgil and Roman are there for like a paragraph, Logan is mentioned exactly once.

Summary: There lives a warlock in the mountains, and Remus is determined to hunt him down.

Word Count: 4861

Edit: This is now officially has a sequel! Read it here

Read on AO3 Author’s Note: I love Deceit and Remus, and I wrote this instead of sleeping

There lived a warlock in the mountains. At least that was what Remus was counting on. So far he hadn’t gotten a glance of the fucker yet, but he was nothing but optimistic.

He spurred his horse on for what felt like the thousandth time that hour. Realistically, Remus knew that the mare was exhausted and they both needed sleep soon. But he didn’t want to waste time resting when he could find his goal (hopefully) any minute now! The sun was nearly setting and he wanted to explore as much ground as he could while he could still travel without risking falling down one of the mountain’s cliffs that twisted alongside the path he was following. What would it be like to fall down from such a height? Would he crunch his head on the spikey rocks below? Splatter his brain in a pretty pattern on the rocks- Or maybe he would fall with his feet first, causing his bones to rip through his flesh and- Remus shook his head to chase away the thoughts like an annoying fly. Usually he would delight in thinking all the options through, but not right now. He had a mission goddammit, and it needed all his attention.

--

He had heard all the stories of this warlock figure. All the vague whispers that people would delight in telling and listening to, despite the fear. The warlock ate children who got lost in the woods; he took young men and women to experiment on them in his hidden castle. Tell him your name, and he would take control over your mind. He hid away in the Desolate Mountains, waiting for the day he could capture the kingdom for himself. He was the kingdom’s greatest threat. The warlock was a monster. At this point of the stories Remus always interrupted saying that he thought “Desolate Mountains” was a really lazy fucking name and honestly where was the name giver’s creativity? This was always followed by the storyteller and listeners screaming at him to get away, we never invite you for a reason, we don’t want you here, how did you even get in here but Remus always prided himself in asking the questions people would rather not ask, hear or experience. That’s how he found himself at one point sitting atop the worktable of the court sorcerer. “So this warlock fellow-” “Your Grace, could you kindly get off my work?” “How would one kill him? Is it like vampires? Stake through the heart? Although really, you can kill anything with a stake through the heart, why do vampires think they’re so special?” Remus sent a wide grin towards the purple-clad figure on the other end of the table, who was glaring at him so hard his pupils were barely visible through the dark marks around his eyes. The court sorcerer looked ready to summon the shadows he controlled so effortlessly, and have them throw Remus out of the nearest window. Ha, jokes on him though! That would be considered treason! “Or is it more like witches? Burn him at the stake? Or drown him? Heh, have you ever wondered what it would feel like to drown?” “Geez, why don’t you go to one of the garden’s fountains and find out?” Virgil bit out through gritted teeth. Remus fell back cackling, rolling in the sorcerer’s precious notes for good measure. “You’re so funny Virge! The funniest little shadow we got around here!” “Look, your Grace,” Virgil bit out the title like it was an insult. “If I knew anything about the warlock in the mountains, I would tell you-” “Oh come ooooooooon!” Remus whined. “You do magic, you gotta know how to end him somehow! Give me something to work with! Chop his head off? Recite some spells? Ooh what’s this??” Virgil quickly snatched the bottle with the bubbling silver liquid away from Remus’ curious hands. “This is an erosion potion.” Virgil grumbled. “One drop and a rock the size of a man will melt away like water.” “How fun! Have you ever used it on people?” “What? No, of course not-!” “Well you should, for science’s sake- Logan would appreciate the experiment!” “You know I highly doubt he would-” “Ooooh, why don’t we ask the scholar himself that? Bet the nerd would love to participate-!” “LOOK,” Virgil took a very deep breath through his nose, and exhaled through his mouth. “No one knows how to defeat the warlock, okay?? If I knew, I would have done it years ago!” “Boooo, you’re no fun.” “Hell, if anyone could kill him,” Virgil continued on, ignoring Remus. “That person would be hailed as a hero! But knights and heroes who go in the mountains disappear without a trace, and we can’t-” Virgil’s sentence was cut off when he was tackled by a green and black blur to the ground. Letting out a litany of curses, he went to push the squirming prince off of him, but he stopped in his tracks when he looked at Remus’ face. The prince’s lips were turned in the most manic grin Virgil had ever seen on him, and his eyes were wide as saucers. “ ‘Hailed like a hero…?’ ” Remus whispered. “Are you sure about that…?” “Uuhm… Yes?” Virgil answered. “AWESOME!!” Remus screamed in his face, before scrambling up and running from the room in a flurry of thrown about papers and slamming doors. Virgil sat up, utterly bewildered at the sudden exit. But eventually he shrugged. At least he had some peace and quiet now… Remus didn’t stop running until he burst into his room, where he changed into his best traveling clothes, put on his warmest cloak and started grabbing his favourite weapons to bring with him, along with his beloved morning star that he grabbed off the wall. After that he ran to the castle’s kitchens, where he under wild protests of the cooks shoved various foods and a water bottle in his bag. Then he proceeded to dash to the stables, where he screamed at the nearest stable boy to prepare his favourite mare for traveling. “Remus?” A voice behind him asked. When Remus whirled around, he was faced with the confused stare of his twin brother. “What the hell are you doing?” “No time to talk bro-bro!” Remus hauled himself up the horse. “I’m off to kill the warlock that lives in the mountains!” “Wait, what?” Roman’s mouth fell open. “Are you nuts? You can’t just-” “Don’t wait up for me!” Remus yelled as he spurred his horse in a gallop, out of the castle’s gate. “BYYYYEE!!”

--

That was three days ago. Three days where he barely slept, ate while riding and only ever stopped to allow himself and his horse the bare minimum of rest. And now here he was, leading the mare on coiling paths through the treacherous cliffs and the dwindling treeline. And he still hadn’t caught a glimpse of this supposed warlock. Or his stupid hidden castle! Although, Remus considered, if he could easily find it he supposed it was a pretty shit hidden castle. The last light of twilight was almost gone. Grumbling to himself, Remus reluctantly halted and stepped off his horse. After tying her to a nearby tree and giving her some water, Remus searched for firewood and made a small fire. He then proceeded to very grumpily stare into the flames. Tomorrow he would search harder. He would find that son of a bitch, chop his head off and bring it gift wrapped back to his mother and father. And then he would get a statue, and a song written for him, and- And had it been this misty the whole time? Remus quickly sat up, his hand flying to his morning star. Tendrils of mist had surrounded him, and moved in closer with a fluidity and grace that reminded Remus of how Virgil would move shadows in his hand. Excitedly Remus got up his feet, hands bringing up his weapon and a frenzied giggle leaving his mouth. Finally finally finally-!! “Show yourself!!” He yelled. “You’re a long way from home, sir knight.” A dark, crooning voice answered him. Remus twisted around. In the light of the fire, Remus could make out the tall, slender figure of a man standing between two trees. The mist seemed to curl itself around the man, like a cat greeting it’s master. The man was dressed in all black, and a large hood was pulled over his head, shielding his face away from Remus’ eyes. Remus squinted at the hooded figure. “Are you the warlock that lives in these mountains?” He asked. No use accidentally shanking the wrong guy. The man made a dismissive hand wave. “I suppose I am. But pray tell, who are-” Remus didn’t let him finish. With a vicious battle cry he lifted his morning star over his head and charged towards the hooded man. He swung his weapon towards the figure… And only met thin air. He stumbled, but quickly regained his balance to look for his target. Where the fuck did that slippery eel go? “My, aren’t you an impolite one.” Came the cool voice from behind him. Remus whipped around, seeing the warlock study him with a tilted head. Once more Remus charged at him full speed, hoping to strike his morning star right into the man’s side. But yet again, the man disappeared the second Remus tried to hit him. “What exactly are you hoping to gain from this?” The warlock’s voice came from his right. He appeared unbothered by the attacks or the furious glare Remus threw him. Remus once again ran to attack the man, and let out a frustrated screech when the warlock disappeared and reappeared behind him before he could land a blow. “Stop moving!” He hollered. “Let me think. Hmmmm, no.” This continued on for a minute, and Remus’ assaults only grew more frenzied with every failed hit. He grit his teeth so hard he was surprised he didn’t break his molars with the sheer force of it. His grip tightened on his morning star. He was going to beat this guy to a bloody pulp. He was going to chop his stupid head off, and break every part of the rest of his body, grind his bones into dust, eat his fucking organs until nothing was left-! “This is getting tiresome…” The warlock sighed. “Then actually come out and FACE ME, YOU-” “Look into my eyes.” The voice suddenly boomed from his right. Remus’ head turned so quickly his neck gave a painful crick, glee already flooding him because his target was right there all he had to was- And beautiful swirling golden eyes met his gaze. Remus stopped his movements abruptly. His mind was startled in unexpected silence, but he didn’t care or bother to question why. All he wanted to do was to keep staring into those golden eyes. “That’s right,” The smooth voice purred, and oh. That was possibly even better. The soft rumble of the warlock’s voice seemed to fill every nook and cranny of Remus’ head. Every crammed little corner emptied of its contents and instead replenished with gold and honeyed words. “Now darling,” The warlock hummed. “How about you throw all the weapons you have on you into that ravine over there, and then we’ll have a civilized conversation? Wouldn’t you like that?” Remus nodded and turned to stiffly walk towards the edge of the cliff. He immediately missed the golden gaze on him, so he swiftly went to work. First he threw his morning star down in the depths, followed by the sword on his side, then the daggers in his boots, the small axe and the blades on his belt, the kitchen knife he had grabbed last minute for good measure- Behind him the warlock chuckled. “Not sure if I should be scared or impressed.” The warm amusement in the man’s tone curled itself up in Remus’ chest and made him feel all kinds of weird and fuzzy. He wanted to make the other laugh and smile more, just to have that feeling all the time. Disposing his last weaponry down the cliff, Remus turned again towards the other. The warlock had sat himself down on a large boulder, and gave him a small nod. “Very good. Now come here.” The man beckoned with one finger. Remus didn’t need to be told twice. Eagerly he marched up towards the other man, and dropped himself on his knees in front of him. And before he could think about it, Remus buried his face into the other man’s lap, his fingers curling into the warlock’s pants’ leg. The warlock stiffened at the sudden contact, but Remus barely noticed. God, he just wanted to be closer, closer- “Well this is new...” The voice murmured above him. Remus froze. Fuck fuck fuck, he did something weird again, he had screwed up, why did he do that, why was he like this-! All panic was immediately silenced when a hand gently started carding through his hair. Sighing, Remus practically melted into the soft contact. A low keen left his throat at the feeling of sharp nails lightly grazing his head, causing the most pleasant shivers to roll down Remus’ spine. “Let’s try this again, shall we? You may call me Deceit. And what’s your name, bold knight?” Somewhere in his head an alarm bell started ringing, but Remus took that bell and beat it to a flat mash before kicking it right into the sun. “My name’s Remus… Remus Alveraz…” He muttered. “Oh my… Am I in the presence of genuine royalty?” Deceit played with the silver lock in Remus’ hair. “I feel honoured. And to what exactly do I owe this privilege?” He should probably lie to him. In fact, lying was absolutely the best option if he wanted the soft touches to continue. However the second the possibility of lying crossed Remus’ mind his head seemed to clog with a dense fog. Above him the warlock gave a soft tut in disappointment. “No use lying to me dear,” Deceit slightly scolded. “Come now, you can tell me…” He didn’t want to, he absolutely did not want to, but the thick fog made even the smallest white lie seem like a herculean task. “I came here to kill you...” Remus relented quietly. Immediately the fog lifted from his mind. And weirdly enough, the hand didn’t stop caressing his hair. “Funnily enough, I figured that out that much.” The amusement was back, and with it the fuzzy feeling in Remus’ chest. “And why were you sent on such a quest, hmm? Didn’t whoever sent you warn you of the stories? Those who enter the mountains shall never return I do believe it was.” “I wasn’t sent by anyone,” Remus muttered. “I wanted to do this myself.” “Ah, that explains some of it,” Deceit said. “So why exactly did you want to do this then?” Remus opened his mouth, ready to answer with for the glory of the kingdom, so his country would be free of fear, so the people could sleep easily again, so he could be their hero. Before even a syllable could leave his mouth the fog clouded his mind once more, even denser than before. His reasons choked on his tongue as he struggled to speak. “You’re lying, little prince. And not even to me, but to yourself. Which I always considered far worse than lying to the world.” The hand in Remus’ hair tightened and his head was turned sideways, so he could glance up at the man above him. The shining golden eyes were the only things visible under the hood and their beauty entranced Remus once more. “Tell the truth.” Deceit whispered. “I… I wanted…” Remus struggled to answer through the fog. “Tell the truth.” The warlock commanded. The power of the order settled heavily in Remus’ bones. “I just wanted people to see me.” The admission left him in a rush, and the mist in his head finally disappeared. Whatever Deceit had seemed to expect, this wasn’t it. The hand released his hair, and Remus immediately turned his head to hide his face back into the other man’s lap. The truth stung on his tongue. “And why exactly do you think people don’t see you…?” Deceit’s voice was thoughtful. “Aren’t you their beloved prince?” A bitter laugh left Remus before he could stop himself. “No no no no… Roman is the beloved one of the two of us. Perfectly charming perfect prince. People fall over their feet to wave at him, would chop their own kid’s fingers off for a chance to kiss his ass and all that shit, and I’m…” For once in his life Remus actually wanted to stop talking. But whatever spell was compelling him forced the truth out he had been ignoring for years. “I’m the spare. They don’t see me; they just see a failed version of Roman. The unwanted child. The family disappointment. Good for nothing, weird, scary, stupid freak of nature. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-!” “Enough.” The order came out quiet like a hush, but Remus immediately stopped talking. Calmly he waited for Deceit to throw him off, to sneer and mock him for his not so royal behaviour. Perhaps the warlock would use him for ransom to get the kingdom from his mom and dad. Although, seeing as what Remus just admitted, it would probably be more likely he’ll just kill him and be done with it. He found that the thought didn’t really scare him. Just as he considered if Roman would miss him, Remus startled as he felt the warlock’s hand go back to ever so gently caressing his hair. Carefully he peeked back up to the other man. The golden eyes had lessened in their intensity, and Remus knew it was wishful thinking when he thought he saw sympathy in them. “Who made you believe that about yourself, little prince?” Deceit asked softly. The question surprised him. Remus shrugged. “It’s just the truth… I’ve always been the fuck up. I can’t do anything right. I couldn’t learn properly when I was a kid, my interests are weird, I’m too much…” “Too much of what?” “Everything! Too loud, too distractive, too grotesque, too annoying,” Remus rambled up from his head, repeating the words teachers, nannies, tutors, friends and family had told him over the years. When he just couldn’t sit still during lessons, because why would he when there were thousands more interesting things to do. “You’re a bad example for the others!” When he struggled with understanding the lesson material because he just couldn’t focus on it no matter hard he tried. “You’re just being lazy.” When he rambled on about his favourite gruesome stories and fairy-tales almost without being able to stop because they were so interesting! “I think he’s disturbed.” When he played with the other children and made them cry when he played too rough, spoke too loud, told too many scary stories. “You’re a freak!” When he pulled his twin brother along with his mischief and he ended up the only one being punished. “You’re a bad child.” When his parents praised Roman, only to send disappointed glares towards him. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” Not good enough, no matter what he did. Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough. NEVER GOOD ENOU- “Remus.” The soft voice jump startled Remus out of his spiral. His throat had tightened and his eyes were prickling. Without realizing he had tightened his fingers nearly painfully in the fabric of the warlock’s pants. He quickly loosened them. “ ‘m sorry…” Remus mumbled. Sorry I exist. “No need…” Deceit shushed. “There’s no reason to apologize.” Silence settled between the two men for a while. The warlock sat in quiet consideration, while Remus tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He shut his eyes tightly to keep the prickling of tears back. Fuck, he thought he didn’t care… He thought he had hardened his heart enough that it stopped bothering him years ago, how no one could look at him without disgust or annoyance. Turns out he lied more to himself than he was willing to admit. Remus focused with all his might on the soft stroking of his hair that, despite everything, was still happening. He couldn’t quite believe his luck. Most people had shoved him away by now. “Now what I don’t understand yet,” Deceit finally spoke up. “Is why you thought killing me would help you?” Remus gave another half-hearted shrug. “I mean, you’re the country’s biggest enemy…” “Am I? My goodness, I feel flattered.” Deceit said flatly. “Roman always gets praise whenever he slays a monster… And he can’t come after you! Mom and dad made Roman promise them that he would never try to find and defeat you.” That had been when they were both teenagers. “… And they never made you promise not to do that?” Remus didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His silence said enough. He heard Deceit take a very deep breath. “So you hoped that if you brought back my head, you would get their artificial praise and magically all their neglect would go away?” Deceit’s voice had taken a biting edge. “I guess… I mean, Virgil said that-” “Virgil?” The hand stopped moving, eliciting a small whine from Remus. “As in Virgil Storm?” “Yeah…” Remus was surprised. The warlock knew the court sorcerer? “He told me that the first person to kill you would be hailed as a hero…” “The basssstard…” The warlock hissed out. “I taught him everything he knows, and this is how he repays me? Ungrateful little whelp…” Deceit continued quietly scowling, and Remus was caught between giggling over the warlock calling the scary court sorcerer a whelp and begging him to continue stroking his hair. In the end he kept quiet, despite how difficult that was. Eventually Deceit finished his little rant, and silence fell once more. Remus didn’t mind, since Deceit absent-mindedly started to massage his scalp, which made him want to melt into a little puddle of princely goo. “You’ve been mistreated, little prince…” Deceit said. “Terribly mistreated. The world saw that you were different, and immediately labelled you as defective. But I’ll let you in on a little secret…” Remus stiffened when the warlock leaned down closer to him, and he felt the other man’s breath on his ear. “There is nothing wrong with you.” Deceit whispered. “That they refused to open their minds to the potential you possess, is their loss and their loss alone. You are not broken, you are not useless or anything they tried to make you believe. You are whole, my prince. Complete, just the way you are.” Deceit sat back up, and Remus couldn’t hold back the tears prickling in his eyes anymore. A sob left him, loud and ugly, while his body started to tremble. Deceit rubbed his back, gently shushing him all the while. “It’s alright,” Deceit murmured. “You’re alright… Sleep now, dear.” At the warlock’s words, Remus felt his eyelids and body grow heavy. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but it felt like a thick, warm blanket slowly embraced him. The last thing he heard before he fell into a deep slumber were Deceit’s words; “Sleep now, and you’ll see… The morning will come with a better future.”

--

Waking up was a slow process. Remus felt like he was slowly floating down from a very warm cloud, and he didn’t quite wanted to be back on the ground just yet. He hadn’t slept this long and peacefully in years. So he stayed on that edge between sleeping and waking for as long as he could. When at last he blinked his eyes open, it took a few minutes of staring up at the dark wooden ceiling before he realized he didn’t recognize it. Wait, where was he…? Abruptly the memories of last night came flooding back. The mist, a soft hand in his hair, his impromptu confessions, and the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Wildly flailing Remus sat up and looked around. He was lying on a cot, and he had been covered with a soft wool blanket that he threw off with his sudden movements. To his right was a tall window, and in the final light of a distant sunset he could just make out the castle, his home on the horizon. Wait, sunset? Just how long had he been asleep? “Ah, so you’ve finally awakened.” Remus head whipped to his left, and he took in the rest of his surroundings. The room he was in had high ceilings, and every wall was covered in shelves filled to the brim with vials, jars and jugs. From the ceiling hung bones, dried herbs and something Remus recognized as massive dragon wings. A bookcase big enough to fit twice in his room was nestled in the far corner, stuffed with so many books that some were stacked in small piles in front of it. And illuminating the whole scene, a large cauldron sat on a simmering fire in the middle of the room, a yellow glow coming from the elixir being brewed in the iron pot. In front of the cauldron stood the warlock, his back to Remus. One of Deceit’s hands stirred the substance, while another grabbed a vial from a table next to him to add it’s contents to the elixir, another hand grabbed a handful of dried herbs to throw in as well, and yet another pair of hands held a book open-! Remus watched in utter fascination, as the warlock used no less than six arms to work tirelessly to make the potion in the cauldron. “You’ve slept for quite some hours,” Deceit said, not stopping or taking his eyes off the cauldron. “I was already beginning to think I used too potent of a spell on you.” Remus’ mouth opened and closed again. Thousands of questions were racing through his mind, ranging from Where the hell are we to What do you want from me and Are you aware you have six arms but what he eventually settled on was; “Why did you bring me here?” Deceit’s actions stilled. Gently, he set down the supplies in his hands and Remus’ eyes widened when the extra four arms seemed to retract back into the warlock until with a shudder they had disappeared. Then Deceit finally turned around. The large hood of his cloak was still hiding his face. Slowly Deceit approached the cot, and Remus, who absolutely was not the type of person to get scared easily, pressed his back into the window behind him while his heart thumped in his throat. There was a vague thought passing through his head that maybe the glass would crack and he would plummet to his death after all, but it was quickly dismissed when the warlock stopped in front of him… And moved to pull back his hood. First Remus noticed dark brown hair, in messy curls. Then he saw how the left half of the warlock’s face was attractively covered in dark green scales, which ran from his forehead over his cheek into his neck and disappeared under his collar. His eyes were not swirling gold this time- Instead Deceit’s right eye was a dark hazel, speckled with golden flecks. And the other… The other was a piercing yellow, with a split serpentine pupil. Those mismatched eyes took him in with a calculated look, and Remus’ heart started thumping louder, but no longer in fear. In fact, it started thumping so loud it felt like his heart wanted to tear bloodily through his ribs and flesh to get out. His stomach started doing all kinds of funny flip-flops as well. Distantly he was aware that his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t quite bring it up yet to care. Deceit smiled, revealing fanged teeth, and brought one slender, clawed finger under Remus’ chin to close his gaping mouth. “Careful, you might eat a fly,” Deceit said with a chuckle, and then sat down on the cot across from Remus. Which proved to be a test to his sanity, as Remus’ mind immediately started supplying him with all the creative things he could do to the warlock on that cot. Tracing his lips over the scales, seeing if they’re hot or cold, running his hands through those lovely curls, while fanged teeth bit Remus’ neck- “It’s impolite to stare, you know.” Deceit interrupted his thoughts. Remus shook himself away from the fantasy before it could get too detailed. “As for your question, well... We seem to have… Similar stories and motivations.” Deceit gave him a sly smirk, and if Remus hadn’t been gone yet, he would have fallen for that look hard. “I think we might be able to help each other out, don’t you agree?” Remus nodded so wildly he was surprised he didn’t snap his neck. Anything, he would do absolutely anything, if it meant that those mismatched eyes would remain on him.

BTS During Sex

Maknae Line

Summary: Title speaks for itself, really, just filth

Warnings: Smut, filth, only sinners welcome, look there’s probably kink warnings but idk if you’re reading this you know what’s up, anyway I’m thirsty

Request:

anonymous asked:

BTS during sex? kind of like how you did the break-up one 👀 if thats too much then just for jeon jungkook

A/N: I am doing a Jungkook one tho theoreticalthot01

Word Count: 2579

Taehyung (V)

The most contradictory of all the boys sexually

Wait I’ll explain in a minute

He’s traditional

Most likely if y’all are fucking you’re in a long term relationship

He’d really be real bad at casual sex and not catching feelings (See my FWB reaction)

So if he’s fucking you, he’s probably in love with you

This means slow strokes, looking into your eyes, PRAISE so much praise Tae is your personal hype man

Loves missionary because he wants to look at your face and kiss you

Tae would make out with you and nothing else for 4 hours if you’d let him

Best kisser

When I say he’s vanilla I don’t mean he’s boring, just stay with me

He’s s o f t

Deadass will not let you give him head unless you just really really want to because he feels so guilty when you gag or if you look uncomfortable he can’t come

Will eat you out all the time and if you look tired he won’t even try to fuck you after just straight make your legs shake and go watch Netflix with you with pussy juice all over his mouth

Actually he loves the taste he’d fucking put it in a cup and drink it if it were possible

Definitely the best at going down on you of all the boys because he loves it so much

Tae’s dick is either totally average or fucking HUGE, idk the world may never know

Sex is sweet and you’ll never doubt how much he loves you

But lowkey after a while you might doubt how much he wants you

Very controlled (I can hear you thirsty hoes complaining just WAIT)

But at some point in a relationship, you will do something that will make him snap

Tae is extremely visually stimulated

So for his birthday you buy some sexy lingerie and as an afterthought, throw in some Gucci logo sheer tights

You set everything up it’s all romantic and shit, rose petals on the bed, candles lit, and you in a crotchless teddy, the tights, and 4 inch stilettos

You’ve curled your hair, full face makeup, the whole works

The icing on the cake is that you wrap a purple ribbon around your waist and tie it as if you are his birthday gift

So you lie on the bed and wait for him but he’s late getting home and you fall asleep

You wake up to his strangled moan and he’s standing over you, shirt unbuttoned, cock out, stroking himself

You’re shook because he’s so hesitant when asking you for sex usually, making sure you’re down

Shook but also, instantly wet, because goddamn, what a sight

When your eyes pop open he’s crawling across the bed toward you like a panther

You expect him to say he’s sorry he woke you but he doesn’t say shit

He just grasps the ribbon where it’s tied around your waist and looks up at you as if asking if he can open his present

“Anything you want, baby,” you whisper, voice kinda hoarse from sleep and now, thirst

“Anything?” He kinda growls and you’re like YES SIR

So like sex with Tae has always been great, he’s a giver like Hobi and he always makes you come but like this? Fucking god tier

He usually takes his time with foreplay, works you up for an hour, but now he’s uncharacteristically impatient, just slides his fingers into you and when they come out wet he huffs and grabs your ankles, yanking your ass to the edge of the bed

He. Is so. LOUD

He fucks you so hard you feel like your hips might break, slamming into you and groaning, cursing, which he doesn’t normally

He’s still praising you, though, “You’re so fucking perfect; I love you so much”

He looks like a fucking god, bronze skin, sheen of sweat, head arched back, baring his teeth as he gets closer to coming

You tell him you want him to come inside as you’ve gotten on birth control just for this particular occasion and he groans so loud your ears hurt

HEREIN YOU DISCOVER TAE’S HIDDEN KINK

He has no idea you’re on birth control but he doesn’t give a single fuck

Highkey has an impregnation kink and you’d think it was weird but really it’s just hot and kinda sweet

He’s talking so dirty you’re blushing even as he fucks you mercilessly

“Oh my God, I’m gonna fill you up until your tight cunt is dripping with my come; gonna get you all nice and round and full of our baby because I love you so much.”

He growls and grunts so loud when he comes you feel like someone is gonna call the police

ANYWAY so Kim Taehyung has an breeding kink and that’s that on that

You can never go off birth control and he’s lowkey disappointed when he realizes you are on it

Sex is still sweet sometimes but you know how to get him going, just have to wear something sexy and beg him to come inside you and it’s ON

When he loses control, it’s a sight to behold

He definitely loves to eat his come out of your pussy it’ll make him hard all over again

Is the sweetest baby with aftercare though like he’ll leave bruises on your hips and ass and kiss them all one by one

Kinda proud when he leaves a big mark somewhere visible, though, he’s lowkey possessive

God help you if you do get pregnant, he’ll want to fuck all day every day the entire pregnancy

He says shit like “I wanna get you pregnant every 9 months for the rest of your life because you look so fucking gorgeous this way” 

If you don’t want children really you’re shit outta luck no way he’d be with anyone who didn’t at least eventually want them

And he’s not good at one night stands because he isn’t comfortable enough to let loose so I mean look if you wanna fuck Taehyung be prepared to marry him and have his babies I don’t know what to tell you he’s just like this

So anyway outside of the breeding kink he’s kind of an exhibitionist

would 100% be down to make a homemade porno with you and would watch it instead of porn while he’s on tour

Has like 200 nudes of you in various positions

Who needs porn when he has you? His attraction is 95% emotional, anyway so the more in love he is the more action you’ll get

Jimin

Ok so hot take but Jimin is lowkey a sub

I mean he’s a switch but he leans sub

Very high sex drive will be down anytime, anywhere

You can make him hard with a wink and a smile 

No one has ever, in life, had as big a praise kink as Park Jimin

You’ll find that out real quick

If during sex, you say something like “you’re fucking me so good,” or “God, you’re so good, Jimin” he will come like a firehose like, immediately

In the top three best of the group at eating you out

He lives to please, honestly, so it’s one of his favorite things

He’s so proud when he makes you come hard

If you’re a squirter he might wife you

Is a little shit, will tease you for hours and loves it when you do the same

He is not too proud to beg he will love it when you tease him

Will praise you just as much as you praise him, telling you how hard you make him and how much he loves your cunt

If you want him to be a sub, he can do that, but he’ll be bratty as fuck and he would definitely never like a degradation kink or anything he’s not built to handle that kind of thing

He could take or leave head but if you go down on him just know he’s stupid loud so you won’t want to do it anywhere someone can hear you

Will always come in your mouth, doesn’t want it too messy unless it’s you coming and then he lives for you being a mess

He wants you shaking and begging him to let you breathe

O v e r s t i m u l a t i o n

Like, every time, and he likes it when you do it to him, too, that’s the only time he really truly loves a blowjob is when you suck the soul out of him

Ok so I know I said he’s sub leaning and he is

But if you make him jealous he will wreck you

And if you stand near a houseplant and not him long enough he’ll get salty so I mean it might happen a lot

He just wants all the attention, he needs all eyes on him, especially if he loves you

So if you laugh too hard at a joke someone makes or have an impromptu lunch date with a friend and he feels left out you are in trouble

He’ll be rough, pulling your hair and leaving all kinds of  marks all over your neck, he’ll bite you 

So like if you want Jimin to fuck you into next week just lowkey flirt with the waiter at dinner and you got it

THE KING OF SKYPE SEX

A whole exhibitionist

It’s so hot watching him jerk off, honestly, it makes you so wet

He could be a camboy star, for real

Gets off on knowing how much he affects you

Loves to send you thotty pictures but not too many dick pics, just like sexy selfies and shit

Asks for nudes every single day he’s on tour

He deadass will make a pic of you spreadeagled his lockscreen

If you agree to make a homemade video with him he will be SO happy and watch it all the damn time

If he wasn’t famous he’d post that shit on Redtube just for the comments

Would never under any circumstances do a threesome with a man or a woman he’d lose his whole mind if you even suggested it

Just tell him he’s a good boy he’ll be yours forever

Jungkook

So he’s not real experienced but eager to learn

He’s like Hobi he’ll try most things at least once

No one has ever loved blowjobs as much as Jungkook don’t @me

Will fall in love if you can deepthroat

Will always reciprocate, though, and will like it when you tell him exactly what you like

He’s r o u g h

I mean he’s sweet in general but rough in bed, if you’re giving him head he’ll grab your head and force you down, if you’re riding him he’ll grab your hips and buck up beneath you, he’ll go hard in doggy style because he likes to watch your ass jiggle

You’ve always got bruises on your hips like he won’t let them go away

H I G H E S T sex drive

You will be so tired

Sleep? Who needs it. Food? Maybe between sessions

Y’all are fighting? Ok, y’all are gonna fuck it out for like a whole day

Angry sex is SO good with him though

When he shoves you against a wall to kiss you and grind into you, you know it’ll be a good day

If he’s not trying to fuck you then he’s not into you, sorry I don’t make the rules

He likes it when you tease him a little but he gets frustrated quick and dicks you down

If you were into something like cockwarming he’d try it but it would not work out

He’d be inside you for maybe 2 minutes before he’d start fucking you into the mattress

Really leaves an unnecessary amount of hickies you own 7 turtlenecks

He’s oddly shy about mutual masturbation if you suggest it and he won’t finish that way, he’ll get so hot watching you that he’ll dick you down instead

Also part of the “Put a towel down” club when you’re on your period

If you’re out of commission sexually in any way he will beg you for blowjobs and handjobs, anything

Or will fuck you in the shower

Particularly loves it when you suck him off while the water’s hitting his back

He’ll get you all worked up, too, be touching you everywhere and you’ll be lowkey mad you can’t fuck

M o r n i n g s e x

You wake up every goddamn morning with his dick poking you in the back and him kissing your neck

If you tell him you’re too tired he’ll back off but he’ll be huffy

If he falls back asleep 2 hours later he’s trying you again

If you wake him up with a blowjob he’ll be so sweet to you all day, like he’ll fall in love all over again when he lifts the covers to see his cock in your mouth

He’s not too vocal during sex but he is loud during blowjobs because he just loves the visual

He doesn’t have a ton of stamina he’s too much of an eager bunny to fuck you for hours but he’s back up in thirty minutes so it’s not a problem

Never not asking you for nudes, won’t send you a single dick pic even if you ask

If you wear his clothes around him, you won’t be wearing them for long

He loves the way you look in his tshirts

One time it was laundry day and you put on a pair of his boxer briefs and he walks in and says no words to you just jumps you, starts kissing your neck and sticks his hand down his boxer briefs and makes you come in three minutes fast

You should only wear them if you want him to be all over you all day

btw he’s very good with his hands, the best other than Yoongi

He will NOT fuck you in public if you tease him in public though be prepared to be fucked into the next century when you get home

He gets hard at a moment’s notice he won’t even kiss you with tongue if you’re not in private

A strong breeze will give him a boner, particularly if it lifts your skirt a little bit

Will do Skype sex but be embarrassed while doing it, all blushy when you ask him to let you see him he’s so shy about it at first

But when he gets closer to coming he’s all winks and smirks and eyefucking the camera and you lose it

He could watch you touch yourself all day, has a collection of videos you’ve sent to use while he’s on tour

He will deadass jerk off to you in favor of porn

He admits to you with a blush that he’d jacked off to your social media pictures before you even started dating

Would never in a million years make a video with you or of himself he would be so embarrassed to see himself fucking on camera or even in front of a mirror

If he hurts you during sex because he’s too eager he’ll be very sorry afterward

He actually might cry

You’ll end up comforting him instead of the other way around but he’ll be so sweet to you for days

stray thoughts - ep13

- have now relocated with a nice hot mug, ready for the final episode

- not really but

- fan of the slightly more dramatic title card

- we stan one cat girl

- somehow i’d forgotten she’s working with shadow weaver lmao

- CATRA STAY WITH HER gosh this is doing me in

- wow.... glimmer having to deal with her father... the “baby girl” thing creeps me

- gosh big mood on the daddy issues, stan a relatable hero and all that

- glimmer remembering her mum to giver her strength... makes me emo that does

- “MY MOTHER RAISED ME TO BE BRAVE”

- scorpia’s finally made it back!! and all of them apparently! (was that huntara)

- scorpia my adorable bby

- catra’s emotional support animal licking scorpia!

- oh bow doing the big speech is good, i’m happy he gets the big hologram

- hey it’s kyle and the gang!

- STAY THE ACTUAL FUCK AWAY FROM HER

- shadow weaver stop telling her to not lose focus..... AND NOW catra’s yelling and adora turns around?? i cannot

- yes

- did shadow weaver just save her, doing that one good thing huh as catra told her (as glimmer told HER)

- oh fuck she’s getting the heroic sacrifice, not how I thought but it’s happening

- this...... really is everything, they really know what they’re doing

- shadow weaver telling her she’s proud of her.... god this hurts

- perfect

- they’re reunited

- and walking off holding each other

- hordak listening to entrapta’s speech.... hm

- catra and adora going with each other to the end.... man this feels so right, so earned

- she still can’t transform... but the failsafe would still work... but thAT WOULD KILL HER???

- adora wanting to do this on her own i can’t

- at least she’s being honest??

- these tilted angles

- forehead touch no

- man this all hurts

- oh my GOD

- oh come on i’m not strong enough

- hordak the first listen to her!!

- OH!!

- she!

- he saved her! they really did it all!

- fuck horde prime took him over??? the fuck???

- give entrapta a break??

- horde prime’s finally lost it huh

- stop apologising! just be fine!

- i just can’t with all this body cradling, i’m still working through stuff okay

- omg the vision

- omg the hairstyles

- look at them they’re beautiful

- cannot deal with this

- this is just

- horde prime telling her she has no future i’m.....

- oh

- oh

- oh

- there’s

- she’s told her

- “I love you”

“you love me”

“i love you too”

- oh

- oh 

- oh

- oh

- go back

- they said

- they really

- oh

- oh

- she - and i cannot stress this enough - ra

- hordak??

- oh

- man

- catra.... entrapta..... hugs

- “so are we all like okay with this” about hordak walking behind them lmao APPARENTLY

- i respect these creators so fucking much

- RAZZLE MY GIRL

- adora

- hands

- foreheads

- they’re best friend squad

- together

- all four of them

- I???

- CAN’T????

- OH MY GOD??????

- wow

- wow

- they

- wow

- huh

Dragons, Spiders, Dwarves, Oh My Pt 2

Pt 1 -- @deepestfirefun​  --- emotional to say the least, bit heated at the end :D

An eloping was the lead up to returning to Erebor, by then the Durin clan had been sent for and was on their way to the peak. Truly to say you were nervous was an understatement, but their arrival was nothing compared to what came next, and none of them warned you. Two years, the other Kings would bring their daughters to flock around you, Dis your mother in law Diaa and grandmother former Queen Niro only confusing things even more. It was months to the fated coronation and you had finally had it at the fifteenth Dam who dared to comment on your ring, it was simple, white gold band with a large diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds coating the band.

Your dream ring. The size of the center stone easing the concerns of Thorin as for what he could craft for you, diamonds weren’t the most desired stone for their race, in fact quite the opposite, neither was white gold. However the trio of wedding bands you agreed to in solid rows of sapphires, emeralds and one of mithril around a solid row of mystic topaz. Each marking a hope for your future and had been a loving task Thorin had undertaken to show his respect for your own tastes and you had hit your limit as a Dam from the Blue Mountains actually sneered at your ring saying, “Diamonds, hmm. And not a scrap of proper gold on those bands.”

There she sat in your tea room and you flatly said, “Get the fuck out of my tea room.” Her face dropped and every Dam in the room paled except for the smirking Durins. “I have had it with you lot and your biased bullshit attitude about my ring that my husband, the King, made for me himself after catering specifically to the design I wanted my whole life! Where I’m from pure yellow gold is considered tacky to gift someone, often gifted to prostitutes or mistresses,” making mouths drop open in her hands covering each other at the gold rings and jewelry they had been piling on to drive the point home on Dwarven taste.

“Gold is cheap and gaudy and something showing lack of imagination in the giver unless it fits the woman’s taste particularly. Mostly men wear it, in watches. Now I don’t care why you assume you can come to my home and belittle my taste because it differs with yours but if you continue to spend the time you have in my presence insulting or critiquing me I no longer wish to waste my time and efforts in preparing for these trivial daily encounters with any of you. So, Lady Kor, get out and any feeling the same go with her and save me the trouble of throwing you out myself. I would love to say it was a pleasure knowing you but I would prefer not to lie.”

In your next sip of tea a collection of the twelve women left the room in solidarity after Lady Kor, leaving just a trio from the Iron Hills, who took up seats closer to yours with widening grins fluffing out their skirts over their legs after doing so. Them being the few not blatantly pushing on the extra layers to shame your taste took to bringing up a concert that Dain had arranged of orchestras to perform for the second anniversary of your wedding just a few months before Thorin’s coronation. Until the tea was through they remained as poised and refined as possible just beaming at being in the company of the King’s family and spouse, bowing their heads respectfully when they left wishing you a pleasant day.

A huff turned Dis around after she escorted the trio to the door and back in your chair she found you stroking your eyebrow trying your best not to shake in your bubbling rage you’d restrained till now. “I’m not apologizing, to anyone, no matter what Thorin says.”

Your arms crossed to halt the trembling all together making Niro chuckle and say in a stroke of her breast length braided beard, “Nor will you be expected to. Very well said.”

Diaa nodded, “Yes, truly.”

Hastily you blurted out, “I wasn’t implying your gold jewels are cheap, they are impeccably paired and set.”

Niro shook her head as the trio smirked at you, “In my day they would have never dared to speak to me in such a manner.”

“No doubt all do to my not being a Dam.”

Dis took her seat again on your left, “That is part of it.”

“I just don’t get it! They spend over a year wasting my time, sending me gifts-,”

Tauriel strolled through the door and bowed her head to you saying in a curious glance around the room taking in the mood of the early cleared out tea, “Apologies, Bilbo requested I remind you of his luncheon he invited you to tomorrow.”

You nodded, “No need to worry about my being distracted, I told off most of my forced companions.” She nodded and took the seat Diaa motioned her to, still easing into their company as well in the steadying path of courtship she and Kili were on, part of the reason why she was chosen by you as your handmaiden early on.

.

It seemed the handmaiden that was suggested by one of the other visiting Kings who would be moving in loved to share the finer details of your daily romantic life. Those first few months having taken up a sort of game to keep your husband, so often torn from your bed, to remember just who he was sharing one with.

In the days if you managed to go a full day without his spotting you or catching your eye he was tasked to obey a wish of yours, of a particularly intimate nature, but if he did capture you he was granted a wish of his own you would have to carry out. Hiding under his desk to pleasure him or even up to the most daring risks of all when you left notes for him to find you leading to your having to catch Thranduil in passing to borrow his wrap when someone had taken off with your dress leaving you hiding in a wardrobe in the buff. He was very understanding and got a chuckle out of the event and even distracted others granting you a free path for you to flee back to your chambers.

Your wishes however vastly different his amorous ones were he loved the most, forced cuddling, once just a night of kissing and nothing else, massages, and his all time favorite when you outright demanded his singing and playing for you leading to your falling asleep across his chest. Just like the first nights before your wedding. Reminders of deeper levels of intimacy he tried to hold back on lest he be imagined to be too clingy for you, as most other mixed race couples had taken them. But the fifth wish of yours broke that dam wide open and out his affections poured freely and welcome each chance possible.

Irritation still flooded in and the second week of her tending to you in a stroll through the markets you turned to find Thorin after hearing even the smiths on break gossiping that you had spent the night apart from the King after a fight. Not the first time in learning one another’s moods and living habits in this wasp nest but it troubled you as in each time you had troubles the Dams would come flocking to your company and Thorin’s right after hoping to lighten your moods. Pulling him from a meeting in half of a panic at why you had done so he gladly accepted your request of a change as it eased Thranduil’s questioning of how to interweave Tauriel into the King’s daily life to learn his family and culture properly.

.

Huffing again you asked, “Why did they even start talking to me if I offend their tastes so much?!”

Diaa, “It’s all due to tradition, My Dear. They are bound to vie for the crown, it won’t be long now until Thorin names his Queen.”

At that your head turned sharply and Tauriel and your expressions dropped as you both asked, “What?”

Dis looked you over drawing in a sharp breath as Niro said, “It is tradition Dear, did Thorin not explain it?”

“He told me he has two years to earn the respect of the six Kings to be chosen as King over them as well, but nothing about the gold vultures.”

Niro mumbled, “Oh Dear…”

Your eyes snapped to Diaa who reluctantly said, “To be the wife of a King new to be crowned is a difficult place. The title of Queen is not easily given,” your heart raced as you realized you had been referred to as ‘Majesty’ not Queen for over a year by any but the visiting Elves. “So among winning favor for positions in the mountain the unwed Dams are to flock around you and Thorin both. You to win your friendship, and Thorin to win his affections, because, well, should he choose another to rule beside him as Queen,” her voice paused in the slight tremble in your lower lip as your hands clutched a seam in the front of your gown laying over your lap. “And they conceive then her children would be the heirs.”

A half scoff half stunned release of air you’d been holding came at the drop of a tear from your clouding eyes filling with tears, “So, he’s looking for another wife?”

Diaa shook her head and leaned forward covering your hand with hers, “Not at all!”

Dis stroked your shoulder as another tear fell, “He would never choose against his One! He is utterly devoted to you!”

“What happens, if he chooses someone else as his Queen, to our children?”

Niro looked at you with an equally as teary knowing gaze, “They would be legitimate descendants but the crown would pass through her clan, even if they never had a child, his heir would pass to an heir of her choosing.”

In a teary exhale you mumbled, “Perfect.” Your lips quivered again and you inhaled sharply and stood up with a nod, “If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” Their mouths dropped open and you strolled around the chair out of their grasp watching you wiping your cheeks trying to restrain yourself on the walk to the door Tauriel hurried after you on the verge of crying herself at what you had learned.

In the hallway as the door was closed behind you Tauriel gently turned you the proper was as you reigned in another sniffle. Just down the hall you strode and inside your apartment you entered and froze in a gasp for air when the doors were shut behind you, whimpering out you said, “I need to change, I can’t-,”

Guiding you along Tauriel said, “Of course, right this way.” In your closet your hands settled on the island there as she loosed the ties down the back of your dress under the shrug she helped you out of and tossed away to hurry in aiding you out of the restricting garments.

“It all makes perfect sense now. No wonder they’ve been flaunting all this in my face for so long. No doubt they’d prefer a Dam.” You said reaching up to pull the circlet from your head you tossed into the basket of socks on the island puling a few stray strands out of your bun .

Halfway through the ties Tauriel said, “Thorin would never choose another! I am certain of it! I have no idea why he could have forgotten to share this tradition other than he was trying to protect you from doubting his choosing you as Queen. No one has doubted your commands so far there can be no doubt you are his choice.”

Once loosened she pushed the gown down and helped you out of the supportive vest under it leaving you in a knee length slip you covered with shorts and a sweater she pulled from Thorin’s pile you usually used for sleeping. She pulled it on over your head you folded the excess material of the sleeves in your palms you used to wipe your cheeks on the walk to the bed to curl up on. Sobs wracked you into a trembling mess burrowing into your covers while Tauriel laid out behind you stroking your back to calm you.

*

Behind the door that closed between you, Tauriel and the Dams Niro asked, “How did she not know about the tradition?”

Dis, “Thorin did not wish to trouble her perhaps?”

Diaa, “No doubt he will choose her. That ring is evident of it.”

Niro, “Her temper as well. No doubt Thorin will be impressed hearing she had told off so many of the seeking Dams.”

Dis stood up and promptly went to Fili’s apartment next door entering without knocking and barging into the bedroom of her younger son shouting, “Kili!” Promptly hopping up onto his knees from a dead sleep wide eyed, “I need you to go find your uncle and tell him to go to his apartment now!” Grabbing a shirt in his bare chested hop up and stroll to the door he nodded and tugged it on and hopped into his boots by the door before hurrying out the apartment hearing his grinning mother saying, “Thank you Sugar Bean.”

*

Halfway between a meeting and an inspection of a new set of stalls set up under a freshly repaired statue of Thror, Thorin smirked eyeing the giddy Dwarves settling into their new workplaces that you had helped design flooding the trade floors with compliments of their new Queen. A string of voices broke through the crowd however as the Dams filed out to the tea shops where the wed Dams were waiting for all the gossip on your elite personal events.

“That was fast! Usually tea is two hours? Yet, it has not been an hour. What happened?”

Lady Kor huffed plopping into a seat making her skirt poof up then settle around her, “Her Majesty has booted me from her tea room and barred me from returning after I merely tried to impress upon her our preferences as Dwarves on her choice of metal or gems for her wedding ring.”

That had Thorin seeing red in a sharp inhale making Dwalin grip his arm mumbling, “The Lady has been booted and barred.”

A blonde on Kor’s right added, “Not even mentioning Her Majesty stated in her former world gold gifts are given to prostitutes or mistresses,” instantly Thorin and Dwalin were smirking in the sea of gasps, “Not to mention being seen as lacking on imagination when used in gifts outside of watches for Men.”

With a nod Thorin turned as he found himself trembling on the verge of laughter, surely which would spoil his hiding place. Though halfway to the stalls he turned at the sea of Dwarves greeting the supposed to be sleeping Prince Kili was receiving along the way to him. Looking his half askew hair and clearly wrinkled layers over his still unbuckled boots Thorin’s heart raced worrying about what this could be about, “Kili, why are you not sleeping?”

“Amad woke me and told me to bring you back to your apartment.”

Thorin’s face dropped, “Wh-,”

Kili shook his head saying, “That is all I know. Amad wished you to return home.”

.

Hurrying upstairs Thorin entered the Royal Wing where he found Dis outside his apartment with her arms crossed as Kili went back to collapse onto his bed, “Dis-,”

Dis cut him off, “How could you possibly not explain the matter of your choosing a Queen to rule with you to Jaqi?!”

Thorin’s mouth fell open, “How-?”

Dis, “She asked why the Dams have been focusing on winning her friendship and approval since their arrival.”

Thorin, “I have no intention of choosing another and I assumed none would be foolish to imagine I would ever be interested in another.”

Sharply he turned from her heading inside hearing you sniffling from the front door once in the doorway of the bedroom he caught Tauriel’s eye after leaving his crown at the door. As she stood up he moved closer and spotted your roll onto your back and glance at him making his heart drop to his stomach at your puffy tear stained eyes and blotchy cheeks. Tauriel slipped out of the apartment certain this would all be cleared up by dinner.

Sitting on the edge of the bed Thorin lowly rumbled, “I am on two years probation for the Kings to see if I am one to align themselves with as they had with Thror. It has never, never been my intention to choose anyone but you to be my Queen. I was not aware any would have ever let you question that fact.”

“Still it’s tradition, and all these Dams are flitting around expecting you to have babies with them and just,” your lips quivered and he scooted closer to you scooping your legs up over one of his curled legs in a try to slowly draw you closer. “Expecting any kids we might have to just be done away with if I lost you.”

“They would never be done away with, and tradition or not it does not hold any sway over my devotion to you. Allow me to explain, only one Dwarf in my clan has ever chosen against his One,”

You nodded, “So it wouldn’t be uncommon.”

The withheld irritation in his gaze almost made you regret that statement, “My great grandfather chose another Dam over his wife and One,” parting your lips. “The price of which being the day of the announcement his wife killed the pair of them and was rightfully given rule over the throne as our clan’s Queen with Thror and Naino to succeed her For Erebor and Iron Hills.” His hand rose to cup your cheek, “No one chooses against their One, to do so is the ultimate show of untrustworthiness. There was no fight against her claim to the throne and no repercussions, even from his family, it is unthinkable. And though they might follow traditions trying to win us over it is all hollow and meaningless.”

“You have no idea how humiliating it was,” his lips parted again, “We’re taken when we come of age, and we are shipped around until we are paired with our Mates. I spent 6 years being shipped back and forth,” you shook your head bringing tears to his eyes at the growing pools in your eyes, “They wouldn’t even let us stay the night when we weren’t on their list of known marks. I had no one, for 6 years, and I decided to give up and live alone, and now, I just find this out, that you could just be allowed to turn away and pick someone else to sleep and share rule with. And the crown really doesn’t matter to me, I just, it is so hard believing you won’t turn away, when everyone else does.”

“I understand, My Love. I will prove it, no matter how long it takes.” Easing a chain from around his neck he slid it around yours, “There is little time left for the final task before our coronation, this marker, for the others will inform them, if any physical barrier is crossed by any female, or you find me unfaithful to my bond for you my crown passes to you and I am banished.”

“Thorin-,”

He shook his head cupping your cheeks to dry them with his thumbs tenderly in the darting of his eyes across your face, “I understand you did not marry me for my throne, but this will ease the women until the gift test is through.” A smirk ghosted across his lips, “I also heard your opinions on gold, that it is unimaginative for trinkets passed to mistresses and prostitutes.”

“I did tell your family I didn’t mean theirs, everyone elses is just so gaudy, and I refuse to apologize.”

“I wouldn’t dream of letting you consider doing so. They insulted your taste, my treasured display of affection for our union. None of them will be welcomed in my company even with a chaperone. No one insults my Queen.”

Reaching up your fingers trailed across his chest and he drew you closer onto his lap pressing a kiss to your cheek as he did letting you just settle against his chest wrapping his arms around you. Nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head his eyes closed, yet when he spoke a grin eased across his lips, “You owe me a necklace. With diamonds, no, two. One with stones that look like leaves in widening bunches alternating stones, and another with round stones leading to those stick settings,” his smile kept growing at your fumbled descriptions of what you wanted for your gifts only adding to your adorable charm and lengthening the conversations he loved on gifts he could make for you. A task to show his love and bring him back down to earth, so to speak, on his worst days and remind himself of his crafting skills. “And it’s got circles, twin leaves and end with teardrop sapphires.”

“Ooh, it sounds incredible. Tomorrow I will bring Nori over with the gem models so you might align them properly and set a formal design with sizes included for me to begin.”

“Do you have to go back?”

“No. No I am staying.”

“Good,” you mumbled wiggling closer to his chest making him wrap around you more.

“Any other gifts I can get you?”

You shook your head, “Not that I can think of.”

“Alright, you let me know if that changes.”

A knock at the door opened his eyes and turned his head revealing Dwalin in his sheepish entrance looking you over especially snuggled in Thorin’s chest, “Apologies, Lady Kor’s Adad is requesting a meeting with you tomorrow to discuss his daughter’s insults and behavior among our clan. If I might, also, well done Jaqi on your handling the Dams. Whole clan is proud, telling so many of them off in one swoop. I’ll be leaving you to your snuggles now.” He said sliding out of the doorway.

At the closing of the door Thorin hummed, “See now? Everyone is so proud  of their Queen.” After kissing your forehead again his hand smoothed across your back and he hummed feeling the tension in your back, “Would you care for a massage?” You nodded and he chuckled.

“In a minute though.”

When your minute was up he helped you onto your stomach and massaged you from head to toe, not stopping until you were fully relaxed and pulled him down to lay with you as you stole a kiss. Nuzzling your heads together another knock drew a huff from the King who sat up again and saw Balin entering, “My apologies, there seems to be an issue in Dale, the Master is troubling our shops.”

Thorin nodded, “Give me a moment.” Balin nodded and turned to wait in the hall for Thorin to turn at your grip on his braided beard stirring a smirk that melted into the kiss you sat up to steal. Low hums escaped the King in the entrancing lip lock almost making him forget where he was being called away to.

“You come back here after.” The answer he wished to give muddled into low moans at your follow up kiss in which you straddled his lap to climb off the bed and help him up to his feet. A tug on his belt lightened his dark gaze in his deeply breathing path to calm himself on the way to his coat you lifted and turned to help him pull on.

A melancholic look flashed across your face and his hand rose again lifting your gaze, “What is that look for?”

“I’m gonna try harder-,”

In confusion his brows knitted together, “Try what? My Love, you are perfection.”

Sheepishly you said, “I was late, then last week, it was mostly cramping, but still, I’ll-,”

Breaking off your words he kissed you again lovingly and trailed his nose against yours after rumbling, “Our children are stubborn, even in normal cases it can take up to three years for a Dam to know if she is carrying.”

“Three years?” You asked pulling your head back to look at him making him nod. “But, I took a test, three actually.”

Thorin’s fingers traced along your cheek and he hummed, “Children will come. Do not fret over it. When this coronation nonsense is over we will take a trip, hmm? Just you and me. Relax and take a nap or a nice long soothing bath and when I get back I’ll see to your every wish.” You nodded and he kissed you again reaching for his crown he put on, “I love you, I will try not to be long.”

In the hall at Balin’s side he felt his cousin’s eyes scanning over him hoping for answers to the question he didn’t dare ask unprovoked. Lowly Thorin rumbled a few steps away, “Dis informed me they let slip the greater details on Jaqi’s coronation.”

Balin, “I am certain, Dis-,” Freezing in place Thorin’s brows furrowed as he turned around, “Thorin?”

The King began to walk back for his apartment saying, “Just another moment.” Realizing that if any of his family had issued any tests he would have caught hints of it meaning those negatives could be wrong. Again he was inside the main hall, “Jaqi?”

From the kitchen doorway in aims for some tea he found you and crossed the room, “Just curious, what tests did you use?”

“Um, Tauriel helped me with them, uses horse pee, oddly enough…”

Thorin wet his lips and cupped your hands, “Do me a favor, go to Dis’ and ask her to help you through the Stone and Feather test.”

“Stone and Feather? I am guessing those are the supplies and not some odd title to distract the reason for taking it.”

Smirking at you he smoothed his hands around your hips, “All it takes is a stone and an owl feather, our pregnancies are long but it is a matter of omens and this one is the most sensitive for us to ready. Even half Dwarf our child would be stubborn.”

You nodded, “I’ll just wash my face and head over. She shouldn’t seem too put off if I don’t dress up again.”

Leaning in he stole another kiss then turned saying, “Now, I am off to try and not kill the Master.” Making you chuckle to yourself as he left the room again.

Balin once with his cousin again asked, “Everything alright?”

Thorin smirked leaning in to whisper, “Tauriel gave Jaqi horses tests to confirm,” Parting Balin’s lips, “All negative but I sent her to Dis for the Stone and Feather test.”

Balin grinned rubbing his back, “No wonder the news of coronation would trouble her so, she has been troubled with tracking herself. I will send my Tuka over to share our decades of trying for Lin, surely that might relax her.”

Thorin, “Not to mention Dis’ tales of conceiving this pregnancy so long after the boys are nearly full grown. Not all Dams are as lucky as Amad to have had us three so early. Even if it is negative at least now we can support her in these past few months and calm her rush to conception.”

*

Knocking tentatively on the front door of Dis’ apartment you had left a couple hours prior you flashed a weak grin when she opened the door herself, “Jaqi! Has Thorin clarified matters?”

You nodded, “I’m sorry, for leaving-,”

She shook her head ushering you inside, “No, no, no, had I been in that situation I would as well, no doubt I would have destroyed half my home before Vili returned home.”

Looking you over she caught your eye when you said, “I, um, Thorin said to ask you to help me with a Stone and Feather test?”

Her lips parted and her hand engulfed yours guiding you back into the sitting room, “Of course! Right this way, Dear Sister.” Still there you flashed a grin to Diaa and Niro as they lowered their embroidery patterns to their side, “I’ll get the bucket. Wait here.” She said helping you back into your usual chair.

In a turn of your head you mumbled, “I need a bucket?”

Niro inched up along with Diaa when they saw which bucket she brought out, a small decorative silver polished bucket etched with wolves, boars, bears, owls, ravens and rams she removed the lid to and dumped out the various spread of polished stones of every color and shade. Niro wet her lips saying, “Choose a stone.”

You looked at her, “Any stone?”

She nodded, “Any stone.”

Anxiously you wet your lips and raised your hand choosing a dark green stone with milky stripes across it seemingly pleasing the Dams on its meaning. Diaa cleared the stones as Dis said, “Now, you fist the stone over your belly.”

You nodded and did so watching them carefully place each stone back in the bucket in a peculiar order before Niro said, “Now, set it in the center of the table.”

You did then looked to Dis in her passing you a snowy owl feather while Niro set up a trio of books the trio ducked half of their heads behind leaving just yours confusing you. Diaa explained, “Stand the feather on top of the rock and let go.” Wetting your lips you held the feather up and ducked your mouth and nose behind the book, clearly a way to keep ones breath from disturbing the test, and when you released it the feather remained upright parting your lips and making the women around you squeak excitedly.

“I take it that’s good?”

They all nodded and Diaa rested her hand on your arm, “It is a good omen, that you are carrying.”

Dis, “Now to wait and see when you begin showing.”

Niro, “We will gather the proper leaves and weekly spoonfuls of dirt to gauge how far along you are.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Part of me is curious to know how you people came up with the tests,” making them smirk, “But the other part wants to keep it a mystery cuz I’ll only spoil it by trying to understand.”

Diaa chuckled saying, “For now, you go have a good long soak and relax, it has been a long day.”

Niro, “Besides, you should be thinking of your gift for Thorin.”

“Gift?”

Diaa tentatively said, “For the gift test.”

“Oh, I thought that was just for the visiting Dwarves.” You wet your lips, “What sort of gift am I expected to get?”

Dis, “Normally it is tradition that the gift be able to be worn. All those offering the gifts have to wear them or should they be weapons they must demonstrate their usefulness.”

You nodded then your head tilted, “That’s a bit odd. Wearing the gift you give someone.”

Niro chuckled, “My Dear, it is because when the Dam goes to take off the gift if Thorin stops them she is his chosen Queen.”

“Ah…So,” a plotting smirk etched across your face, “I just have to wear something he won’t want me to take off.”

Niro leaned in patting your hands with a smirk of her own, “Now you have got the right idea.”

You nodded then asked, “Am I able to hire someone to complete the gift? Or do I have to do it all myself?”

Dis, “If, by chance you were to offer a pelt or something like forging, in your condition it would be preferred for you to hire someone and design it yourself.”

Diaa, “To protect the pebbles from any harm.”

You nodded then said, “Makes sense…he’s not going to let me travel is he?” You glanced at the trio.

Niro, “Travel?”

“Just to speak with Thranduil… I suppose I could write him a letter…Just have to wrangle one of those ravens…” Standing up you accepted their hugs and said you were off to plotting making them chuckle and burst into a giddy fit of planning as for what was coming next where your presumed pregnancy was concerned.

.

Alone in your apartment you wrote out a full request of the Elf King, a simple sketch was made and an alluding to a certain assumed condition barring travel you had hoped would sweeten his urge to aid you in this on top of his clear adoration of your company. The request being aid with an alpaca coat for Thorin. Yes he had hundreds of pelts and no doubt would have dozens more in this test and through his life even more on top of that. You loved the furs he had, often when you first moved in together he loved coming home finding you wrapped up in one of them and seeing you between bouts of dressing stealing strokes on them, yet you refused to let him make you a fur. There was something about ordering the death of an animal when he had so many you could steal at your leisure.

When off camping in your early months he had kept the pelts of the animals you ate but that was different, you did not want to waste the magnificent creatures as a way of honoring them. You had been assured that each time a pelt was made there was no waste but still you were not comfortable with it and he had to admit it made you all the more endearing in his eyes for your protecting those creatures.

This coat would be different though, Alpacas are annually shorn and it was painless and necessary for them to be so leaving a great deal of fluff to work with Thorin should appreciate the rarity for as it came from and was designed by you. A coat surely couldn’t go wrong, and you knew just what you would wear under it to ensure he would never let you stroll through the mountain without it. A trip down the hall led you right to the noisiest part of this wing, glass shrouded with a domed ceiling built onto a ledge you had stolen a fur coat and added your boots to enter the frigid room where the flocks of ravens looked down at you upon your entering.

Flashing them a quick grin you asked, “Hey, any of you feel up to a flight today?”

They all continued their conversations and you sighed, “Come on guys, please?” You wet your lips, “I know one of you must be Thorin’s.”

A bird with a single silver feather in its tail hopped closer to you on the perch above you tilting his head to look you over, mainly your shimmering ring as you showed him the letter. “I need to ask the Elf King for help with my gift, please,” his head cocked again and you said, “I’ll give you a diamond necklace or anklet if you like, nice and shiny.” At that he squawked and swooped down to grab the letter he carried off through the open window, “Thank you!” Flashing the others a grin you turned and caught their stunned chatter after a moment of silence. Straight back to your apartment you went after a stop at Tauriel’s apartment bringing her with you to aid in prepping your bath, instantly she felt better hearing all you had to share along with your idea of a gift.

Tauriel, “So the plan is to ensure he will love you in the coat so much he will refuse to remove it? Not that he would not insist it remain on you in the first place as his Queen, merely, that is the plan?”

You shook your head as you stretched your legs out under the water as she continued to comb through your hair she just removed from its braided bun. “Not exactly, more like, I’ll be wearing something under it he would not wish for me to be seen strutting around the mountain in.”

A smirk began to spread across her lips and she asked, “Your silk nightgown?”

Giggling to yourself she began to smile, “More like nothing but diamonds.” A laugh escaped her and you giggled again, “Surely his supposedly pregnant wife would never be allowed to strut around in nothing but diamonds.”

Between chuckles she replied, “Certainly not, though I imagine he might take a moment to snap out of the shock of it.”

“Just have to make certain it’s comfy depending on how long I’ll be wearing it and through what will be happening all day until he finds it.”

…

True to his suspicion as soon as the test was completed on his way back from Dale he caught the warning signs that Dis had given you the test and it seemed favorable making him smile from ear to ear as to what that could mean. Back again he went and in the doorway to your bedroom he froze seeing you draped across the bed in nothing but the various necklaces, anklets, navel strands and bracelets he had giving you sighing out, “Dinner’s in the oven. I wanted to greet you at the door, but I couldn’t decide what to wear.” Heavily his coat fell to the floor when his foot bumped the door shut behind him and finally reaching the bed you let out a giggling squeak at his tug on your ankle bringing you right up to the edge of the bed.

…

The Gift Test. In the form of a lavish ball you were adorned to the finest, Thorin had to leave early granting you plenty of time to prepare. Nothing but diamonds didn’t seem practical under the gown you had chosen so you chose the next best thing, a gem bustier with a dangling diamond crown accented with sapphires. Around that a sheer negligee with an open front showing off the bustier and crown meeting in a v on your navel all coated with shimmering diamonds over stockings coated in the same stones all hidden by your floor length white alpaca coat when you removed the gown.

The line seemed to go on forever but after a brief trip away to supposedly relieve yourself you returned and took up your place as last in line. Three more Dams all noted Thorin’s smirking glances trying to inspect your plushy white coat from afar you held snuggly around you. Still his attentions returned to each Dam to accept their gifts they gladly removed and handed over to the Princes who passed them on to servants adding them to the rest. Up the trio of steps on the platform you strode making sure to keep covered making Thorin smirk wider in the stroke of his hand over his beard. Tauntingly you gave a spin then moved closer to him, so none around him would see when you opened the coat.

“My King,” At that his tongue darted out to wet his lips as his eyes raked over you in the use of the nickname you use for him in your more amorous games. “Do you like your coat? You should try it on. It’s so soft.”

Barely few inches back your hands moved and a flicker of light from the chandelier above lit up your outfit, and in a deep throated rumbling exhale he gripped your coat and closed it tightly around you stirring cheers and whistles to erupt at the clear naming of their Queen to be crowned with him in a week. Normally women would be hoisted over the shoulder of the King, but due to your assumed condition it was accepted that he raised you to his hip holding your legs at his side. Chuckling at your stunned giggles on his hurried path out of the ballroom while the music kicked up again signaling the dancing to start again in a round of toasts.

“Where are we going?”

Thorin drew back his lips from your neck where they had planted in entering the empty hall to start a trail of nips and kisses there until he could get you to your home. Almost in a growl he replied making your lips part at the vibration on your skin and hunger in his tone, “After I make my choice I am allowed a three days alone with my Queen.”

Teasingly at another firm nip at your neck you asked, “What ever are we meant to do for three days?” His answering growl into your flesh made you giggle again and start to trace his ears with your fingertips only hastening him along.

Straight to the bed he carried you, locking the doors behind you and on your feet again he stepped back looking you over in his gentle easing of the coat apart as he pinned you to one of the posts of the bed. “You-, Look what you’ve done.”

His eyes were dark and his pupils blown when they met yours, “Do you like the coat? It’s Alpaca.”

Nearing you he reached up smirking at your body arching against his as he slid his palm against your skin sliding your coat free of your shoulders revealing more of the gem coated outfit. “Alpaca?”

You nodded watching as he raised it in one hand giving it a glance before looking at you again, “They sheer them, like sheep.”

“Do they now?” He growled tossing the coat to the far end of the bed sinking his eyes over your steadily rising and falling chest with his hands soon tracing his downward gaze cupping and tracing each curve you had. Again he leaned in pressing a gentle kiss to your neck asking, “Does this just slip off?” His hands squeezing your ass firmly in his hips grinding against yours.

You nodded again, “Yes.” Tenderly his fingertips eased the straps for the negligee he slowly sank lower in his dip to trail his lips over all he could until the garment was on the floor and he was free to draw a gasp from you in diving between your thighs. Held by his hands and your thigh on his shoulder you writhed and moaned until he was suddenly stripped and standing barely an inch from you holding you still against the post until you steadied again. Tenderly he kissed your lips and across your neck and chest in laying you down, then rose again making you bite back your moan in his burying himself inside you. Slowly your hands were raised above your head and his fingers laced with yours as he continued to arch and bury himself deeply in his tender and amorous claiming of you as his Queen once and for always.

.

Tender kisses down your stomach came as you undid your braided bun and laid your head back against the pillow you’d propped up there. Low hums muddled between sentiments to your just barely poofed out belly, in a bright blue adoring glance up at you a blinding smile came form your husband as you asked. “I think you’ve forgotten about your gift.”

Thorin’s head turned and he reached out for the coat he brought up against your belly he smoothed his cheek against, “I have not. It is soft.” To your belly he cooed, “See my little Ukrad, you will have countless soft things to snuggle up in when we finally see you.”

Giggling again you said, “How can you be so certain you’re finally getting your son?”

A click of his tongue later Thorin nuzzled his forehead into your belly humming out, “Our daughter is stubborn. Soon she will give us a clue though.”

“A daughter?” you giggled out, “Thought you’d want a son.”

He clicked his tongue again and peppered your belly with kisses again, “Do not listen my little Ukrad. Your Amad will learn as you do, we treasure daughters far greater than sons.” making you giggle again, “For now, sleep my little treasure.” Kissing your belly again he rose to lay beside you covering you both with your coat tangling himself around you tenderly stroking your skin in a warm kiss on your lips, “If we have twelve daughters with not a son between them I would die a happy Dwarf to have so many living mirrors of my One surrounding me. No King would ever dare challenge our daughter. Should we not have a son Fili would act as her King should she marry, or not marry, they would rule together.”

“Really? I hope you’re carrying some of those daughters.”

Thorin nodded in a low chuckle and kissed your lips again, “If I could I would. Dis relinquished her inheritance to the throne, for mothering her infants, as is her right, part of why I was on probation. They would not have challenged her, but I was the second child.”

You nodded and giggled at his cheek stroking against the coat again, “You like it?”

He shook his head making you narrow your eyes playfully, “I love it. Now that I know you admire Alpaca fur, does this mean I can gift you coats, wraps and blankets of their fur.” Giggling again your arms draped around his neck and his hums muffled against your lips in the deepening kiss you gave him. “I owe you a great debt I wish to repay.”

Choking On Sapphire 83

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Baby Says

Summary: Alfie and Genevieve face the troubles of her day to day life. Genevieve gets some surprise visitors that help give Alfie some insight into her past and their future.

Warnings/Tags: Mild Language. References to assault and violence. PTSD. Fluff. Reunions. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Arm in arm Alfie and Genevieve walk on a Saturday morning in her garden, in full bloom and lush this time of the year. Gen was freshly out of the bath, her hair starting to curl and bounce in the early summer wind. Her face was unbothered, her limp almost entirely gone and the more superficial of the bruises had disappeared. Her ribs only caused her pain when exerting herself at this juncture and when Alfie was around he made sure she did not. He’d fallen into the habit of treating her much like a child, but in his defense, she was acting much like one. Still prone to bouts of crying, sometimes with clear triggers and others not. The ones without were the hardest, she would sob and scrawl down that she didn’t know why she was so upset and Alfie was left to put on his all too frequently worn mask of indifference and guide her through it.

But this particular light and lovely morning was about to take a turn for the emotional for Genevieve. But in a much-welcomed way.

“Mr. Solomons, sir!” a maid that held his favor calls from the edge of the house. “Miss Durand has visitors!” she shouts with a bright smile.

“Don’t know why she’s bloody smilin’. Told her no one was to see you.” he grumbles, bringing Genevieve around slowly as her glazed eyes looked up at him, silhouetted by sunrays. The red in his hair and beard was standing out in the sun, his freckles coming in across his nose and the tight trim on his beard and hair showing off all the handsome planes of his face. She smiles up at him and hums, still medicated and not speaking except for the occasional vocalizations of happiness or upset. “Take her to her room.” he orders gently, a hand rubbing over Gen’s fluffy mane before another maid chirps and takes her arm. “I’ll be with you in a bit, love.” he calls out and she gives him a slow nod before turning back to the maid who says something to make her smile. At least she was doing that again. “Who the fuck is here? I told ya no visitors.” he mutters with a low brow at the young woman.

“I knew you’d want her to see these visitors.” she keeps the same broad grin on her face, practically beaming at him.

“Why are you so fuckin’ happy? Has the savior returned?” he snorts and chuckles.

“They’re waiting for you in your study.”

“Least they got fuckin’ manners. Tells me it’s not the bloody Shelby’s” he grumbles to himself. His footsteps are heavy and none too happy to be making the trip down the hallway. He hated surprises. Someone coming and demanding they see him without prior invitation or forewarning, who did they think they were?

“Fuck me.” he says with a mouth wide open, revealing Altar and Alma standing and chatting in front of his desk. “Forgive the language Miss Lafitte, I am... ya bloody well surprised the old boy.” he laughs with a shake of his head.

“No offense taken. I rather miss the sort of fellow that would curse in front of a lady.” she smiles and reaches out to take his hand and sighs heavily before patting his cheek and kissing it just as lightly and sweetly. She smelled like flowers just like her daughter.

“You’re looking mighty well for what you’ve gone through, lad!” Altar booms with a big hug and pat the back for him that he swears pops a few things.

“Well I’ve got to keep up appearances, innit I?” she shrugs. “What on earth brings you here? Or HOW I should ask in your case, Miss Lafitte.”

“It’s Alma. I’ll be your mother some day. Almost was a lot sooner if the devil hadn’t intervened I hear.”

“Yes, ma’am. She disappeared the night I was set to ask her.”

“Shame, that.” she shakes her head. “But you found her. You brought her home.” she coos and hugs his neck tightly.

“Yes ma’am I did. Just as I promised.”

“He’s a man of his word Alma. No need to worry about Solomons.” Altar gives an approving nod.

“Might I see her? Is she well enough to see me?” Alma's wide eys inquire.

“I wouldn’t keep you from her even if she weren’t.” he replies happily. “She’s going to cry, fair wairing to ya, love, she’s very emotional already, poor little bird. But she’s been doin’ well this mornin’. And she innit speakin’ yet, throat got damaged the doctors say,” he informs with polite and a quick catching up as he walks her to the door.

“I’d like to see her as well, of course.” Altar smiles.

“‘Course. Best one at a time. Let the lady first then you file in once she’s certain she’s real ‘n that.”

“Real?” Alma asks with a high inflection.

“The medicine she’s on can make her hear and see that what aren’t there. None of it this mornin’ so far, it comes and goes.” he waters down the truth and Altar can sense it but Alma is just so excited to see her daughter she overlooks it.

Genevieve sits perched in front of her vanity, a silver brush in her hand, slowly dragging through her hair. The glow of the Morphine causing her to overlook the last of the bruises on her arms, the high neck of the gown covering those left underneath. Her hair now to her waist she watches it bounce with its natural curl as she releases it.

Alma, the giver of that hair stands in the doorway as Alfie files in first, catching her attention with a loud and happy signal of her name. “Genevieve my love you have visitors.” He calls out and she sets the brush down slowly, turning towards him with a small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth and half-lidded eyes of contentment in her druggy fog. “It’s someone you haven’t seen in a very long time.” He warns her and he sees her eyes shift, an inkling of curiosity piqued and he sighs with relief. “Are you listening, love?” He asks just to be sure and she nods slowly. “Genny love... your mum is here.” He states while maintaining eye contact to see it sink in.

Her eyes go wide and she reaches up to grasp his forearms which were holding her shoulders. “Muh?” She manages and he feels her shake.

“Yes, love can ya-?” He begins to make sure she can handle such excitement. But she catches sight of her and much to his surprise stands and shoves him out of the way to get to her. The entire showing was rather impressive.

She can’t speak but she cries, oh does she cry. Until her eyes are as red as the sun and dry as the desert, she cries. She makes an awful sound trying to form words as she rushes towards her mother and collapses into her arms, sobbing and wailing.

“There my beautiful girl, let me look at you! It’s been too long little Lily, yes?” She holds her now red and splotchy face as Genieve blubbers, but Alma pays no mind and kisses every bit of her face, telling her how she was more beautiful now that she was grown than she ever had been before. The I love you's begin, Genevieve a weeping child in the embrace of her mother as she directs her to the couch in front of the fire. She shooshes her and cries herself, whispering only sweetness and praise, kissing her daughters dizzy head as she cries softly in her bosom like a baby.

Altar sneaks in after the initial explosion. Moving over to Alfie who stayed back on the other side of the room at her vanity watching the display. He didn’t think the reunion would’ve gone down much differently if she’d been herself.

“I wanted to thank you, Alfie. For handling all this.” Altar gives him a nod and a pat to the back.

“It’s all part of the life innit?” He responds, keeping an eye on her to make sure she was still okay.

“I hear you’re back at work already?”

“Yeah I had to, ya understand. I was going crazy here, worrying about her constantly. Had to keep fings togetha for both of us now. So I just work until the afternoon hours and come home before tea. Off on Shabbat and that.” He explains with the same low tone Altar speaks.

“So she is well enough to leave?” The concern in his voice evident.

“With the girls here yes. If she were on her own, no. I’ll be honest with ya Altar this is going far better than I thought it would.”

“So she's been worse? And I would appreciate honesty. I need to know what future we’re looking at here.”

“She’s been much worse." a flat delivery that tells altar all he needs to know. "Glad you caught her on an up day. She’s been very emotional, all over the place. Nightmares of course, can’t bring up what happened or she cries. She talks to herself, or rather mouths and chases after children what aren’t there. I’ve been told that most likely the medicine though. Morphine. Nasty stuff, yeah? Still too soon to know the long term effects on her mind. Needs the medicine for the pain, but it keeps us from knowin’ the state of her. It’s frustratin' I’ll admit.”

“And I thank you for not running. To speak candidly. Our lives are hard enough without adding...things like this to them.”

“I innit runnin'.” Alfie swings his head. “As long as I have hope she can be herself again some day I’m stayin’. And she is makin' progress. Small but... it’s there.” He groans.

“And I was told you were known for your lies.” Altar grins.

“Nah mate. I tell the truth. Just people don’t know how to listen to me words yeah? I’ll tell 'em what’s goin' down right? But it’s up to them to interpret it. I never make no promises in business. Only contracts and agreements. None of that whimsical horse shite.”  He mutters,

Altar chuckles. “I do hope she is herself again. And that it finds you in  good time. These things... the mind... all very tricky.”

“That it is.”

“Her brother reacted similarly after the war.”

“George is it? She told me 'bout him.”

“They were close growing up. She helped him, believed in him. Patience was key.”

“It is in most fings.”

“Yes. It is.” He laments, knowing the road was still unclear on the horizon for his niece. “Thank you for your candor Alfie. I only have second-hand information and hearing to from you is more than reassuring for an old man I’ll have you know.”

“So you know what happened?”

“I know she was taken from her home and held captive for almost 4 days by Horne. That he was killed in a shoot out and now she’s at home.”

“I can tell ya more.” He offers with a frown.

“Do I want to know?” Altars broad mouth forms a tight line.

“Would you rather know the truth or hear people talk like I have? Because I’ve been well miffed 'bout what I’ve been hearin’.” He replies with clear anger on his voice.

“Then yes, please tell me.”

—-

“Your house is so lovely Genevieve. Just like the drawings you used to keep as a girl, yes?” Her mother coos, Gen now only having the hiccups that sent pain in her chest every time as she recovered from the tears. “...and your hair has gotten so long.” She strokes it back. “And the man you have chosen is a proud Jewish one. One that sought me out after you were taken. He speaks of you with such passion, cheri. I am so proud of your choice. And you were working towards your bat mitzvah I heard as well? You are becoming everything I could’ve dreamed for you, my darling girl. Your mum is so proud. You’ve come so far haven’t you?” She continues her string of praise, Gen now nuzzling into her mother lap and feeling rather sleepy. Alma strokes the hair back from her daughters face just as she had as a child, the other hand gentle on her back where she rubs small circles just like she used to, to calm her. She could sense her spirit was a bit lost and desperately needed the comfort.

When she was young and took to her fits of crying she would throw herself around dramatically, making grand sweeping statements of woe and agony. There were no words this time, but she felt the same raw wildness when she looked into her wounded daughter's eyes. She had never been a stranger to the dramatic, but Alma hadn’t minded. It reminded her of her mother, of that power in getting swept away by her emotions. She felt so deeply and completely she could live no other way, and those around her would either be drowned in love or burned by hate depending on her mood, It seems Genevieve was just as sensitive a soul as her bubbie had been. For the line of work her daughter had chosen to go in, the true line of work and not Abeille, she wondered how she managed. Perhaps much like Alma, she locked parts of herself away to cope. That’s what she’d done being with George. But at least her daughter had a man with a sound mind of her choosing, a rare and heartwarming thing for a mother to know.

“I haven’t seen her so quiet and still in weeks.” Alfie states, walking over to Alma who was looking down at her contently.

“Sometimes a girl needs her mother,” she answers softly, leaning to look upon her face. “I see she has finally fallen asleep.” she lets out a huff of a laugh. “Just like when she was a child.” she sighs happily. “Circles on her back, gently stroke her face and hair, tell her all the praise she deserves. She’ll always come back to you.” she looks up at Alfie with pinked eyes from the shared tears.

“Good to know.” he thanks with a nod. “Would you like anythin'? We can move her to the bed if you need.”

“No, no. I’m staying close the whole time I’m here. Some tea by the fire sounds lovely though.” she announces reaching out and patting his hand that rests on the couch arm. “Bring us all some, would you? We need to discuss some things.” she speaks with a still kind face but a more purposeful tone.

“‘Course Miss.” he nods and gives Altar one as well as he heads over to the couch and Alfie goes to fetch tea.

-----

With the Aggie reunion with Alma already passed before Alfie even saw her into Gens room, the older woman kisses her head as she hands her her tea she still takes the same way after all these years. Alfie settles in with Gen’s mother and uncle in the set of chairs in front of the fire. Gen was laid out with her legs in Altars lap, her head in her mothers as Alfie takes the armchair to the matching pink hued set.

“I suppose the best place to start would be why we arrived together.”

“I was more than curious, yeah?” He responds with a smirk.

“I’ve moved out of George’s house.” She speaks with the same decisiveness that he misses from the childlike woman in her arms.

The surprise on Alfies face is clear.

“Yes, I made the same expression when she showed up at my door.” Altar snorts.

“After you came by, I had to reevaluate some things. Perhaps I’d been in denial about how one-day things would work out. But time kept passing, my children kept growing and changing and I was not around to see it as I would like. I had to do something. Seeing the poor condition of George in the face of real danger, his own most trusted servant betraying him and the watching and infiltrating of our estate, I saw the end was closer than I anticipated.” She delivers plainly and without drama, her hands still loving on her daughter. “I’m at the point now where I knew what I could lose or what could happen to me was lesser than what I’d suffer if I went on without my most wild daughter. Knowing she was fighting to become everything I always wanted for her… I would be damned if I’d miss her wedding, the birth of a child, being able to be at her side during something like this.” She sighs deeply. “My little wildflower.” She strokes her face lovingly and Altar gives a soft smile, reaching out and patting his sister's arm. “She was always so rebellious. I see that was not passing phase for her now. It is who she is and I could not be more proud of her for sticking to her true self.”

“It’s something you never got a chance to do, little one.” Altar says with an affectionate and soft tone he reserved for speaking to the women in his life. “There is so much more Lafitte in her than any of your other children. She’s so much of you sister, she had no choice but to follow her heart did she?” He smirks and gives her cheek and soft pinch and she smiles in return. “This one was just as wild in her youth. Don’t let that Christian repression they beat into her fool you.” Altar chuckles after wagging a finger Alfie's way.

“I cannot and will not make an argument I cannot win.” She grins to herself, another forlorn sigh as she dotes on the sleeping woman in her arms.

“Wish Genevieve had taken after you on ‘at.” Alfie jokes and it makes Altar laugh out loud.

“She is more rebellious for the sake of drama. She is a theatre in and of herself that Lily. I knew it the moment I first held her.” Altar reminisces.

“She always had a taste for it.” Alma murmurs with fond memories playing behind her soft eyes.

“Hasn’t changed a bit.” Alfie reaches over and gives Gens chin a squeeze. “Will you be living with Altar now? If you mind my asking.”

“Not at all, cheri, yes I will. He has plenty of room, and dare I say he could use the feminine influence.”

“They say a man is not complete without one.” He teases. “And what of you Solomons?” He turns a strong face his way. “Do you still have the same intentions with our Genevieve? Even now?”

“Same as ever.” Alfie announces with confidence. “Only in ritual is she not mine, she is in ‘ere ‘n ‘ere.” He points to his temple and chest. “I almost went bloody' mad when she first got home. Watchin' over her. I was bloody scared is what I was. I don’t wanna lose that one.”  He points and sighs. “I love that hellion. That little Lily of yours. And once she’s better. Once this awful process is behind us I will make her my wife. Same intention as ever. I’m here for her now and always. As I said, only in formality is she not mine. In my eyes.”

“That is a relief to hear.” Alma admits. “I admittedly was concerned when I heard about the state of her. Most men would leave.”

“I am no coward to a challenge. And ‘ats what ‘is is. I like to think she would do the same for me. Fuckin' ‘ell she has to a degree if you must know. Gettin’ shot, negotiations behind me back to keep me alive. She’s a proper little nurse, that one.” He looks at her with fondness, perhaps needing to be reminded of all she had done for him after such a rough spell as they were in.

“She never did shy from the blood and violence as a child. Never phased her. Just fetching boiling water and flannels when the boys would come in hurt.” Alma shares with a gentle expression.

“Always been fearless, that one. Suspect that’s how she came to be here. Like this. But it’s also what kept her alive. I have no doubt.” Altar gives her small ankles a pat.

“A lesser man would’ve caved and perished.” Alfie agrees with a hard expression.

“Little fighter.” Alma whispers, leaning down to give her a kiss to her fluffy head of curls. “Perhaps everything will turn for the better. One can only hope and pray. She’s never given up before, let’s hope that holds up this time around.” she looks to Alfie with sad eyes. “But I did want to thank you, for getting her back. For taking such severe and swift action against the person who did this.”

“As I told her, I would burn down the whole fuckin’ country for her. No one messes wif a Solomons. And she is. If ‘ats how they want to treat her then she is to me.”

“I approve of your retaliation.” Altar lets him know. “Not only from an uncle’s standpoint. But from a man who has had to make many of the same decisions. If they come for your heart, you go for their head. Take them out and leave him no choice. Can’t show weakness in this sort of life.”

“My sentiments exactly.” Alfie nods solemnly. “I went for his livelihood. All the businesses and properties in his name. Gone. But this one here...she’s the one what killed him.”

Altar beams proudly. “My little Lily.”

“As much as I hate the idea of her having to do that, I can only approve. Revenge is something so few women get on their abusers.”

“Time will come for us all, dear.” Altar gives her a supportive rub on her back. “Even little George will have his day. He’s busy digging his own grave so we don’t even have to do anything at this point.” he rolls his eyes.

“He’s been in decline for some time. Which is what I assumed brought him to act so swiftly towards our Geneieve. He needed an outlet for his anger at his own shortcomings. His selfishness is coming back to bite him. He doesn’t have the power or the money like he used to. Too many poor decisions. No one wants to work with him because all this is rumored among his peers. He’s a weak little man, now both physically and mentally. Used to he was a stout thing, but in his old age his black heart has made him decline so quickly.”

“Good.” Altar gruffs out. “Bastard deserves worse.”

Alma shrugs. “It is true. But time will come for him. And I leave it to the higher powers to decide now. I am taking my life into my own hands, on my own terms now. My darling here gave me that push to do so. I can’t imagine having to do it at such a young age with no experience.”

“Luckily she came to me.” Altar adds.

“So true.” Alma agrees. “And now I am as well.” her face is still a frown, but a hopeful glint in her eyes. “We won’t be staying long, I’m afraid. I don’t want word to get out that we’re staying here and have George do something moronic about it. But we will be only a phone call away. I know it was a chance coming here, people seeing or hearing, but…”

“She will be better for it. Thank you.” Alfie says reaching out and placing his hand over hers. “As you said. A girl needs her mum sometimes. And now she needs all the help she can get. I’ll be sure she knows you’re well, and with Altar when she’s a bit more herself. She’ll be happy to hear it. Expect letters.” he ends on a light-hearted note and giving her a charismatic smile.

“I expect many.” she beams in response, a gulp and giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m leaving you with my most precious belonging, Solomons.”

“And she is mine as well. Have no doubt. I will always do what I think is best for her, for us. Not only out of respect for you and our laws but as a man who loves her. Who understands her and wants her to thrive. I would never act against her interests. Be sound knowing I will do everythin' in my power to keep your little girl safe and healthy. Her wellbeing in mine now.”

“And you will let me know the moment the wedding planning begins. I must be involved.” she adds on a lighter note.

“Of course.” he smiles softly. “We would have it no other way.”

“I knew there would be little traditional about my daughter's life once she left, but if I still can’t help but have the same wants of tradition when it comes to her wedding. She already skipped the planner and chose her own groom.” she chuckles. “So amuse an old woman and let her be a good Jewish mother for the first time.” she grins.

“What old woman?” Alfie says with a smirk.

Altar laughs loud enough for Gen to stir before he reaches down to rub her back to soothe her. “Told you he was cheeky. Same as Lily. No wonder you found each other. A couple of charismatic to a fault little buggers.” he chuckles.

“Altar!” she scolds and shoots him a look.

“No, no. As usual he is right. Both stubborn as hell but we’ve got our humor.” Alfie confides.

“She gets both from you.” Alma side eyes Altar.

“Oh but if you were only honest with yourself sister.” he laughs. “Us birds of a feather. We will always find ourselves in others and flock together won’t we?”

“Even when we aren’t looking for one another. As in our case.” Alfie’s adds a touch of sentimentality.

“Like bubbie said, when you aren’t looking for it.” Alma begins as she knows Altar will continue.

“That’s when you find it.” Altar finishes with a charismatic grin.

Alfie recalls Gen saying something much of the same sentiment. One night on her wine, lips on his jaw and fingers in his beard. She was never looking for him, for love. But against all odds it found her. Disguised for so long as something else, trying to run from her and hide, she carried on. She said she would change nothing that brought her to him, that kept them together. He wonders if she would say the same after this was over. Would she still not regret finding him, falling in love with a man like him and letting more danger into her life? He wasn’t a praying man, but he did hope that she wouldn’t regret the path they were on together now. ‘As long as it leads me to you.’ she would say. He truly hoped that would still be the case.

-------

After tearful and grateful goodbyes, Gen remaining lucid and not embarrassing herself or Alfie while her family was there he was breathing easy for a lovely moment in time.

Gen felt a rush of energy within herself, unsure of how to elaborate on it or process it she finds herself restless. The excitement sending too many signals off in her brain for her to calm down hours after they’ve gone. With Alfie asleep in their bed, a soft mess of dark gingery hair and a still hard looking face even at rest she slowly creeps out and into the bathroom.

She looks at herself in the mirror, facing herself truly for what was the first time since the incident. She didn’t remember each mark or bruise, and she truly didn’t want to. She wanted to never remember. Recalling the feeling of Horne’s brain as her nails dug into it when she killed him was enough for her. If he deserved that he wasn’t worth remembering.

A soft snort comes from the bedroom, a welcome change of thought. She leans against the doorway, her temple to the gilded frame. The past weeks were a fog to her, but she did remember Alfie always being there. She sighs and hums with a contented feeling as she watches him. The noise surprises her after the fact. She hadn’t heard herself speak except for her own thoughts since she came to in the hospital. But she hadn’t really tried, only pushing out the first syllable to indicate the severity of her words. Another snore from Alfie’s full and chapped lips as he rubs his face into the pillow. The sun would be up soon and so would he, or as soon as he discovered she wasn’t there. She decides to thank him for his dedication during all this chaos. Full days she didn’t remember, spans of trauma she didn’t care to remember that were still locked away in her brain, only coming in dreams and unwanted, uncontrolled flashes at random times. The medicine had helped those it seemed. It kept her impassive, kept everything with a lovely fuzzy frame of numbness around it. It was how she preferred to exist. The pain was still too much, both the physical and the mental. The morphine was a calm sanctuary she could return to when she needed, when things started to feel sharp and edged, she could go back to the cozy comfort of numbness. The morphine was becoming her best weapon.

But in these wee morning hours, before Alfie had to get up to make the drive to London, she rubbed her throat and tried to clear it as she felt muscle control coming back with the first dose of morphine taunting her in the near future. Reminding her it’d been hours and they were due for another rendezvous. But with her control, she warms up her throat and tries to speak. By the hour Alfie should rise, she would give him something to show she was trying.

She tasted blood but she didn’t care. Her voice light and raspy, but there. An odd soreness to her tongue she’d never felt before, her neck ragged but functional. She sits on her throne of pillows in the big elaborate bed with her various accouterment of medicinal devices and tonics around her. She waits, the light from the sun filtering through slightly, soon to rouse the sleeping bear she gently stroked that lay next to her, sprawled on his stomach.

A deep, sleep-filled grunt escapes him and she smiles. Fingertips over his nose and temples, waking him more.

“Mmph.” he blubs out with flared nostrils. Alfie loved being up before everyone else, the feeling of getting a head start on every other lazy fucker who was still in bed. But the act of waking itself he was not a fan of. He hadn’t realized how integral Gen’s practice of waking him gently had helped ease him back into the plane of reality until he no longer had it. He’d awoken to a still woman next to him, sleeping through him getting ready most mornings. But he’d forgotten all that time in the dim light alone for a moment as he crawled from the shelter of sleep with the tickle of her fingertips on his skin. “Mmph?” he asks with a clear question.

Gen remains soft, covers pulled up over her to her stomach, nails now on his scalp.

“Mmph. Genny?” he asks while rubbing his eyes. “Ya should be asleep, love.” he mutters and tries to focus.

“Matin.” comes from her mouth and he almost misses it. Easier to speak for her than the English greeting, she whispers it to him, leaning closely.

With a stiff grunt, he raises his head up fast, a pop of his neck as he does so. “Wha-?” he mumbles, and rolls to her side, reaching out to take her hand into his, holding it in the warm spot where he’d slept. “Genny love what are you doin’?”

“Good...morning.” she forces out, a childish expression on her face, hoping for happiness and praise.

“Fuck me…” he whispers, sitting up and giving her a more focused expression. “Ya talkin’ again?” he questions with a deep throaty noise of approval, reaching over to cup her face.

“Good... morning... Alfie.” she says slowly.

“Oh, pet. Little French flower, my darlin’...” he coos at her, caught up in her wide eyes that met his and the subtle smile and closed eyes that nuzzled into his hand as he held her face. “Don’t ya be pushin’ yaself too much. Stubborn thing.” he grins and kisses her forehead. “Ya know I am weak for my name from your lips, love, don't be exploitin’ a man now.” he gives her a warm smile and kisses her cheek and she happily hums. A sound besides one of pain for the first time he recalled after touching her in such a way.

“Good morning... Alfie.” she says again, a rough delivery but her voice most certainly.

“It is, love. It is.” he says before giving her the most chaste and innocent of kisses that he feels her reciprocate. A brief moment in time where everything was light and hope-filled in his sleepy brain. Something he would think back on when her condition was questionable. This small moment that meant so much to them both. They both felt as one again. No matter how fleeting these moments could be.

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Aaand reviewing time for MAG142.

- I have no idea whether it was a conscious decision or a recording accident, but Jonny’s voice, when reading the episode title… was different – less filtered, closer, with more “grain”? And it was telling you, right away, that something would be off and different.

- VA E. Lockley was… incredible and yeah, the woman’s delivery (the distress, the stuttering, the messiness, the slightly rambly bits)… made her feel even more present and “close” than Helen (in MAG047) for me. Character-with-her-own-situation, who got messed up, who is in distress, who is not fine and is trying not to crumble. There were even a few parallel with her experience (after the Buried encounter) and Jon’s, post-Prentiss, that made her even more heartbreaking: like him, she did physio (MAG050, Tim: “Well, there was a police woman asking after you. You know, the one who came to look into Gertrude. […] Uh… yesterday. You were at physical therapy.”); unlike him, she went to therapy (MAG058, Martin: “Look, look, you just got to let me work through this. Alright? I suggested therapy, but he just says no, so–”) and… like she said, “did everything [she] was supposed to do”:

(MAG142) WOMAN: I had pretty bad, uh, nightmares, claustrophobia, I mean… Obviously, right? But, uh, but–but I did my physio, and, you know, talked wi–with the counsellor they gave me? Look, I did everything I was supposed to, and–and yeah, I… I guess I was fine.

… and everything got utterly ruined because of what Jon did to her, while she doesn’t even have enough knowledge to blame him. But we… we know. It was very important to hear her voice indeed? And Martin handled her with proper care – not doubting for one instant that she was telling the truth, leaving her space to tell her story, validating her, even though the story wasn’t what he wanted to hear… or what we wanted to hear, either. (And because of the content of the story: no, there is no way she could have been written as lying or putting things out of proportions – she even pointed out how the police would treat her, it would be absolutely insensitive to write someone filing a harassment complaint as lying or misinterpreting things. So, everything she told really happened to her in the TMA-verse, even though it’s not a pleasant truth.)

- … yeah, so we have Jon going after “stories”: they’re not “statements” anymore, he didn’t use his markers (“Statement begins/Statement ends”) with Floyd and the woman didn’t make any mention of them either, nor did he give the date and the person doing the recording – we only had an indication about the date thanks to the (meta) episode case. It’s not about archiving, it’s about… consumption. And he’s not receiving the stories either: he’s extorting them, forcing people, instead of them coming to him (as statement-givers coming to the Institute). It’s even more symbolically significant that Daisy went to talk to Martin right after the woman’s departure since… so far, Daisy had been the only person we knew for sure had been forced to give her statement, back in MAG061, as she pointed out to Basira later:

(MAG061) ARCHIVIST: Whatever you like! Fourteen years, you must have seen a number of paranormal things. DAISY: And you want me to tell you about them? ARCHIVIST: I–I… DAISY: Okay. ARCHIVIST: What? DAISY: Okay! I’ll give you a statement, about how I got my first section 31. You look surprised. ARCHIVIST: I mean, I was largely asking as a formality. Basira didn’t give the impression you were the… sharing sort. DAISY: Maybe you caught me in a good mood. […] ARCHIVIST: Right! Thank you! Are you quite alright? DAISY: No. I never told that story to anyone except my old Sergeant. ARCHIVIST: I’m not sure I, uh… DAISY: I should go.

(MAG091) BASIRA: Just let him go. DAISY: You don’t know what he is. You don’t know what it’s like to have your secrets pulled out like teeth, just because he asked?

It had been… softer and subtler, when he had done that – it was striking that Daisy didn’t want to talk, until Jon began to probe and she began to accept (Jon himself had been surprised by the change); the compulsion had only been confirmed by her harsh departure and the way she recalled the events. Meanwhile, the woman, in MAG142, was absolutely preyed upon, cornered, violated, and her voice actor did a fantastic job? But oh Lord, was it so, so hard to listen to, even without factoring in that it was Jon doing that to her. I think we’d never had something this violent and desperate…?

Meanwhile, from Jon’s portrayal in MAG142 (two weeks ago) and what we saw in MAG141, he seems to be getting more… frantic? He waited for a while before interacting with the woman, but he almost jumped on Floyd, although he had just been told they would still be sailing for two days (so they would be stuck on the same boat for a while). And it does… kind of fit with something we know about Jon:

(MAG092) ARCHIVIST: And you can’t just give me all of the statements? ELIAS: Jon, even when you had them all at your disposal, you barely got through one statement a week. Why do you think that is? It takes its toll on you. And I know you’ve had problems with moderation.

… that little problem about “moderation”. (Which was probably tying in with the fact that he used to smoke before the Institute, and has been back to smoking at least by the end of season 2, when he left Leitner to have a cigarette – and he still had cigarettes on him when Daisy went through his stuff in MAG091 and with Gerry in MAG111. Not to mention the whole Web lighter affair, whatever it’s actually doing to him.) It’s also… kinda… relevant… that The Woman in MAG142 described him as being fed through her reopened trauma:

(MAG142) WOMAN: His eyes, like… his eyes, like, we–were… drinking in every fragment of my misery. I can’t… It… [PAUSE] And then it was over. And he looked… he looked at me like he’d just eaten… like, a perfectly cooked steak.

Because Elias had narrated Beholding’s influence on “The Archivist” as creating hunger, precisely:

(MAG120) ELIAS: And at last, the Archivist looks up. At last, he looks into The Eye that sees all, and knows all, and clutches at the secret terrors of your heart. The Ceaseless Watcher of all that is, and all that was; the voracious, infinite hunger that tears at his soul, invoking him to discover, to observe, to experience all and everything and forever.

Fuck you, Beholding.

… and I’ll allow myself One Joke about the whole ordeal, because:

(MAG115) ARCHIVIST: [DEEP SIGH] I suppose in some ways it’s strange I’m not a vegetarian yet, what with everything I know. But… I rather think someone in my position has to take their small pleasures where they can, and if it occasionally delights some grotesque meat-god, well… c’est la vie.

You REALLY should have tried to go vegetarian back then, Jon :/

- … Which makes it a bit curious that he… was described as “tired”, then?

(MAG142) MARTIN: … Ah, uh, alright. Hum… Did he… [SIGH] … Did he look like he hadn’t slept in like– WOMAN: Mm–mm. MARTIN: –a week? WOMAN: Yep, uh… MARTIN: … Right…

Like, obviously, it was… in a dark humour way, hilarious that Martin was able to guess it was Jon with just “someone from your Institute stalking me” and that his way of describing Jon was to point out the lack of sleep – Jon Is A Perpetual Tired Man and this is the man Martin has a crush on. Confirmation that it’s not about physical appearances (Canonically mlm and hot Tim was RIGHT THERE, Martin, and you went for “that”, and we still don’t know why or when it began, but there’s still so much room to shame your tastes.)

But you would think that… if Jon had been going around pulling statements out of (unwilling) people, he would be/look… rested? Well? So: was she the first one? Was Jon trying to avoid his dreams, until he snapped? Is this a matter of “starving” and only going for it when he was too hungry…?

- ;; Jon looked… so one-dimensional in that state? And as Martin said amongst his hypotheses, all “instinct”. Which makes me think about three things, and they’re not happy:

* Mike smelling a prey, actually?

(MAG075, Stephen Walker) “It was as Grant was making his gradual ascent that I saw the man with the scar. He was stood there, just across the street, watching us. […] His pale eyes were entirely focused on Grant making his excruciating way up the ladder. If he noticed me watching him, he gave no sign of it.” (MAG091) MIKE: A… uh, a Paris skyscraper, was it you said? I honestly, I, I can’t say I recall it in detail, but that does… sounds about right. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track.

(DO YOU KEEP TRACK, JON.)

* The whole thing about the Creature Under Alexandria reaching for Sergeant Walter Heller (especially since… Heller might have had a Spooky encounter before meeting it? So was it attracted to that story?) and HUM…

(MAG092) ARCHIVIST: So it’s… it’s back to breadcrumbs, and statements, and risking my life talking to things that barely remember how to be human anymore? […] Am I… Elias, am I still human? ELIAS: Jon, what does human even mean? I mean, really? You still bleed, you can still die. And your will is still your own, mostly. That’s more than can be said for a lot of the “real’ humans out there. … You’re worried about ending up like that thing, lurking in the dirt under the streets of Alexandria? Don’t be. Just do what you need to, and you’ll be fine. Understood?

Elias, why are you so full of lies. (Though it’s possible that, indeed, Jon didn’t do “what he needs to”, and that he’s been… doing extra-work/is out of control. But MMMM. MMMMM.)

* *CRIES IN TIM*

(MAG114) TIM: So, why don’t you “Archivist” me, then? Just pull it straight out. ARCHIVIST: Because I don’t want to! I am not your enemy, Tim. TIM: [DISMISSIVELY] Like that matters! These things aren’t human. It’s… instinct. You can’t not. ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] I’m still me, Tim. [TIM HUFFS] I’m still… me. TIM: [EXHALES DEEPLY] … You know what? You’re actually right.

LIKE WOW??? RUDE??? TIM STOKER DIDN’T GO OUT WITH A BANG FOR THIS??? (It’s… super-upsetting, to me, that Jon Is Currently what Tim had accused him of being/turning into back at the time ORZ ORZ And if we get Jon back, and/or if he’s confronted about it, I wonder if… the fact that he would be disappointing Tim would be a point to be made.)

- So, turns out that MAG141 indeed wasn’t a first try, and there is the obvious question of… how long Jon has been extorting live-statements here and there, since the fact that we didn’t hear any recording of the woman beforehand means that we haven’t been hearing Everything of Jon’s spook-related activities before MAG141. Possibilities regarding the turning point:

* Since Jon woke up and was released from the hospital (after MAG122).

* Since… after the coffin? Given Elias’s comment in MAG135 (“Consider it a test – things are… coming, things that will need Jon to be far stronger and more willing to use his connection to our patron. His performance during The Unknowing was… disappointing. I needed a way to force him to harness his ability more acutely than he had before. The coffin was a useful tool; Daisy an adequate bait.”), I don’t really feel like it could have been a thing before – I mean, the way Jon behaved in MAG141 and was described in MAG142 screamed “very willing to use his connection to their patron”… And Jon had mentioned a few things after the coffin:

(MAG135) ARCHIVIST: I don’t… like interacting with the rest of the Institute these days. The way they look at me, I– … I don’t know. I don’t know what they’ve heard, what the rumours going around are, but… they have definitely heard something…! [SIGH] And they can’t wait until they don’t have to talk to me anymore. Can’t honestly say I blame them, none of this is easy. Everyone’s just trying to get through as best they can. Living one day at a time. [SIGH] But I can’t afford to be just living one day at a time, I need… a plan. But I don’t even know what I’m trying to achieve… And no one… no one wants to tell me.

(MAG137) ARCHIVIST: Ever since I crawled out of that damn coffin, I feel like I’ve been… adrift. Filling in blanks and diving into History, but only…! [EXASPERATED SIGH] The breadcrumbs I’m finding are… stale. Old. … What the hell is The Watcher’s Crown? […] I feel like I’m on a deadline, like I’m running out of time somehow – and I don’t even know where to go! What to look for, o–or… [EXHALE] Just casting around blindly for more clues to just… drop into my lap. Everyone else is… running towards something, or running away, and I… [SIGH] I don’t know what I’m doing. [PAUSE] [SIGH] I’m just tired. Think I might go lie down for a while. Get a cup of tea. [HUFF]

(Though, I feel like this option is reaching and stretching… a lot: because DUH, the staff would have had a lot of reasons to be wary of Jon or of the Archives in general without even factoring in the possibility of rumours that Jon had been mentally manhandling people (he… was losing it a bit already in season 2? He ran away and got accused of murder for two months before coming back? He spent six months in a coma after a wax museum exploded? Tim was ranting to everyone about being bound to the Archives, and people thought it was mostly depression, but then he died in said explosion?); and DUH, Jon would feel aimless after the coffin, when his return to the Institute had been a succession of settling back in, trying to get updated on the assistants’ current state, saving Melanie from the bullet, almost immediately focusing on the Rescue Daisy mini-arc from episode 128 to 132, leading to her coming back and… then nothing else, no Main Goal anymore, and just time passing.)

The biggest clue that someone could have been happening behind the scene after the coffin is Jon’s intake of statements: there were 10 between MAG122 (February 15th?, Jon waking up) and MAG132 (March 24th, inside of the coffin), including one extracted statement (Breekon’s, MAG128), one tape from Gertrude (with Lucia, MAG130), one live-statement (Jared’s, MAG131) and one recording from Jon (rescuing Daisy, MAG132), so 9 “active” pieces of content in six weeks if you exclude Gertrude’s… and then, only six until the end of May (MAG140), including one recording from Gertrude (MAG137), so five “active” pieces of content in two months if you exclude hers (+ 2 statements read by Martin, if assistants count – they seemed to, back in season 3, since Elias was pushing them to regularly read statements because Jon was “too inconsistent” about it).

* Since after MAG139, because Jon tried to sneak a peek at Peter’s plans and it backfired. It could have the added tragic bits that… Jon had been wary of his Inner Door, told Basira that opening it would mean drowning; and he eventually purposefully tried very hard to Know about something, deliberately… because he was too worried for Martin.

* Since after MAG140 and Basira told him about the plan to Ny-Ålesund.

MAG142 gives more credentials to a change having happened around MAG139/MAG140 on account of the given timeline:

(MAG140) BASIRA: Summer solstice is the 21st of June. So we leave in a fortnight. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … Right. BASIRA: And should arrive about a week before.

(MAG142) WOMAN: Look, life went back to… normal, I… I was fine. Until… [CHOKING] about two weeks ago. MARTIN: And that was when you met J– … Er, one of our employees. WOMAN: … That’s when he showed up.

Which means the succession of events was likely:

MAG139: somewhere at the end of May => MAG140: one day after MAG139 (Jon referred to it as “yesterday”) => events described in MAG142 => Jon&Basira departing => MAG141 (June 11th) => MAG142 (June 12th).

If Jon had been going around taking statements for a long while, I think the woman’s story would have been dated from a few more weeks, or months prior, just to get that point across? Though it’s also possible that, like MAG141, the date is a red herring to keep us into a false sense of (relative) security still: Floyd’s story is mysterious enough that it might contain something that could be used against The Dark, so there is still the possibility that Jon extorted it for that reason… but MAG142 was without hesitation a Buried one, so not actual data, so it has nothing to do with actual information but just about feeding, and we’re slowly running out of rational explanations which could motivate Jon’s sudden harshness (“it’s because it was important information, and just one time, to someone mostly innocent but involved in fishy business with a reccurring character” => “there was no relevant information to the current case, and Jon had done this to people before, and he targeted absolutely innocent people”) so… could be that It All Began just before the trip, or could be that we will discover that it had been going on for longer than that.

- However long Jon has been doing that… I don’t think that the punchline was that he had been utterly lying on tape throughout all of season 4? Honestly, I… wouldn’t find this interesting – I’m too used to twists being that your (unreliable) narrator was actually Evil/Really Bad all along and, precisely, the series had taken a more interesting approach with this in season 1 (with the fact that Jon appeared as pompous and elitist and sceptic and dry… and, okay, was a bit of that, but also scared and trying to hide it), so it would feel a bit of a let-down if that was the case in the end? And we’ve had a few occurrences of Jon not immediately being aware that he was recorded (he hadn’t spotted the tape recorder at first in MAG122 and MAG123, the tape recorder was in Martin’s room in MAG129 when Jon entered), and he acted exactly the same as when he was in control of the recording. When he accidentally compelled Melanie in MAG136, he immediately apologised (which means he knew he had wronged her, which means he still had a spontaneous sense of morals, or at least, of understanding when he was crossing a line and doing something harmful and unwelcome).

One thing that might be true, however: if season 1 showed us one thing, it’s also… that through his recordings, Jon can present the world how he wishes it were. So, if he’s been… extorting and assaulting people for their stories all along, I really don’t think he lied and feigned the empathy for the victims, nor the fact that he was feeling doubts and concern, but more like, that he wished it were as simple as this…? Though it would also come across as a very… unsavoury way to Appeal For His Life – there is a big distinction about sighing about his inhumanity because he’s feeling aimless and unsure of what he’s supposed to do, and doing it while aware that he’d be causing harm here and there.

And the thing with MAG141 and MAG142 is that it’s supposed to feel like a shock; there was no progression(/degression) in Jon’s speeches during the season, no growing apathy towards victims. He kept expressing sadness and uneasiness! Before trying to take a look at Peter’s plan, he had launched into a rant about having “feelings” and “doubts”! It’s not even that he was feeling more and more isolated – since he got Daisy back, they’ve been bonding, Jon confessed to liking her (… and even went to such extremes as listening to The Archers with her). And suddenly, we’re faced with Jon doing… a complete face-heel turn: there is nothing comparable, nothing… progressive between the way he “extracted” Breekon’s statement in MAG128 (partially in defense, because Breekon was on the verge of attacking Basira) and received Jared’s in MAG131 (something that Jared forced on him: Jon had just been told that someone had commanded the attack over the Institute, and Jared went for that form and made it a deal against Jon’s rib), and going… after innocents, as consumption, as food, because statements are a “meal” and he doesn’t care much if that means wrecking people forever. The woman from MAG142 was the most innocent you could ever get: she didn’t know about the Magnus Institute, didn’t want to tell what had happened to her, didn’t even blame Jon for the after-effects and her reopened wounds (“Look. I know that’s not… [CHUCKLE] That is my brain. I’m not blaming him for, for being in my dreams. You know, I guess I can’t! [SNIFF] That’s absurd, right? It’s not… [PAUSE] But I feel like I’m seeing him when I’m awake, as well?” … although we know that it was directly his fault). She didn’t even express contempt or disrespect at Martin; she was calm, her story didn’t involve any shady business. She had her initial trauma and, as she said, she worked and fought by herself to get well (“But, uh, but–but I did my physio, and, you know, talked wi–with the counsellor they gave me? Look, I did everything I was supposed to, and–and yeah, I… I guess I was fine.”) before Jon came in and ruined her life – she can’t work anymore, her whole ability to function has been impacted, she’s in clear distress. What Jon did to her was… absolutely unwarranted and gratuitous. And… honestly, except for willingly launching The Watcher’s Crown, I have trouble picturing what he could possibly do that would be worse than this?

Season 4, at least on tape, hasn’t been Jon’s slow descent into monsterhood; it has been a constant string of Jon expressing doubts, sadness for victims, and trying to regain contact with the assistants. So what happened, for him to suddenly dive in and become so instinctive…? Or if it had always been there, out of record, what was going through Jon’s head…? (What was going though Jon’s head, when he was watching the woman as she was waiting for her date…? Because she was alone, at first, and yet, he didn’t immediately came for her…)

Basically: we’re missing pieces, and that’s the point, but uuuuuh…

- Anyway, meanwhile, I’m guessing that Elias got put into solitary confinement because the amount of [PLEASURED EXHALATION] he must have breathed out in these past two weeks made the guards AND the other inmates too uncomfortable.

- Aaaand the trend of people who had a Beholding-related encounter and are especially uneasy at the Institute keeps going:

(MAG053) GERTRUDE: One other thing. That feeling of being watched… have you ever had it since? WALTER: Well, I wasn’t sure whether to say anything, but… yes, I have, just now. That… funny turn I took on the way down the stairs, I felt it again. All those eyes, watching me.

(MAG060, Rosa Meyer) “Not that I could rest anyway. Those eyes still haunt my dreams, and follow me through the waking world. Even here. Especially… here.”

(MAG142) WOMAN: But I feel like I’m seeing him when I’m awake, as well? I’ve been… I’ve been having a lot of problems, since he talked to me, well, since I talked to him. […] Every time I do, every time I get that… panic just rising up my throat… I see him. He’s there. Not when I look properly. But just at the edge. The corner of my eye. And he’s gone. […] I, I… I can’t… this place… I… I can’t be here. I have to… [OPENING DOOR] MARTIN: Uh, no– WOMAN: Bye!

Which. Is still a possible explanation as to why there are so few Beholding statements outside of the letters addressed to Jonah: because people have to be exceptionally tough to not feel crushed and even more pressured inside of the Institute, if they’ve already been marked/offered to Beholding.

- I… hadn’t really given much thought about it, but actually, the distinction between feeding/being fed from, for the Archivist, might be through respectively live and written statements? Back in season 3, Elias had highlighted to Jon that they were taxing on him, and Jon had mentioned to Georgie that he was experiencing the fears himself, when reading them:

(MAG089) JUDE: It’s like you’re not even listening. You have your god, as I have mine. Feed it, fearlessly and without hesitation, or it will feed on you. ARCHIVIST: But I don’t… I don’t… I mean, I mean, what do I feed it? JUDE: I don’t know? You’re the one it picked. Not a great choice, if you ask me.

(MAG091) MIKE: That’s… that’s all, I think. Since then I’ve embraced my new life; gladly fed that which feeds me.

(MAG092) ARCHIVIST: And you can’t just give me all of the statements? ELIAS: Jon, even when you had them all at your disposal, you barely got through one statement a week. Why do you think that is? It takes its toll on you. And I know you’ve had problems with moderation.

(MAG093) ARCHIVIST: You’ve seen monsters? GEORGIE: Not the time, Jon. ARCHIVIST: Right, it’s… it’s just I think I’m turning into one. GEORGIE: Really? That’s… not great. ARCHIVIST: Yeah. Ever since I took this job, I’ve felt a compulsion to read out some of the statements. The ones that really touched the supernatural. And when I do… I… I feel them. I feel their confusion and fear. I tried to write it off, but…

Though Jon doubled-over at the end of MAG094, after the Hellish Five Days covering MAG089 (Jude’s live), MAG091 (Mike’s live), MAG092 (Elias showdown), MAG093 (written statement), MAG094 (Georgie’s live). And a written statement was enough to perk him up in MAG107. But I wonder if, now that Jon has… “become something else”, the live-statements aren’t precisely feeding him, and more tempting, while the written ones make the Beholding feed from him…? The woman in MAG142 was insistent over the fact that Jon looked… replenished, after he was done with her, and Jon told Basira in MAG141 that Floyd’s was helping him to go “full power”, so it definitely looks like it’s the actual way to feed for an Archivist… while it used to be pretty neutral, effects-wise, before his coma?

(And even in season 4, Jon didn’t sound that much lively in MAG131, after taking Jared’s, so…? Was that because Jared is a spook, and it’s less nourishing? Or is it because a new dependency/feeding system has grown alongside Jon’s powers, developing through the ordeals – after the coffin in MAG132, and/or after he tried to take a look at The Lonely in MAG139?)

- Amongst things that have apparently changed, relatedly to Jon’s powers… the effects of taking live-statements did: Daisy and Basira only mentioned dreams, but the woman in MAG142 made it clear that it wasn’t just that. It sounds like, additionally to the dreams, Jon re-traumatised her (since she has been plagued with panic attacks every time she’s triggered, although she used to be able to handle it), which makes her relive the fear of The Buried… with additional Feeling Of Being Watched. So, feeding both The Buried and Beholding? (How come only The Lonely is financing the Institute and getting all chummy with them, then, if Beholding has the potential to give back to the other Fears the snacks that had managed to get away?)

So why did the live-statements Jon extorted have different effects than usual? Multiple parameters have changed since the ones from the first three seasons. Is it because he’s more The Archivist now, after having chosen, and this is what true full Archivists do to people? Is it because The Watcher’s Crown is coming closer and Beholding is reaching its peak power? I’m reminded of Smirke’s letter (MAG138), when The Eye was precisely haunting both his dreams and his daily world, and that’s how Smirke came to the conclusion that Jonah was on the verge of doing something regrettable. Other option: … Assuming there wasn’t any tape recorder indeed: is it because the statement hadn’t been recorded, back then, and the recorders alleviate the Beholding effect…? (=> I’m still amongst the people considering hard that the tape recorders are actually Web, so, it could be a matter of hijacking Beholding’s dominion a bit…?)

- ;; Whether The Watcher’s Crown attempt is planned for the end of season 4 or for later into season 5… you can feel, meta-wise, that Something Beholding is coming closer and closer. There had been very few statements about The Eye throughout the entire series so far (full-on Eye: MAG023, MAG53, MAG060, MAG120) and… we’re already at three new ones in season 4 – MAG127, MAG138, MAG142.

- One of the themes of the episode seems to be about the temptation of the Dread Powers: Lonely for Martin, Beholding for Jon, Hunt for Daisy.

(MAG142) MARTIN: Th–the worst part is I don’t even want to talk to him about it. I’m just… [SIGH] I suppose I’m just getting comfortable with the distance. [SIGH] Cut off. [DRY CHUCKLE] “Lonely”. [INHALE] Mind you, Peter’s not wrong. It really is easier than actually just trying to communicate with people. […] They told you about Elias, right? DAISY: Yeah…. Basira said. Don’t like him being alive. Trying not to think about it too much. Don’t want to get too angry. Start to… hear the… blood. […] MARTIN: I mean… I guess. It still sounds really dangerous. DAISY: Yeaaah. Wanted to go with them, protect them, but… [PAUSE] Life’s always more complicated than that, isn’t it? MARTIN: Not really.

Daisy got enough distance, in the coffin, to delimitate herself separately from The Hunt, which had shaped her life until now – it’s a looming threat, and keeping away from it means accepting sacrifices, in the form of not being there for the people she cares about (now, “Basira and Jon”: not Basira anymore):

(MAG132) DAISY: I’m sc–scared, but… Mm–mm… But I… I feel more, feel more m–me than I have for years. Maybe all my life… The, The Hunt was me, b–but I don’t, I don’t think I liked it. I think it just made me… need… it…  I hurt… a l–lot of people… and some who… who I shouldn’t have. Did you ever hear the, the story Elias told me? About what I did. How I am… He, he didn’t get a detail wrong. The Hunt… Hunger was in me all my life. Telling me who to chase, how to hurt them. I never needed to think… who I was outside of that. But down here, where I… I can’t hear the… blood anymore, I d–, I don’t… I don’t know who I am without, without the chase… I just know… that I… I don’t like who I was back outside. I don’t want to be her again. I want… to be… better…

(MAG133) ARCHIVIST: [EXHALES] She is trying to keep a clear head. Stay away from The Hunt as much as possible. You valued her purpose. Her resolve. The sort of things–

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: Is Daisy coming? BASIRA: … No. ARCHIVIST: … Oh. I, I–I just thought– BASIRA: We’ve talked about it. If The Hunt takes her again… we don’t know if she’s coming back. And neither of us want that. ARCHIVIST: … No, o–of–of course.

As it was presented with the last two episodes, Jon crashed and burned himself through Beholding; whatever he is right now, however he thinks, he’s deep in – and though he may (or may not) have been initially trying to use his powers for good, or with a goal in mind… it’s now about consuming, about feeding, about indulging, whether he had realised it or not. Meanwhile, Martin is seeing appeal in the Lonely – Peter’s magic/management is doing its work (and Gerry had warned us that the Lukases were good at grooming their own). Respectively reformed, currently into it, and tempted to give in, because the powers offer something they crave: being a fighter and having the power to protect or to strike at those who offended her for Daisy, getting information, knowledge and obtaining new pieces to complete the ongoing puzzles for Jon, being at peace of mind and not heartbroken anymore for Martin.

(- And Martin has been closing himself off without… realising to which extent, apparently:

(MAG142) DAISY: Yeah. Just a… a bit empty around here. You know? MARTIN: Not really. DAISY: Melanie’s out, and… [EXHALE] Jon and Basira’re still off. Bit worried. But they can take care of themselves, you know? MARTIN: Again, not really. [SHORT HUMOURLESS LAUGHTER] No one talks to me anymore. […] Anyway. So, what’s this field trip they’re on? DAISY: They, uh… they didn’t tell you? MARTIN: [DRY CHUCKLE] No, I… What. … [QUICKLY] Daisy, where have they gone? DAISY: You know that town in Norway? MARTIN: What? I… Wai– Wh–what?! You don’t mean Ny-Ålesund? DAISY: Yyyeah. They reckon there’s a ritual they need to, you know… MARTIN: Yeah, but Peter didn’t even men…! [OPENS DRAWERS, SHUFFLES THROUGH THINGS] I don’t believe this!

Basira had mentioned that she had stopped trying to reach for him, after his mother’s death; but Martin had accepted to cut off from Jon entirely, and has shown multiple times that he’s been relying on Peter for information. Maybe Basira stopped trying, but it’s mostly… that Martin made himself so inaccessible. And there is something very fitting (though sad) with that? Because indeed, Martin kept trying to make connections with people and being rejected or betrayed – his attentions never meeting their goal. He took care of his mother for years; he was quite mistreated by Jon even when trying to make things a bit better, or less bittersweet (prime example being the beginning of MAG069, when he brought tea for Jon, and was turned away). And as he spat to Elias’s face in MAG118, he was very aware that the “good” moments he had spent with Not!Sasha had been cruel lies, that he felt bad for spending with Sasha’s murderer? And his relationship with Tim had deteriorated through season 2 already, reaching the point in season 3 when… Tim didn’t factor him in at all, focused on his revenge and didn’t spare any thought for Martin because he didn’t know him like he knew Sasha? And Martin never really managed to form any connection with Melanie nor Basira, and Daisy used to frighten him. So, the temptation of the Lonely makes a lot of sense… and maybe Daisy will manage to pierce through it? She’s been a constant surprise in season 4 – actually bonding with Jon, and now managing to… have a meaningful talk with Martin? The fact that they shut down the tape recorder while still together might mean that they’ll keep talking and that it… could do Martin some good? That they could act on something together?)

- The clock in the background made it sound like the scene was taking place in Elias’s office again? (I think the sound the door made was the same, too?) So, “Assistant to Peter Lukas”, really? Nah. Martin has been slowly taking over all of Elias’s tasks: taking care of the Institute’s administration

and

receiving

the complaints about Jon.

(I’m not even joking: the first time ever that we heard Elias talk… was when he relayed to Jon that Naomi had filed a complaint about him, in MAG017. And now, it’s MARTIN taking care of even that. I don’t want Martin to become the new Head Director because that can mean anything good, but UUUUUh at the same time. All these tiny ways in which he is literally replacing Elias are hilarious but, accumulated, are beginning to get suspicious.)

Plus, I do love

(MAG142) WOMAN: I don’t, a– Look, I just need to, to talk to a… a–a manager, or something? MARTIN: Okay, uh, well, uh… Uh, yeah, actually, [CHUCKLE] I’m a, I’m a manager. G–go on?

How more and more confident he’s getting at Bullshitting… but AT THE SAME TIME. Martin is managing Peter and used to manage Jon. He does deserve to be called “a manager”, okay.

- MARTIN IS STILL A BEHOLDING BABY!! After the (glorious) mess that was MAG100, Martin had been the only one of the assistants to take a live-statement: Tim’s, in MAG104, though, okay, Tim was also an assistant himself and it was… probably a Beholding effect that allowed him to be so articulate? But Martin technically took another one with MAG142, and the woman’s story was clearly messier and less “fluid”, she had a lot of trouble explaining things, and the point that it wasn’t the first time that she was telling her story (“And I start to tell him… everything. About the job, about the collapse, ab–about the hand… And more than I told you, even, and–and…”)… but still. Beholding might not be giving up on him, uh?

Also, it’s Aza’s pet-theory that Martin might be compelling/manipulating people to do what he wants by asking “Please” (even though there is no static), and MMMM… both Tim and the woman uncoiled and began to talk after he said that word…

(MAG104) MARTIN: Please. TIM: [EXHALEs] Fine. Fine. I’ll tell him in person, when he gets back from… wherever it is that he’s vanished to. MARTIN: China. And if you try to tell him in person, you’ll just end up at each other’s throats. You know you will. TIM: … [BITTERLY] Statement of Timothy Stoker, on the disappearance of... of my brother, Danny, four years ago. June 14th, 2017.

(MAG142) MARTIN: Just… just tell me what happened. Hum, please. I–I won’t judge. [SILENCE] WOMAN: Alright. Uh. So, you… [SIGH] You’ve, uh… you’ve got to understand my job, okay?

(+ Melanie relenting when he went “Melanie. Melanie, please.” in MAG118, etc.)

- Anyway, I’m so so glad that Martin’s pettiness has been skyrocketing in season 4.

(MAG082) DAISY: Well, if your witnesses appear back in this universe, maybe the situation will change. Otherwise, it’s an easy choice: answer my question or I pin it on you. MARTIN: Y–you can’t! Th–that’s not how this works. [SILENCE] … Is it? DAISY: Let me tell you how this works, Mr. Blackwood. I’ve got a hell of a workload, no partner and full operational discretion to make this whole situation go away. That means you help me or I make things very unpleasant for you.

(MAG142) DAISY: I said… I don’t want to talk about it. [SILENCE] MARTIN: I know. [PAUSE] Not nice being interrogated, is it? DAISY: I… [EXHALE] Oh. MARTIN: Yeah. [SILENCE] DAISY: [INHALE] I’m sorry, Martin.

February 2017 vs. June 2018, it was sixteen months ago, and he didn’t let that go. FORGIVE AND FORGET? NO AHAHAHAH RESENT AND REMEMBER.

- AND I’M SO GLAD THAT DAISY APOLOGISED… that she understood on her own why Martin was so petty and cutting at her – that she had given him reasons to!

(And uuuh… that parallel between Daisy-towards-Basira and Martin-towards-Jon… I didn’t know how much I wanted Daisy and Martin to have an Actual Conversation until now, but… they work… so fine… hopeless pining gays aware that their crushes are fucking idiots throwing themselves into things without plans, all of them…)

- Uh! So Martin listened to MAG061’s tape!

(MAG142) MARTIN: I listened to your old statement. Wasn’t your partner down there? DAISY: Yeah. Didn’t find him. MARTIN: You don’t wanna go get him? DAISY: I’m not going back. MARTIN: Hm! I thought you would have at least tried, or–

(As an aside, we know Jon had taken the tape along with him when he went into the coffin to rescue Daisy…)

So why and when did Martin listen to that specific statement and remember about that detail…? (He’s usually… notoriously pretty bad at cross-checking information or remembering names from one statement to another, see how he didn’t remember about “Rayner” back in season 3.)

- Speaking of tapes, there were a few things:

(MAG142) MARTIN: I should probably try to get him this tape, let him know what happened, that someone came in to… But then, ahah, would that just come across as an accusation? Like, because I don’t wanna… And then, then I guess he’d… hear this bit as well, so… I… I… [LONG EXHALE] What do I do…? […] DAISY: … [INHALE] You recording, or…? MARTIN: Hm? Uh, oh… Oh, no, there was– Hang on… [CLICK.]

The fact that the woman’s complaint and story was recorded was a conscious decision from Martin, or at least, he was aware of the recording (=> it didn’t… sneakily begin to record without him noticing). But it’s strange that the woman didn’t mention any tape recorder with Jon when he preyed on her – maybe it was there, hidden, but maybe there wasn’t any…? If that’s the case, why…? (…………… if it was recorded, that means there might be a hidden stash of… encounters like this, of Jon pressuring people into giving their statements…)

- We got quite the roundabout of Martin’s ambivalent bits this episode: he was good towards the woman (treating her with the respect she deserved), expressed offense and disgust at Jon’s actions………………… and then right away, went back to being Considerate Of Jon’s Feelings and to worrying over him the instant he was given the incentive:

(MAG142) MARTIN: Uh, but you didn’t give me your– [DOOR CLOSES] … name. [SIGH] [RUFFLING PAPER] [SILENCE] [SIGH] … What the hell do I do with that?! I mean, Christ, Jon, that’s… that’s not okay! Oh, that can’t– that can’t… I mean, it’s not him, is it? Not, not really? It’s, what, addiction, instinct, maybe mind control, something like that? I… can’t believe he’d choose to do something like that. … No, no, I, I can’t think like that, though, I, I can’t let myself, ‘cause I mean, if, if he‘s already gone, then all of this is just… […] MARTIN: No, no, it’s… thank you, I just… [CLOSES DRAWER] For God’s sake, can he not stay safe for like, for like ten minutes?! DAISY: I don’t think that’s an option for him anymore. MARTIN: Yeah, I mean, sure… [SLAMS A DRAWER SHUT] But he just…! He doesn’t think! He always just immediately charges straight off into danger with whatever… whatever half-arsed plan o–occurs to him at the time! I don’t get it!

… It’s probably not a good thing that he’s… so prompt to getting worried over Jon instead of reconsidering things through his actions (it’s like he had… immediately forgotten the woman’s story as soon as Daisy explained that Jon was going into Danger territory) but… it makes sense with Martin’s point of view – because he had agreed to some sacrifice for the others’ and Jon’s well-being, and, indeed, if he were to accept that Jon is gone… then, it means that it was partially for naught – unless Martin manages to find New Reasons. (But it kind of confirms that Martin really doesn’t have many things he cares for/about left in the world…)

-  Whatever is happening with Jon, it’s either not one of the options that Martin considered, either a mix of all of them (“addiction, instinct, maybe mind control”)? We know that Jon has had ~problems with moderation~ and Jon had discovered and acknowledged that he was getting addicted to written-statements, back in season 3, without… giving it much thought:

(MAG107) ARCHIVIST: I feel… a lot better! … I’d love to rattle off a lot of potential other reasons for this, nice rational causes of recovery, but… I feel we’re past the point of transparent rationalisations. It looks like the recording of statements has now passed over from psychological compulsion into… a more physical dependence. I don’t know whether this is… some sort of classical addiction or something a bit deeper. But either way, this is not the time for experimentation. I’m on a deadline, and if I need to be reading statements to stay well enough, then I suppose that’s what I shall do.

And the way Jon was described kind of remind me of Trevor’s relationship with The Hunt? (MAG056, “In the early 80s, I was deep in the grip of my twin addictions. As I mentioned, after a while, the hunt became an addiction of its own. Of the two, I’ve always found heroin the easier one to quit. […] But the hunt… the hunt is a purpose. It’s not just a way to get through the day, it’s a reason for there to be a day at all.”)

There has been so much talk about “choices” this season that… the bottom line will probably be that yes, Jon did choose it and will be aware of it. Either it was something he was trying to get under control, for a Greater Plan (trying to Power Up to fight The Dark?), either it was mainly hunger when he began to do these things but… despite Martin’s repulsion at the idea, I don’t think the answer will be anything less than “yes, maybe he was influenced, but Jon did choose it”…?

- You can feel that Daisy is a bit older/more experienced than the others and… it’s interesting that, in the end, she’s knowledgeable about human behaviours and able to decipher them?

(MAG142) DAISY: I, I mean, it’s pretty standard stuff. MARTIN: What?! DAISY: Used to see it all the time back in the force, especially with the Section’d. Not like there’s… “normal” trauma, you know? But it’s pretty common. The most important thing becomes control, engaging on your own terms. Even when it’s stupid or dangerous. Anything to not feel helpless.

(She was Section’d for fourteen years, she had been working in the police for sixteen years in December 2016, so she’s at the very least 35-ish years old, while Jon&Martin are around 30.)

AND I LOVED HOW SHE REMINDED MARTIN THAT SHE USED TO BE A DETECTIVE…

(MAG142) MARTIN: … Yeah. [LONG INHALE] I suppose. [LONG EXHALE] You’re… you’re pretty observant, you know? DAISY: Detective, remember? MARTIN: Yeah, you did mention. Would have thought Basira would’ve had more sense, though. DAISY: When Basira and I were partners, I’d see this happen sometimes. She can read a… situation like no one I know, always seems to know the right move, but for all her research, she never wants to put a plan together. I think she just hates all the unknowns, the… variables. [SIGH] Contingencies. If she spots an advantage, she’ll… grab it, and trust herself to figure out the details as she goes.

Elias has been nagging Basira, calling her “detective” (and Georgie called her one in MAG122, and Peter referred to her as such in MAG134) but… it was Daisy, officially – Basira was only a Police Constable. Daisy had it in her to lean towards Beholding, uh…? And it’s nice to see that Daisy didn’t have that title for nothing? And it’s interesting to see the contrast between her and Basira – with Daisy, initially being presented as savage and violent (a “rabid dog” according to Elias), actually attuned to the way people work, and Basira, quieter and “soft” (according to Daisy in MAG061), seemingly level-headed… being actually the impulsive and chaotic one.

- But WOOPS.

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: So what’s the plan? BASIRA: I’m getting us passage on a boat heading up there. ARCHIVIST: … Right. BASIRA: I bring all the guns from Daisy’s old stash, you bring the spook you used to mess up that delivery guy. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Wh… at? That’s it? [PAUSE] Christ, I thought my plans were half-arsed. BASIRA: It’s all about when we go. ARCHIVIST: … I don’t follow. BASIRA: Summer solstice is the 21st of June. So we leave in a fortnight. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … Right. BASIRA: And should arrive about a week before. No danger of sunset or darkness for a long time. Stands to reason that they will be at their weakest.

(MAG141) ARCHIVIST: You were the one who suggested we go by boat. BASIRA: Didn’t think I… urgh… [SNIFF] … I hadn’t really done proper boats, before…

Confirmation that Basira barely has any plan for Ny-Ålesund and is mostly planning to improvise.

- Here’s hope that Martin talking with Daisy will help a bit to get him out of his shell… Hilariously, Elias had warned Martin about getting too secluded?!

(MAG138) MARTIN: I think he wants me to join The Lonely. ELIAS: Then it sounds like you have a decision to make. […] Don’t forget to keep in touch, Martin. There are so many people in here, but without one’s friends… [DOOR LOCKING] it does get rather lonely.

And Daisy came in and was the surprise!friend. At the very least, Martin got another demonstration that Peter is not trustworthy when it comes to the information he shares (or doesn’t share). Martin, despite his official wariness, has been relying on him a great deal, but maybe the news that Jon hoped out to stop another ritual, and that Peter didn’t even deem it worth it to notify Martin or to provide help, will allow distrust to sink in again…? (Oooh, I hope we will hear Martin confronting Peter about it, because Martin will probably be deliciously snappy and cutting…)

- … So Melanie had been “quiet” and now she’s away again (“Melanie’s out, and… [EXHALE] Jon and Basira’re still off.”), and we haven’t heard from her since her first session with that therapist, and I’m Worried About Melanie. And on that subject, I liked how Daisy casually supports Melanie’s past intention to kill Elias:

(MAG142) MARTIN: I thought you believed him…! You were doing all of his dirty work. DAISY: Well, wasn’t willing to call his bluff. Not the same thing as “believing”. Just too big a risk. MARTIN: … Not for Melanie. DAISY: Well, maybe she was the only one with any sense. Even if he was telling the truth [EXHALE], if we all… died… There are worse things.

… because we definitely know that she didn’t have much sense given that it was confirmed that she had been infected by the bullet.

(But hey, Daisy, give yourself some credit:

(MAG092) ELIAS: Ah, of course. Er, sometimes I forget how new you all are to this. Basira is now tied to the Institute. All of you are. Like fingers on a hand. And I am the beating heart of it. Should I, or the Institute, be destroyed, you will all, unfortunately, follow suit. MELANIE: Wait, what? TIM: Yup, that sounds about right. ELIAS: And it would not be a pleasant death. DAISY: Bullshit! ELIAS: Then shoot me. Just squeeze the trigger, and watch the only person you care about die screaming. Your last connection to humanity. Do it. BASIRA: Daisy…

You did call it “bullshit”, back then!)

- It’s quite impressive how much Elias has managed to be omnipresent even in absentia in season 4, but especially in this episode. The scene seems to take place in his office; we got reminders of how he had trapped Daisy to work for him; he’s still an element threatening Daisy to tip over; and he’s in prison… but still a bit here, somehow.

(Urk, he had mentioned that Jon was “at a very delicate stage right now” in MAG127, hence him making sure that Jon couldn’t get in contact with him… but I wonder if, upon his return from the Pole, Jon will get visitation rights because… stuff happened.)

- And what Jon is thinking/doing/meaning is… a gigantic mystery right now. It was a weird episode in that regard, because the first half of the episode was presenting him as a Monster, as absolutely… a danger? A threat? A “It” violating people and feeding from them? Because even if he wasn’t aware of the apparently new Beholding effects, Jon was absolutely conscious and reminded of the dreams plaguing statement-givers:

(MAG130) GERTRUDE: Shame about the dreams; I would avoid them if I could.

(MAG132) DAISY: I realised you were in my dreams. Reliving t… this. The coffin. You were there. ARCHIVIST: … Yes. DAISY: Didn’t think it was real. Not really… Just my mind putting you there, because I h–hated you but… no. One night, you turn up in a new shirt. Didn’t fit you. Not your style. I didn’t think much of it, it was just a d–, a dream. Then you come back from the States and… guess what you’re wearing. ARCHIVIST: Oh… DAISY: Realised what was happening then. Realised you weren’t human. Needed to die, as soon as it was safe. Never mind Elias and his… insurance.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: It, uh… Hm. Is, uh… Weird question, but… I… [EXHALE] I haven’t seen you in my dreams? The last couple of weeks? […] So… no more dreams. DAISY: Not of you and your weird eyes. Just the coffin. ARCHIVIST: Is that better…? DAISY: ’T’s mine. ARCHIVIST: … right.

(MAG141) BASIRA: And now he’s going to see you in his dreams as he relives that for the rest of his life! ARCHIVIST: [INHALE SHARPLY] BASIRA: Because… because a tape recorder told you to do it?! ARCHIVIST: Yes, Basira, he is. And I am sorry about that. But we needed it. Anyway: you’re the one who wants to be like Gertrude. [SILENCE] You think she’d give a damn about a few bad dreams? BASIRA: … No. ARCHIVIST: No. She got the job done, and didn’t care about the costs. BASIRA: But I thought you did.

… and still Did What He Did, and has forced himself on people, and is enjoying it, and… messed up the woman (and potentially Floyd – his stories were about travelling by sea, can he still work as a sailor if he starts getting panic attacks?! – and potentially… others).

But then, the second half of the episode rolled in and insisted on his human sides and qualities and the fact that he was a victim, too. It made sense for Daisy (since she got in touch with the Jon who doubted and was “moping around”), it made sense for Martin (because, as much as he’s able to snap and take none of Jon’s shit, he’s also showed a propensity to making excuses for him, hence Tim’s bitterness in season 2), but it was still… a weird mix. Because you were shown someone suffering and in distress, and right afterwards told that her tormentor was in a bad place and deserved to be loved and for people to worry for his well-being and state of mind…? It’s indeed good to get confirmation that what Jon has experienced left its marks on him, since we had glimpses of it before:

(MAG133) ARCHIVIST: And give Daisy a break. She was there eight months. [EXHALES] I was only in there for three days, and I–

(MAG136) DAISY: [QUICKLY] You’re not babysitting me, alright?! I know that’s what the others think, sometimes, but… that’s not it. I just… don’t like…  being on my own if I can help it. You know. Flashbacks, panic attacks, the usual. Just trying to avoid it if I can. ARCHIVIST: I know, Daisy, I–I do. It’s hard.

… but it happened at a weird time, after the woman’s story. At least, with how Daisy went back to Jon’s words, pointing out that he was “self-destructive”:

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: My– [PAUSE] [INHALE] [SIGH] My memories of the coma are not clear. But I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I… I don’t know if I made the right decision; I–I’m stronger now, tougher, I can… … If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever… I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else so, if I can maybe stop that happening, and [DRY CHUCKLE] the only danger is to me, I– I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario… the universe loses another monster. DAISY: That’s messed up. ARCHIVIST: [LOW SELF-DEPRECATIVE DRY LAUGHTER] … Yeah. I suppose it is. DAISY: Did you know the coffin wouldn’t kill you? ARCHIVIST: I– guess I thought imprisonment wouldn’t… wouldn’t be as bad as it was. DAISY: [SHAKY SIGH] ARCHIVIST: And it’s a lot easier to make that choice than it is to actually… endure the result. You might have noticed when I was in there with you, I… I had regrets. DAISY: Yeah. I remember. ARCHIVIST: Plus, I thought… [PAUSE] W– [SIGH] Well, I didn’t know what being down there had done to you. DAISY: You thought I was gonna kill you? ARCHIVIST: It was a possibility.

(MAG142) DAISY: And of course, for Jon, there’s survivor’s guilt in there, too. He thinks he’s not human. Makes him very… self-destructive.

… I think we might definitely be heading towards the idea that at some point, in a shape or form, Jon did (and likely does) intend to sacrifice himself to stop The Dark…?

(- Alright, though.

This bit is more a disclaimer for Behind The Scenes/Less Comfy Time than full-on review: I initially had a very hard time with this episode. By that, I mean it physically messed me up for a day or two, before I was able to pinpoint why, and managing to get what the issue was alleviated the feeling a bit: it’s because, beyond the harassment case (which was indeed treated as it deserved in the episode, as “enough” to feel messed-up and warrant a complaint), I felt/read/received the woman’s story and encounter as openly coded as se*ual assault, and I was unprepared to this – creepy man hovers around a woman who was having a romantic meeting, corners her when she is alone, forces her to do something she was unwilling to do, “thanks her” for what he extorted from her and is satisfied by the experience, and leaves her a crying wreck, traumatised and with her whole life messed up, down to the detail of the woman not putting the blame on him, partially presenting it as her responsibility (“I’ve been having a lot of problems, since he talked to me, well, since I talked to him. Ever since I told my… story. […] May–maybe, maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m… Maybe I just, I met him once, in a coffeeshop, and he was a creep, and it messed me up…! But that’s enough. Right? [SHAKY EXHALE] That is enough.”) since she didn’t have the codes to explain what had truly been done to her. On its own, I felt that this wasn’t escapist horror anymore but way closer to “real-life horror” than what TMA usually does; it was even strengthened by E. Lockley’s performance, which was absolutely amazing… and also very intense, shaking and rough; and there was the added fact that… the abuser, in this case, was someone (the protagonist) who had been presented as sympathetic until now. Separately, it would have been a lot already; together, it was unbearable for me upon listening, and even after… it also makes me a bit uneasy, story-wise; as in, “oh, after 140-ish episodes, is this series really for me, after all.”

Because the second half of the episode made it pretty clear that Jon will be held accountable for what happened, but also… that he is a victim himself. And he’s still (unless this is The Shift) our main character, that we were meant to sympathise with until at least MAG140, and who was still written as sympathetic in the second half of the episode. Meanwhile, this character… exposed how her life was wrecked, is condemned to suffer, was harmed by someone who knew to some extent what he was doing, and she probably won’t be seen ever again. She didn’t do anything; Jon did. And it’s Jon’s story, and I’m sure that there will be Lots Of Guilt if Jon is meant to stick around as our protagonist, but the fact remains: the person who was (one of) his victim(s) still had her life wrecked, knowingly, and is probably not “important” enough to receive focus and to achieve protagonist status, unlike… her abuser. And I feel like I read enough stories focusing on the person who chose to harm rather than the person who was hurt and will be perpetually hurt? And I’m not too fond either of serious stories going the “edgy” route of protagonists behaving as uncaring asshats for a long while…? I had always assumed that when Jon would Fall, it would be either gradually, or the point when he would lose his Protagonist/sympathetic status? But right now, it feels like it’s most likely heading towards Reforming and coincidental Manpain territory (which… TMA had been great at avoiding until now), and aesthetically, I’m not super ready to open myself to feel sympathy for a character who caused harm while aware of the effects, even if he feels like crap about it afterwards, and even if I was until now very engrossed in his story and loving him a lot as a character. It works fine in derivative works, I love the various explorations, but in a canon… it’s always something else, it makes me feel uneasy, I am always pursued by the reminder of “but why does this character’s ongoing story deserve to be told, and not their victim’s?”. With MAG141/142, I feel like suddenly, Jon got utterly destroyed as a protagonist? Who cares, honestly, if he’s self-destructive or has survivor guilt? How do you justify the fact that he should still be (even partially) a (sym)pathetic character, or someone to feel for, if he goes around dooming people in such ways, even if it’s a spooky temptation/an addiction problem…? I would need the canon to tell me why and I feel… that it’s going to be hard. Because even if Jon feels bad about it, even if he was planning to get fucked over and it was only a temporary thing, he’ll still not be the main victim, and there is (presumably) no fixing for what he did, no way to alleviate what he did to the people whose statements he extorted, and unlike them, he’ll still be… our character. We’ll hear his voice, not his victims’ (after this woman’s testimony), and I don’t think that’s compatible with his protagonist status anymore.

And I know that RQ is usually very sensitive when it comes to real-life issues; the woman was treated with the soft carefulness that she deserves, and I understand perfectly that the way Martin was written this episode was meant to avoid typical accusations in such cases: he absolutely believed her and didn’t even consider that she could have been lying; he took her seriously and didn’t argue with her over the necessity of filing a complaint; he was supportive and soft; he validated her after she told her story (“O–okay. Hum. [INHALE] Right, well… [EXHALE] Firstly, I’m re– I’m really sorry that this happened.”); he expressed outrage towards Jon’s actions for this (… at first). But I have a hard time “trusting” and can’t help but be wary of what will follow in the story, and I am ill-at-ease: because crediting the woman as “Bystander” was… a surprising choice (she was a victim, she was preyed upon, it was her story, she was not… a witness or someone on the side…), because she wasn’t named (so… deprived of her identity…), and because it is likely the last of what we’ll hear from her… even though we know, with the rules of this universe, that she won’t escape this situation. And we’ll keep following Jon, and be narratively meant to get heartbroken over him, if MAG142 is any indication. I’m open to surprises (we heard Melanie’s and Daisy’s voices in ways that I hadn’t been expecting, although it was necessary and welcome; Daisy did harm people and keeps reasserting that it was her responsibility, and I currently adore her (… though the fact that we never met an innocent she would have wrecked… helps); or it’s possible that it’s the point, that Jon is currently being buried as a protagonist and that we’re supposed to lose our attachment to him) but… as I said, I’m wary, and not at ease at the moment. So I’ll see with next episodes, but it���s possible that I might take a hiatus soon-ish to let a few episodes pass and to judge from afar if I’ll feel better listening to them in one go, with the overall direction getting clearer. My first reflex last Wednesday was “I can’t listen to this anymore” and it messed me up until I was able to pinpoint what had been the thing bleeding into me and making me feel so sick, and fiction isn’t… supposed to do that to you – suddenly, it made the world unsafe, and it wasn’t horror escapism anymore for the reasons mentioned above, and I really wasn’t expecting to get slammed this hard even when expecting Terrible (fictional) Things. So, I’ll… see; you do you, I do me, I’m fine now, I can branch out if I feel that It’s Not For Me After All. Despite these grand intentions, I’d probably end up swallowing any Jon Angst/Tragedy Juice anyway, manpain-flavoured or not, so, eh.)

(Here’s for narrative hope: Daisy saw the woman and reminded Martin that she was a “detective”, so… some pieces are laid for Daisy to track down and find her? The fact that this woman wasn’t given a name feels a bit suspicious – not because she would be a false identity or an illusion, but in the way that… she was denied one. And given her situation, given that she was a victim, it’s quite harsh and un-TMA-like? So we’re probably meant to see her again, with a proper name…?)

Title for MAG143 is out: no cookie point to guess which Fear is involved, but mMMMMmm, guessing we’re going into Things (and that we might get a clue about what Robert Montauk was doing when Julia was a kid…?).