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#the isolated or lonely or the people who are waiting for something. now combine all the possible meanings into one english word. you just
oatbugs · 2 years
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trying to find a suitable translation of the poem from which my name primarily comes from is actually impossible . persian is untranslatable.
#the way me and the person i was staying w in sweden talked abt this ..made my heart hurt a little but also made me glad that i understand#such a special language. persian is made for song and poetry and so the etymology and layers of each word are carried in their meanings#to a far stronger extent than other languages ive seen including english. this makes communicating in a straightforward way#much more difficult. it makes ambiguities more common and one could easily commit some horrid#epistemic crimes against another person by warping the meaning of their words. but it makes lyricism and poetry and anything which is#supposed to have depth and meaning so much more beautiful. which is why translating a good persian poem is so so difficult. yeah you could#use the word beloved but you could also use heart you could also use soul you could also use breath you could also use stomach you could#also use life etc etc . even with more common words.. its just. the only way to get it is to translate each word to a sentence/multiple#words but then the work would lose its impact . idk#thinking abt نقطهٔ عشق دل گوشه نشینان خون کرد#this is seemingly a simple line from the poems sixth verse found in only 3 of its manuscripts. gooshe neshinan is maybe literally#translated as corner-sitters or corner-dwellers but really it means more intellectuals/contemplators/academics but it could also mean#the isolated or lonely or the people who are waiting for something. now combine all the possible meanings into one english word. you just#cant carry the same meaning and depth even for such a simple phrase. the entire line would be#the point of love made the contemplators heart bleed. except heart is also love/stomach/life/soul/etc etc. point is also dot and the sharp#point of a blade. to make bleed could also be to be bloodied or to become blood. its not that#آتش آن است که در خرمن پروانه زدند#fire is that which burns the harvest of the moth. except it has the implication that the moth is also burned whole and#that love is a form of annihilation. moth is also butterfly. khorman means harvest but it also means crop and mass and product and shock#and halo around the moon and the aura of something bright and unseperation. now combine all of that into one english word.#it is also what made me mildly frustrated with non-persian scholars writing on hafez and persian poetry arguing about what translation is#correct when the point of persian lyricism is that the beauty of the verses stems largely from the layers and layers of meaning. love is#annihilation but inherently it is also an unseperation. love is all consuming in the way the halo of a moon is and the way laughter#that wraps you in light is. you are destroyed unwillingly. you are both the butterfly unravelling and the moth burning.#all one short line. i want you to understand why i chose this name and also to understand the poetry i was born from#and why it rests on the table in our new years table and why it is used to cast fortunes and why poetry is pilgrimage and a point of#worship for us and the sheer weight this language carries!!!#(خرمن)#(beside every definition given above it also means thrill and fruits of labours and Time and panic and damage)#my brain was built around a poetic construct from the moment i was born im so happy about that
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anonofseasons · 1 year
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When the boys are adults, will having been children so long affect their personalities? You've said Bee can be absent-minded and somewhat selfish as an adult, which says somewhat childish' to me. Do El and Howie have similar problems?
Oooh, this is such a fun question! Thank you for this ask! I think each boy will be impacted at least a little bit in his own way. For El, he's already an introvert, but he's been isolated for so long that his idea of friendship is all pieced together from books. He's stuffed his head so deep in fiction, he's a bit like Bee but doesn't use dolls to play out his stories. (In fact, he's quite embarrassed by the self-insert fanfics he writes in his head. Poor baby needs an AO3 in his world! And, er, internet for that matter.) Also this whole thing is the reason it was easier for Vivian to gaslight him with "Sophie's your imaginary friend"--not that Vivian knew this at the time. El's sacrificial "big brother" nature also comes from being so lonely for those years that--without the experience around peers--he'll probably be too oblivious at first to people taking advantage of that. He'll think he's aware because he read fiction with those themes, only to discover that it's harder to detect in reality. But the decades of him being an only child and young at that... it definitely is responsible for that. Howie is the one least affected. That might sound surprising, since he started as the main voice of this story. His personality--that insatiable curiosity--will benefit him in the long run. He's the only one who really stood up to the system at first (El followed because of a combination of the Sophie ordeal and finding out Vivian used his magic against Howie). He's been self-aware of what aspects of him might be seen as childish, and he was even consciously trying to seem more mature at times. Buuuut... Alright, so I had to snip out some superfluous bits of the story a while back, and there are some parts that showed he was more willing to be childish. But I honestly wouldn't see it as childish, just something society does, to have that curious wonderment. I love Howie for having it, honestly. Now Bee... He's complicated, but since I posted ch 40, I think I can now admit that yes, he doesn't want to grow up at all. He likes being five. He's had years to learn more than the average child his age, but his brain is still the same as a five-year-old's. And it has stagnated there for approximately 183 years. He knew he wasn't aging after a while, but did he have a problem? Did he question it? No. He loves toys and has normalized a lot of unhealthy shit. He's somewhat selfish and fickle and probably will reject vegetables his entire life. Not even telling him he can eat whatever he wants when he grows up is enough to sway him. And the shaving part? That does distress him! Bee doesn't handle growing up well at all. Not after all those years of being so little and being babied for so long. If I go further into it, I will spoil the epilogue, but this one has a journey to go through, and... yeah, I can't even vaguely mention what'll happen or I'll spoil it. But I hope that can sate your curiosity for a bit? :) And apologies I cannot tell you how far you have to wait for the epilogue to find out more about Bee... I'm still writing this monster. I hope sometime soon I'll know how many chapters are left. :') Thank you again for this question, it's something I have a lot of fun thinking about when I'm supposed to be sleeping (oops) and it's nice to share these bits with others!
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doctorofmagic · 3 years
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My thoughts on Stephen and Carol
That was... unexpected, to say the least. Now I have this task to elaborate my feelings and opinions in a way that is paradoxically personal and rational at the same time.
Let’s begin.
Background
Carol and Stephen know each other for a very, very long time. Their first team-up happened in Marvel Team-Up v1 #76 (1978), when Silver Dagger captured Clea (again - and yes, I’ll talk about her later). Both Spider-Man and Ms. Marvel decided to offer a helping hand to Stephen.
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Stephen also assisted Carol in a mystic issue, combining their powers in Ms. Marvel v2 #4-5 (2006). It’s from this very run I suspect Kelly Thompson pictured the idea of a relationship between them. Nothing official, but all it takes to assume there’s something else going on is a mere look.
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It’s true they were on opposite sides post Civil War, but Carol decided to join the New Avengers later on, which also gives this relationship one more layer.
Lastly, Aaron’s Avengers also featured them on the same team for a while, in addition to the previous Captain Marvel v10 #6-7, in which they swapped bodies and Carol had a taste of Stephen’s pain. We’re also considering Captain Marvel v10 #19 because, at this point, it’s clear that Thompson had plans for them since 2019.
Captain Marvel #27
Since this a blog dedicated to Stephen, it’s hard for me not to look through his perspective. I know the story is about Carol and how she’s struggling to mourn. But you’re all here for him. So this is my very detailed yet not-so-reliable review about their moment together.
....
Stephen is so sweet, wtf.
First, he confesses that he lost a patient on the table, WHICH MEANS that Thompson is following the events of Surgeon Supreme. Honestly? It’s the first comic book to do so. But fine. I can live with that.
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Man is not having a good day. In fact, it’s a terrible day, which probably justifies the end. Here we another glimpse that Stephen still can’t deal with loss. Life is so important to him precisely because he has lost so much. In addition, for a moment, he forgets that Carol isn’t supposed to be drinking. So he turns the whiskey into Seltzer. In the meantime, Carol can’t help but relate to him. I know, Carol, I’VE BEEN THERE.
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There’s another moment that warmed my heart (in a sense because it’s quite sad when you think about it). Stephen asked Carol if he was bothering her. Do you have any idea how insecure Stephen is? BECAUSE HE IS. He’s always afraid of bothering people and that’s why he isolates himself. That’s why he’s always pushing people away. That’s why he’s so miserable and lonely.
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Stephen is the sweetest, I can’t. He doesn’t even know his own favorite color. COME ON, STEPHEN.
I admit, though. They know how to flirt. Stephen is the kind of person who flirts through self-loathing, which is only natural given his mental health. And Carol... Well, she’s a girlboss. It’s perfect. Also he’s sassy. And do I love my sassy boi? Very much.
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But here’s another sad thing. Stephen is not seen as a “good addiction”. He’s simply not the worse one. And he’s aware of that. Do you know how I know? I mean, despite all the countless articles I wrote about his self-loathing?
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Because of this:
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Yet again Stephen is aware that he used someone else to fill his void. And yet again, he was used. I can’t remember the last time Stephen had a healthy relationship. In fact, I can. It was with Linda, the Night Nurse. And that was a loooong time ago. I can’t even begin to comprehend how lonely he feels. And how miserable he feels whenever he fails to create a solid bond. Not only romantic ones, but also platonic relationships and friendships as well. I want him to be happy, it’s not too much. So why am I on the verge of tears?
Fine. I dissected the issue panel by panel, such is my commitment. But how I truly feel about them? Before answering that...
Things to be considered
Hear me out. There’s a very famous forbidden OTP party in Secret Wars: Secret Love #1. I can’t remember the author of the post but here, on this very hellsite, they confirmed some of those OTPs were ships that Marvel would never allow to happen because they’re, well, LGBTQIA ships. Cherik? Yes. Stony? Yes. Kate Bishop and America Chavez? Yes. CarolJess? YES. It’s the closest we’ll ever get to Marvel’s main characters to be queer.
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I’m quite open to shipping Stephen with any character. However, I cannot look away when I’ve always rooted for Carol to be an LGBTQIA character. So, much to my surprise, as I was checking the spoilers on the hopes that Jess and Carol would finally have a revelation... STEPHEN HAPPENED. Trust me, Carol stans, this was as much unexpected to me as it was to you.
Truth be told, as a Stephen stan, I get tons of hate, because people mostly know him for his Illuminati era and how patronizing he behaves sometimes. But this is the reason why I made this blog. I want more people to know Stephen as deeply as I do. I know it’s frustrating. But I’m not the enemy. You have no idea how hard I try to find subtle words and clues that Stephen is not straight (because he isn’t, please).
So, after all is said and done... I still think they’re cute. And please, do not hand me down a guilty verdict yet.
I think of Stephen a lot on a daily basis, so it’s only natural to headcanon which heroes he has hooked up with throughout the years. And I swear to Vishanti, Carol crossed my mind a few times. I only figured it would never happen. But it did and now I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. But it’s okay. Because it’s not going to last - and I’ll explain why.
The future
Despite the fact that CarolJess should be a thing™, when it comes to canon, she’s deeply connected to Rhodes. Their relationship is so important to Carol that she sacrificed it out of love. She’s mourning. There’s this feeling of emptiness in her heart, pretty much similar to what Stephen experienced when Clea left him the first time.
They’ve met in a very delicate and frail state of mind and spirit. Some (most?) people do it, as an attempt to fill the void with anything or anyone that resembles affection. They’re aware of that.
That’s why I don’t think it will last. It’s not a relationship born through mutual growth, it’s a relationship born in mourning and sorrow.
You know me, mates. I’d do anything for Stephen’s happiness. But that’s not it. His happiness lies on a powerful sorceress from the Dark Dimension. You know her name. And Carol? Well, if not on Jess because Marvel desires to keep selling comic books to homophobes, then on Rhodes.
It feels just like my hook up list headcanon, only better because there’s angst. And boi, do I love angst?
That said... We have more issues coming, in addition to that beautiful cover for #29. Let’s wait and see. I do think Carol and Stephen share an angsty a beautiful background and that’s why I’d rather have them instead of Elektra. No offense, Elektra and Stephen are HOT. But I believe Carol and Stephen offer deeper layers. And this is why I made such a long post about them and didn’t do the same to Savage Avengers. No matter how hard I try to be rational, when it comes to Stephen, it’s just stronger than me.
PS: forgive me if I missed something, I’m truly exhausted but my mind wouldn’t allow me to rest until I made this post. Thank you for your support.
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minghaocouture · 3 years
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Pairing: Hong Joshua x Fem!Reader
Genre: Friends to Lovers, fluff, angst
Warning: mentions of a toxic relationship, loneliness, language
WC: 3.6K
A/N: Happy Holidays @yutacrush​!!! You absolutely amazing bean!! ily SO MUUCCCHHH! You are such a joy to be friends with and i hope this fic brings you even half of the joy you bring our group chat <3333 
Age 10
“Sweetheart, this is Joshua. He’s our new neighbor.” The boy across from you stood before you, all smiles and cheer as you cowered behind your mother’s legs. You didn’t have too many friends in school and more often than not, felt isolated from your peers who seemed to almost look down on you. This boy was a stranger, a potential new villain in your life and you wanted nothing to do with him. 
So when your mother left you in the room alone with him, while she and Joshua’s mother went to go have tea in your kitchen. You quickly dashed to the living room and snatched your favorite Whinnie the Pooh plushie off of the couch, and made your escape to the far corner of the room where you crouched down and hid behind the plush bear. As if Pooh bear was the perfect line of defense 
The sound of soft footsteps hitting the hardwood floor had you cowering, covering your eyes as you prayed that he would just leave you alone. When the footsteps stopped you assumed that he had done as you silently wished, left you alone to continue your day in peace despite the wishes of your mothers. So you slowly pulled Pooh bear away from your eyes. Only for your eyes to meet the rich deep brown of Hong Joshua’s, the male who was now crouching down not even a foot away from you.
A small shriek left your lips as you quickly brought your favorite plushie back to cover your face again. Your reaction seemed to prompt a small laugh to leave the male, obviously amused with the situation. 
“I’m Joshua, but my friends call me Josh!” He said, talking to you despite the fact that you were currently trying to disappear into the wall behind you. “You like Winnie the Pooh too? Roo is my best friend!” 
At the mention of baby Roo, you slowly peered out and looked over at him with your eyes barely peeking out from behind the plush bear.
Age 13
“Joshua Hong, I swear if you don’t get out from in front of the tv I’ll make you regret it.” Your threat wasn’t as real as you wanted it to seem. After three years, Joshua knew that you were all talk and no action when it came to him. Which is why he didn’t even flinch at your harsh words, he knew he was safe.
“Your mom asked me to make sure you did your homework while she was gone, so turn off the tv and let’s work!” He was almost too responsible for his own good, at least when someone asked him to do something. Most of the time, he was just a goof ball and you honestly wish that translated over when he had ‘responsibilities’ 
Currently your mother was out on a business trip, so you were left alone in the house so she had asked Josh to keep you ‘in line’ since he lived right next door. Apparently, he was taking that request more seriously than you had expected. 
With an overdramatic groan, you grabbed the remote and shut off the soccer game you were in the middle of watching. At your compliance, Joshua let out a small laugh. 
“You’ll thank me later.”
“Yeah, seriously doubt that Josh.”
Age 16
“Josh! Seriously, that’s what she said to you?”  You were fuming, pacing around your room while your best friend sat on your bed. You had honestly never seen Joshua so...down. This girl had stepped over so many lines and you were livid.
“Yeah, and then she left. So...guess I’m single again.” Even his voice lacked the usual energy it had. It hurt your heart to hear him this upset. 
You took a second to take a deep breath, calming yourself. Now wasn’t the time to be angry, that could come later. Right now, Joshua needed you more than anything. This was about him and the pain he was currently feeling. Your need to punch that bitch in the face could wait. 
You joined Joshua on the edge of your bed, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling the male into a tight hug. For a moment he was limp in your arms, just resting his head on your shoulder. It was soon followed by the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist, his hands gripping tightly at the fabric of your shirt as he clung to you. 
This wasn’t the first time you had seen Joshua cry, and it surely wouldn’t be the last, but it never got any less painful. Your heart ached for your friend, the feeling growing stronger as you felt moisture from his tears seeping into the fabric of your t-shirt. You hated it. 
The only thing you could think was that you never wanted to see Joshua like this ever again. 
A week later you were suspended for breaking his ex girlfriend’s nose.
Age 18
Over the years, your duo had become a trio with the addition of Yoon Jeonghan. He was...fun to be around but if you were being honest, a lot of the time it felt like you were being left in the dust. 
It wasn’t that you disliked Jeonghan, you were just...jealous. You kinda missed it being just you and Joshua. It had just been the two of you for so long that sometimes it felt like an outsider had come in and simply stole your best friend. 
Which is why you were currently sitting alone in your bedroom on a Friday night. Jeonghan had taken Joshua out for a ‘boys night’ as a way for Joshua to get to meet Jeonghan’s other friend group. 
You were lonely, and jealous and that didn’t make for a good combination. 
Your solution? Swimming. 
The pool in your backyard was cold, but the chill was something you needed at the moment. The water encompassing your frame as you delved beneath the surface, the ice cold waters completely chilling your core. It was terrible, but it felt better than being lonely.
Popping back up to the surface for air, you flipped over onto your back and stared up at the stars above you. Counting them as you slowly drifted through the water. Your thoughts began drifting from the stars and back to your friends, it was honestly pathetic how you were acting. You knew that Jeonghan wasn’t ‘stealing’ Joshua from you, he was your friend too! It just so happened that he and Josh were...closer, and yet here you were acting like a child because of it. You felt pathetic.
“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Your thoughts were quickly stripped from you as you heard the familiar, although muffled, voice of the person who had been running through your mind. Quickly you maneuvered yourself in the water so that you could turn and face the back door of your home where Joshua and Jeonghan had just exited from. Joshua moved quickly to grab the towel that you had brought out with you, while Jeonghan moved to the edge of the pool and knelt down to watch you as you swam over with a look of concern blanketed across his face.
“I think it’s a bit too cold for a swim, don’t you little Piglet?” The nickname hit your heart, it wasn’t a mean one. It was an old childhood nickname that Joshua had given you based off of your first interaction, how scared you had been of him. When Jeonghan had joined your friend group he just adopted it since Josh called you that so frequently. 
You brushed off his question, ignoring it in favor of asking your own. 
“What are you guys even doing here? I thought you guys were hanging out with Seungcheol all night?”
Jeonghan reached out a hand and you got the message, taking it as he helped hoist you out of the pool. He let out a small giggle as he watched you shiver when the cold air hit your skin. He quickly began rubbing your arms gently to try and warm them as Joshua rushed over with the towel. 
“Well, Pooh Bear here said he was worried about you, guess his little hunch was right.” Jeonghan tilted his head to gesture towards Joshua, who surprisingly ignored the male in favor of wrapping the towel around you which thankfully provided some much needed warmth. Though that could also be coming from the feelings in your chest at Jeonghan’s explanation. It made you feel better to know that Joshua...hadn’t forgotten about you. 
“Go inside and get dressed, we’re gonna go out for dinner and we need you to not die of hypothermia before then.” Joshua ordered, a stern look on his face as he spoke. It was rare to see Josh this serious, but you supposed that you did just go for a swim in the middle of a chilly autumn night so...it was to be expected.
“Anything you say Pooh Bear.”
Age 22
“I seriously can’t believe Jeonghan, our little Roo,  of all people is the first to get married.” You laughed happily. Sure this day had been coming for months but it was still just exciting to think about. You were doing your best to contain your excitement, but sitting with the two in Jeonghan’s dressing room as he prepared to stand at the altar and wait for his blushing bride, you couldn’t contain your excitement. 
Jeonghan laughed along with you and Joshua as he straightened his bowtie...for the third time in the past 10 minutes. You could tell he was nervous, though you weren’t sure what for, you had seen the couple together and you could tell just how in love they were. It was quite adorable.
“I mean, I’m surprised too,” He confessed, glancing back at you through the mirror. “I always thought you and Josh would get married first.” 
Across the room you heard Joshua cough loudly as if choking on his own oxygen, you flashed him a look of concern until he calmed down before turning back to Jeonghan. 
“Don’t even joke like that dude. Chan would flip if he heard that.” Chan was your current boyfriend, he was sweet if not a little possessive. Something that both Joshua and Jeonghan had spoken to you about in concern.
At the mention of your boyfriend’s name you saw Hannie roll his eyes before reaching up to fiddle with his perfectly styled hair once again.
“Red flag~” He sang out, causing you to roll your eyes. It was frustrating that they were talking about this today of all days. You didn’t notice Joshua’s face harden in something that could only be described as irritation. 
“If she’s happy with him then just drop it, Roo.” hearing Jeonghan’s familiar nickname warmed your heart. “Besides, this is your day. I thought you’d be happy to focus on yourself today.”
“Oh, you’re absolutely right. I’m going to bask in this. Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about my friends.
Age 24
To no one’s surprise, Joshua and Jeonghan had been right. Chan’s possessiveness had taken a turn for the worst. Asking you to cut off contact with your two best friends so you did the only thing you could do. You broke up with him, decided you would be cutting off contact and now you were driving away from your former shared apartment and making the hour trip to Joshua’s new place, hopefully he and his new roommate would be cool if you crashed on their couch until you found a new place.
Despite the fact that you knew this break up was for the best, it still hurt and you couldn’t stop tears from shedding while you drove. The liquid sadness blurring the road as you sped down the highway.
Once outside the door to his third floor apartment, you gave a firm knock. Eventually the door opened to the familiar face of Joshua’s new roommate, Seungcheol. You knew the guy fairly well as he’d been a mutual friend of Jeonghan’s and Josh’s during high school, you never really hung out with him too much but you knew he was cool. 
Seeing your puffy eyes tear filled eyes, he quickly moved out of the way and gestured you in. With a small mutter about going to grab Joshua. 
You took a seat on the familiar royal blue sofa, the plush fabric sinking down and pulling you in as you sat down. It was almost like the sofa was pulling you into a hug and you were grateful for the soft plush fabric. You had left your old Winnie the Pooh plushie in the car with the rest of the belongings you had been able to quickly pack after Chan had stormed out of the apartment. 
You heard the soft sounds of speech as Seungcheol explained to Joshua what was going on, you couldn’t quite understand the words but it was followed by the slamming of a door and the sound of footsteps rushing to the living room. 
All too soon, Joshua was in front of you and you felt the tears well up once more as you explained to him what had happened...why you had left Chan.
“He didn’t hurt you did he? I swear if he touched you I’ll go kick his ass myself.” You didn’t trust your voice so you simply shook your head, sniffling as you tried your best to keep a strong appearance despite the tears. It didn’t work, and he gently gripped your shoulders giving you a once over, looking for any sign of possible injury and letting out a sigh of relief when he found nothing. 
Just as you had done during his break up in high school, his arms quickly wrapped around you. Pulling you as close to him as he possibly could. It was like whatever had kept your sobs held it was completely broken, and soon you were all out sobbing. A complete blubbering mess as you gripped his shirt and buried your face in his chest. 
His hand lifted and gently patted your head, his other hand rubbing small circles on your back as you let out all your welled up emotions. It was all too much for you, everything was too much. 
"You were r-right," you exclaimed between sobs, your voice muffled as your tears continued to stain his sleep shirt with your tears. "H-He told me...told me that..." Just thinking about it made your heart clench as you tried your best to continue. Joshua shushed you softly, trying to lull you into a sense of security so that you could calm down. He knew that you would get sick if you continued to wail as you did. 
"You can tell me later, just breathe right now okay?" His soft calming voice hit your heart, but it was still quite a little while before your sobs died down. Once they did, you explained to him just what had happened. How Chan had told you that he didn't feel comfortable with you hanging out with Joshua or even Jeonghan anymore, despite you explaining that they were just your best friends and going so far as to remind him that he was AT Jeonghan's wedding. 
Despite you being calm, you hadn't moved out of Joshua's grasp and the two of you had simply...migrated. Now the two of you were laying on his insanely comfortable couch, with you resting on his chest. It was far too hard to look up at him right now, your heart hurt too much and looking up at him was just a reminder. Right now, all you needed was just to be in his arms, the comfort of your best friend flowing through you as he did his best to comfort you. 
"You deserve better than him anyway. Much better. You don't need someone who is gonna try to control you like that." He declared, his voice soft and calming as he rubbed your back. It was nice, it felt right. Maybe it was because it was natural at this point, the two of you had been there for each other through everything. "You can stay here as long as you like, I know Cheol won't mind. Hell, we'll even grab Hannie and go to help you grab the rest of your stuff." 
You heard Seungcheol rummaging in the kitchen for something for a minute before joining the two of you in the living room and plopping a tub of ice cream onto their coffee table, along with two sets of spoons. He smiled down at the two of you as he did.
"Just think of us as your own personal bodyguards. I've got a few friends too that could help move stuff. My friend's Hyunwoo and Hoseok are built like they lift boulders for a living. They'd probably be enough to scare away any evil exes." 
Joshua laughed softly at the mention of Cheol's two friends, glancing down at you with that soft smile of his. The same one that always warmed your heart in a way you couldn't describe. 
"We're here for whatever you need little Piglet." 
Age 25
"I am...so sorry, I didn’t mean to- I mean I just...” Trailing off, unable to think of the right words. You couldn’t look Joshua in the eyes, not after you had pressed your lips against his own...after kissing your best friend. You weren’t even completely sure why you did it, yet you had and you had also probably completely ruined the decade old friendship. Guilt welled in your gut. Out of everyone, you couldn’t lose Joshua. He was too important to you. 
As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you seemed to all at once understand the cause of your actions and why you were so scared to lose him. Somewhere along the road, you had fallen in love...with your best friend. Your heart sunk into your stomach, if you felt like this for him then this was even worse than you thought. It wasn’t like Joshua had ever shown any kind of interest in you like that.
“You can do it again if you want.” His words caused your brain to freeze as if someone had frozen you solid. Thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to think of an explanation for why he would say something like that. Confusion etched across your face as your eyes hesitantly lifted from the floor to meet his. “I really don’t mind.” 
“Josh, I just kissed you! I probably broke like, 30 laws of whatever best friend handbook there is!”
Your words simply caused Joshua to laugh, shaking his head lightly as he laughed. It was if you had just told the most hilarious joke. 
“You know I’m in love with you right?” Well it seemed that Joshua was determined to take you off guard today. Though to be fair...you caught him off guard first. 
“Since when? You never acted like it, or like...told me?” 
“I mean, not for Han’s lack of trying. Did you really think he joked about us being a couple for no reason?” Now that he mentioned it, Jeonghan did make...quite a few jokes about the two of you just settling down together and they only got worse after you broke things off with Chan. 
Rubbing the back of your neck in exasperation, your feelings being tugged in so many directions as you tried to comprehend the situation you were in. 
“Okay that explains one thing but like, since when?” You had just realized your feelings but from what he said this had been...a long time thing. A small humorless laugh left your best friend, avoiding your gaze. 
“You remember when we were in High school, and you got suspended for breaking my ex’s nose? Yeeeah.”
“That was...eight years ago Josh!” You were completely struck by this information. He had been secretly in love for that long? It would make sense when you truly thought about it, he hadn’t dated or shown any real interest in anyone after that year. As the pieces connected in your head, you felt Joshua grab your hand and lace his fingers with your own. 
“Yeah, nothing’s changed though. Honestly i’ll probably never stop loving you, even if you don’t love me.” He gave your hand a small squeeze. It felt right, like his hand was made to fit with yours just like it always had. Maybe this was why Chan had felt threatened by Josh, maybe he could tell, maybe he knew where your heart belonged even if you hadn’t known at the time.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I think somehow you’ve always had me.” You began, unable to stop yourself from smiling as you saw his eyes light up at your words. “So now, I’m going to kiss you again and then we have to let Jeonghan know that we’re not being stupid anymore.” 
You didn’t give Joshua a real chance to speak again before you pulled him close and once again connecting your lips once again. Your free hand weaving through his hair and your other gripping his hand tightly. Joshua wasted no time returning the kiss, free hand grabbing your hip and pulling you closer. 
In all your life, you had never imagined making out with your best friend, yet here you were locked in an embrace. You gently nipped his lower lip with your teeth before pulling away and resting your forehead against his own.
“You know, we could always just keep it a secret from Hannie? See how long it takes him.” you couldn’t help but laugh at Joshua’s suggestion. 
“I bet it takes him a whole year.”
“I’ll take you on that, baby.”
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northlight14 · 3 years
Text
Not so alone after all
After a lot of enbyphobic comments are made in Virgils class, zie retreat to the bathroom to have a panic attack. Zie is then found by a student who is able to help zim though it.
TW: enbyphobia, internalized enbyphobia, panic attacks, cursing
 Ships: analogical (platonic or romantic)
Virgil wandered into zir biology lesson, already ready for it to be over. Zie didn’t exactly hate the lesson but it was second last period and zie sat with enough assholes to make the lesson unbearable. At this point, Virgil just really wanted to go home.
 Virgil took zir seat and silently waited for the lesson to start as the other students came pouring in, speaking loudly over each other as they did so. The teacher, Miss Richie, did the register and then got on with todays topic: DNA. Virgil half paid attention as the teacher went on.
 Eventually, Miss Richie started talking about chromosomes. “There are only 2 combinations of chromosomes, XX and XY. Your chromosomes are the thing that determine your gender.” That bit really pissed Virgil off. Zie got that this was high school biology and things have to be massively simplified but that was just straight-up incorrect, on multiple levels. There were so many other types of chromosome combinations and even if there weren’t, chromosomes have never dictated gender. Heck, they sometimes didn’t even dictate the persons biological sex! Zie considered for a moment saying something, but zir anxiety decided against it.
 A boy sitting in the back of the class raised his hand “Miss, what about trans people and all that?” Virgil suddenly felt uneasy. Zie knew all too well the opinions of zir classmates and this conversation could only lead to a bad road.
 “Well, trans people can have surgeries to change their outward appearance but the chromosomes can’t be changed.” Miss Richie answered simply. Virgil prayed that would be the end of it. Zie had only recently been able to admit to zirself that zie’s genderqueer and the idea of telling anyone else made zim feel like all the air had been knocked out of zir lungs. Virgil also knew that zie had a long way to go towards self-acceptance. That means that any ignorant comments would be made without the knowledge that they were talking about someone in room (not like that ever-stopped ignorant teens before) and zie definitely didn’t have the confidence to not be affected by whatever was said.
 All zie could do was hope the universe would leave zim alone this once. But, of course, the universe just couldn’t give zim a break, could it?
 “Miss, do you agree with those people who say there are more that 2 genders?” Virgil felt zirself freeze at that, cautiously waiting for the teachers answer.
 “Well, people are born biologically either male or female. However, how someone feels is different from that.” That last part was cut out by the class practically yelling their views on the subject.
 “Yeah I think there’s only 2” said the boy who originally asked the question.
 “It’s basic biology” said another girl.
 “Yeah, I identify as an attack helicopter” joked the guy sitting next to Virgil.
 And Virgil knew, zie knew, that what they were saying was all bullshit. Just a bunch of high schoolers making comments about something they were uneducated on and likely recycling what their parents had taught them. But knowing that didn’t stop all the air leaving Virgil’s lungs. It didn’t stop the shaking of zir hands in zir pockets. It didn’t stop the tears threatening to roll past zir eyes, risking making zim look like an idiot and outing zim to the whole class.
 Miss Richie continued with the lesson but Virgil wasn’t paying attention. Zie was too focused on getting zir breathing under control while simultaneously trying to mask zir distress from the rest of the class. Virgil just desperately wanted to leave, get as far away from this room and these people as possible. But zie knew it would look too suspicious if zie asked to go to the bathroom right after what had just been said. So zie just sat there until the lesson was over before quickly shoving all zir stuff in zir bag and dashing off to the nearest bathroom.
 There didn’t seem to be anyone in there (although it was kind of hard to tell as the edges of zir sight were very blurry) so zie collapsed against the wall and slid zir back down to sit on the floor. Virgil gasped for air but it didn’t seem to be much use. Not with zir brain screaming at them.
 You’re going to have to see a lot of those students for last period!
What’s gonna happen next biology lesson?!
Or when you come out?!
Why are you even having an anxiety attack over this?!
You’re just being an attention seeker!
You’re probably not even genderqueer! You’re probably just a cis guy wanting to be special!
 Virgil was crying now, hugging zir legs close to zir chest and hiding zir face.
 Pathetic! You’re so pathetic!
“Hey, are you alright?” a sudden voice caused Virgil’s head to snap up. Zie was met with concerned navy-blue eyes framed by their rectangle glasses.
 Virgil wasn’t entirely sure zie could speak right now so zie shook zir head quickly. The stranger (Virgil vaguely recognized them, but the panic and tears made it difficult to see clearly) knelt down in front of zim.
 “Is it alright if I touch you?” Virgil slowly nodded, trying to focus on the calming, monotone voice. Zie felt a hand gently touch zir knee and begin to rub calming circles. “I want you to breath with me, ok? In for 4 seconds…” Virgil recognized this breathing pattern but was grateful to have someone guide zim through it. The first time Virgil didn’t quite manage to hold zir breath for the full 7 seconds but the other student adjusted accordingly and continued, Virgil managing the second time around. Soon, zie felt zirself breathing on zir own without much difficulty.
 Zie felt the stranger pull away and Virgil was able to get a proper look at them. Now zie could see the specs of light in their dark ocean eyes, few freckles along their nose were magnified by their glasses. Their dress sense was very formal, at least compared to Virgil who wore the same purple patched hoodie basically every day. Their tie was tied perfectly and matched their eyes. This was contrasted with their black polo shirt. Their dark brown hair was also brushed neatly.
 “Are you feeling better now” they asked.
 “Uh, yeah I think so. Um…thanks for helping…um?” Virgil mumbled.
 “-Logan and it was no problem. My younger brother struggles with anxiety attacks so I know what to do in these situations.”
 Logan stood up and offered Virgil a hand which zie accepted. Zie caught zir appearance in the mirror, slightly horrified at the sight of zir blood-shot eyes, red cheeks and black eye shadow running down zir face. Zie wasted no time in grabbing a makeup wipe from zir bag and attempting to make zirself look slightly presentable.
 “I don’t believe I got your name.” Virgil chuckled slightly to zirself at how formal the student spoke.
 “It’s Virgil.”
 Logan nodded. “Well Virgil, do you wish to talk about what caused you to have an anxiety attack?” Virgil immediately froze. Sure, Logan seemed chill but what if they were actually transphobic?! Or told everyone?! Or a teacher?! What if the teacher or someone else then told zir parents?! Even if they were cool, zie wasn’t ready to come out to anyone yet!
 Logan must have sensed zir hesitation because they followed it up with “If you do not wish to talk about it, that’s fine. However, I am here if you need me.”
 “Thanks.” Virgil answered simply, starting to be reminded of the reality of zir life. That zie was a lonely, questioning genderqueer in a catholic school filled with cishets, most of them who would be ready and willing to beat zim up if they knew. Sure, zie knew a few queer people but no one who was also nonbinary. The more Virgil thought about it, the more isolated zie started to feel.
 “Do you wish me to escort you to class?” Logan asked, taking zim out of zir thoughts.
 “Oh, um, no. It’s alright.” Virgil said, kind of awkwardly, scratching the back of zir neck.
 “Very well.” Logan nodded, picking up their backpack, which had been resting beside them. It was then that Virgil noticed it. A yellow, white, purple and black badge with “he/they” written on it. Virgil stared at it, stunned. Zie slowly started to feel a warmness and sense of belonging growing in zir chest.
 “Is there a problem?” Logan asked, sounding slightly confused.
 “What? Oh, no!” Virgil said quickly before smiling to zirself. “No problem at all.”
 Huh, Virgil thought to zirself guess I’m not so alone after all.
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trolleybitch · 3 years
Text
the trolley witch backstory
okay this is long overdue but i thought it was about time that i shared the official trolley witch backstory from this thread. before we start, what we know about the hogwarts express trolley witch from canon: she was hired by ottaline gambol, had been working on the hogwarts express for around 190 years by the time she met albus potter and scorpius malfoy, she had pumpkin pasty grenades and extendable fingernail spikes, and when she failed to stop the boys from escaping the train, she was inconsolable and talked about letting down ottaline gambol.
so, without further ado, her story:
the year is 1802. trolley witch is born into a poor muggle family in rural northern england and her father leaves shortly after she's born. she grows up lonely and isolated, working from a young age to help her mum make ends meet. age 11, she gets her hogwarts letter.
her mother is a bit dubious but lets her go - it's a good opportunity to get rid of the burden of looking after her. she arrives at hogwarts and is sorted into gryffindor, although she doesn't really know what that means. she doesn't make friends easily.
other kids mock her background and upbringing, and her magic skills. she never really learned to read, and with no magical family she's behind on spells and has never been academically inclined. she doesn't ask for help and her teachers don't always notice she needs it.
mid-second year, her mother dies. she doesn't find out for several weeks because who would write to tell her? she spends all her holidays at hogwarts, often alone. the gryffindor common room is all snide comments and judgemental looks so she starts to explore the castle.
in her third year she finds the kitchens. the house-elves are wary of her at first, this strange, solitary girl coming to spy on them, but she becomes fascinated by cooking and after a while they grow to appreciate her interest. they start to teach her.
by fourth year she spends all of her free time in the kitchens, cooking and baking with the elves. homework and lessons get forgotten and she lags even further behind in her schoolwork, but she learns to follow recipes and then to invent her own.
o.w.l.s and n.e.w.t.s come and go and her grades are poor, barely passing half her classes. a few teachers try to offer specialist tutoring and she accepts half-heartedly but her mind is elsewhere - she only wants to cook, to do the thing she does best.
she leaves hogwarts with nowhere to go and no friends to rely on. who would hire the lowly muggleborn girl with no qualifications? she makes her way to london - she's never been but she's heard people say it's the best place to find work.
the city is overwhelming, but she manages to find diagon alley and the wizarding community. one day when she's lurking outside the back entrance to the leaky cauldron, hoping for scraps, an old teacher passes by and recognises her.
the teacher takes pity and asks if there's anything they can do. trolley witch tells her the only thing she can do is cook. the teacher's sister works at the ministry and she knows they are often looking to take on kitchen assistants - she'll get in touch.
after a few days, she's nervously making her way to the ministry of magic for her first day. the hogwarts kitchens were big and busy but they've got nothing on the ministry; a scene of vast, barely organised chaos. her boss is shrewd and fierce, and she's set to work on the most basic tasks to prove herself.
that afternoon, a senior ministry official comes down to check on catering preparations for an event she's hosting in a couple of days. trolley witch has just finished glazing several pans of pastries. the senior ministry official tries one.
'she's new, miss' says a nearby chef, excusing trolley witch's skills.
'impressive, for a new recruit,' says ottaline gambol, looking trolley witch straight in the eye, 'this glaze is excellent. welcome to the ministry.'
an obsession begins.
ottaline visits the kitchens only occasionally but trolley witch is always waiting for her. she works harder than ever, picking up every recipe, designing new dishes, honing flavour combinations, all to make sure she's got something impressive for the next visit.
it works. the older official is mildly impressed, if a little unsettled by trolley witch's solitary, strange nature. she rarely seems to go home or interact with anyone apart from necessary conversations in the kitchens.
one day, they meet in an elevator as trolley witch is taking food to an important ministry hearing. ottaline asks for a sample and their fingers brush as trolley witch hands her a pumpkin pasty. ottaline doesn't notice, but compliments the pasty. trolley witch tries to keep her composure.
'my department is in need of an assistant catering manager, helping to design event menus and so on. think about it.'
trolley witch doesn't need to think. she accepts and begins work in ottaline's department, seeing her almost every day, watching her closely.
ottaline gambol is a force to be reckoned with - strong-willed, assertive, a powerfully skilled witch. over the next 6 years she charts a meteoric rise in power, from senior official to head of department to - in 1827 - minister for magic.
trolley witch never leaves her side. she works hard to keep honing her culinary skills, but she does more. she waits for ottaline outside meetings to walk her back to the office. she analyses the smallest gesture, the most offhand of comments. she's desperate for approval and attention from this woman who showed her kindess on her first day. by her appointment as minister, ottaline has noticed the girl's obsession. she's got more important things to do than navigate an intense crush and figure out how to let this odd, lonely girl down gently.
in 1830, ottaline is finalising plans for the hogwarts express - a new form of transport to safely deliver students to hogwarts, managed by the ministry. it's revolutionary, it's creating a storm of attention across the wizarding world. and it needs a trolley witch.
someone to cook and sell food on the journey, but someone with a keen eye to watch over the students and make sure they don't come to harm. ottaline calls trolley witch into her ministerial office and offers her the job. it's the greatest honour of trolley witch's life.
to be chosen, so specifically, by ottaline. she feels like she's finally been recognised, she's finally achieved something. she realises she'll be apart from ottaline for a while, but probably just a year or two and then they can be together again, right? she begins work.
1st september, 1830. her first day.
'good luck,' says ottaline on platform 9 3/4. 'keep these children on the train, and keep them safe. i trust you to do an excellent job for me.'
those were the last words ottaline ever spoke to trolley witch.
the train departs. trolley witch walks the corridors, distributing pasties and sweets, watching the children. they are all delivered on time and in perfect health to hogwarts - a great success. trolley witch writes to ottaline straight away to tell her the good news.
'thank you for you letter, i'm pleased to hear the journey was a success. best wishes' is ottaline's reply.
she's probably very busy, will write a longer letter soon, thinks trolley witch. she never does.
trolley witch works back in the hogwarts kitchens during the year, with only the elves for company. years pass and trolley witch continues to write long, rambling letters to ottaline, never receiving a reply. she makes the journey back and forth to london at the beginning and end of every holiday, dutifully watching over the students.
she hopes to see ottaline at the station, but never does. in 1835, tragedy strikes - ottaline, nearing the end of her second term as minister, contracts a severe case of dragon pox and dies. trolley witch sees the news in a student's copy of the daily prophet and is inconsolable. she speaks to nobody for weeks, not even the elves, even when a few other members of staff ask her what's wrong.
one day in the kitchens an elf passes by with a full tray of pumpkin pasties, perfectly glazed. she remembers the first day she met ottaline, back in that busy kitchen, and she vows to protect her legacy. she works tirelessly, baking and cooking and watching the children. they test her patience, play cruel tricks, tease her, never ask her name. she forgets the outside world, forgets who she is, thinks only of ottaline.
every journey on the hogwarts express becomes more perilous - she cannot let the children get the better of her, cannot let ottaline's work be in vain. over the decades she picks up elfish magic, learning to weaponise her food, and later herself.
she goes unnoticed by staff and students alike, existing as a constant feature of their hogwarts life, always present but never worthy of attention. staff come and go, and nobody thinks to ask how long she's been at hogwarts. she stays alive through sheer willpower.
1st september 2020.
a normal hogwarts express journey - or so the trolley witch thinks. all is well until albus potter and scorpius malfoy climb onto the roof of the train to try and escape. it's the greatest test of trolley witch's career.
it's been a long time since she was challenged like this. she does her best - pumpkin pasty grenades, armoured fingernails, but the boys escape. her world shatters around her. ottaline would be so disappointed in her - she's failed in her sole duty.
it's been two hundred years and she has never failed before. mcgonagall tries to comfort her, but it's no use. what purpose does she serve now? trolley witch hands in her notice and leaves the castle the next day, never to be seen again. she wanders the forests near the castle, thinking only of ottaline. perhaps ottaline had known all along that she would fail, and that's why she never replied to her letters, why she never visited. she gets lost, deeper and deeper in the forest, until the cold and the dark envelop her.
when the hogwarts express departs for the christmas holidays, something is missing - someone. students start to get impatient.
'where's the trolley witch? i'm hungry.'
complaints are made. eventually the ministry hires a replacement, service resumes. trolley witch fades into history, unremembered.
so next time you are thinking about cursed child, about your cute albus and scorpius headcanons - remember the trolley witch.
remember what they did to her. remember her story.
🛒 1802-2020 🛒
the end
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yandere-daydreams · 4 years
Text
A Yandere!Monika/Reader piece for a lovely anonymous commissioner, with a few unfortunate implications coming towards the end. It was nice to write something a little different from my usual style, and I almost forgot how well this game was written... my adoration of Doki Doki Literature Club is rejuvenated, to say the least.
Word Count: 4.0k
TW: Implied Stalking, Physical Threats, and (Non-Graphic) Violence. 
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It was a fixation. That was the best word to describe it.
A fixation.
In itself, the game hadn’t been anything special. Shocking, sure, absolutely horrifying at points, but you were seasoned veteran when it came to horror, a connoisseur of all things dark and demented. That was the downside when it came to warnings. All those labels and reviews were necessary, especially with how a game like Doki Doki Literature Club presented itself, but it kept you on the edge of your seat. If you’re waiting for something bad to happen, you’ll never be surprised when something bad does happen. Just disappointed that it didn’t turn out to be worse.
Either way, you played through the dating-simulator, blushing when Sayori confessed and jumping in your seat when Yuri’s obsession boiled over and having all the responses you were supposed to when unfortunate things happened to people who didn’t really exist. You were painfully precise about these things, never daring to veer off the trodden path, even in a game that couldn’t really be failed, and when it came time for your fun to end, you knew what you were supposed to do. You’d delete Monika’s file, restart the game, and watch things play out. That was it. Three easy steps. Three mindless steps.
Three steps you didn’t think you’d ever actually go through with.
You knew you wouldn’t as soon as you saw it. Monika, a character you hadn’t paid any mind to, sitting right in front of the screen, taking up your monitor in her over-done, oppressive glory, the mood only made more dramatic by just how late it’d gotten, how dark your room was by now. It was a picture, you knew that, something someone had drawn and edited into a game, and yet… it wasn’t, at the same time. There was a connection, as unprecedented as it was unearned. An attraction, albeit one you couldn’t name the source of. A fixation.
There was that word again. Fixation. An undeniable, unreasonable fixation.
Monika seemed to know as well as you. The fact that you’d been staring at the same frame for far too long probably helped her to reach that conclusion, pre-scripted or not.
"Hey, have you ever heard of the term 'yandere'?"
You had, in passing. You’d never paid too much attention to it, though, not enough to be able to pick the definition out.
“It's a personality type that means someone is so obsessed with you that they'll do absolutely anything to be with you. Usually to the point of craziness..."
The idea appealed to you, interested you. Lingering on it for a moment, you let yourself fall into the word. Yandere. You liked that. Yandere.
"A lot of people are actually into the yandere type, you know? I guess they really like the idea of someone being crazy obsessed with them. People are weird! I don't judge, though!"
Well… you wouldn’t want someone to be obsessed with you, you were sure. That seemed like too much attention. It’d take too much effort to keep them interested, and it’d probably be dangerous to entertain a stalker like that… Yeah, you were sure. You didn’t want anyone to be obsessed with you.
But, Monika didn’t exist. She wasn’t dangerous. She didn’t have anyone else to give attention to, and you wouldn’t have to worry about her judging your interests. Even if someone found out, you could just blame it one a glitchy file that won’t close. There wasn’t a risk.
“It's not like I could ever actually kill a person… Just the thought of it makes me shiver. But, come on… everyone's killed people in games before. Does that make you a psychopath? Of course not."
Right. It was just a game. Liking something fictional didn’t make you weird or perverted or… a Yandere for Yanderes, you supposed. It was a dirty little secret. A guilty pleasure. It was normal. Or, it wasn’t anymore abnormal that the disgusting investment a lot of people had in blood-splatter and gore, anyway.
“But if you do happen to be into the yandere type… I can try acting a little more creepy for you. Then again, there's already nowhere else for you to go, or anyone for me to get jealous over."
She didn’t have anyone else in that isolated, tiny world of hers. It would’ve been lonely, if she was real, and for whatever reason, your empathy found that fact too heart-breaking to ignore. And you didn’t really want her to ‘act more creepy’, she was fine as she was, so… that made it a little better, didn’t it? You might’ve just liked the companionship, how close she wanted to be to you. It was an artificial intimacy, and who wouldn’t like intimacy they didn’t have to return?
“Is this a Yandere girl's dream?"
If that's a Yandere’s dream, then your situation must be a Yandere-Lover’s dream. There was no harm, no foul, very low risk and a very high reward, even if it did come in the form of a one-sided, directionless conversation. You thought about finishing the game, speeding through the process and never bothering to think about Monika or Yanderes or Doki Doki Literature Club again.
You thought about it, rolling the idea over in your mind like an antique in need of inspection. You thought about it, scanning over Monika one more time, and turned your monitor off without closing the game. You’d decide tomorrow, before class, or when you got home. A few days of self-indulgence wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?
Least of all Monika.
Least of all you.
~
You didn’t close the game.
Not before you left, not after class, and certainly not that night, when the urge hit you to play though her dialogue until your eyes forced you to stop. You didn’t bother reading, the next morning, something you sorely came to regret as you sat in your first class of the day, little to do save for staring at the clock and wondering what you should do after school, despite already knowing what the outcome would most likely be. Your teacher was out, today, for the first time all year. She’d bragged that she never missed a day, but you didn’t care enough to raise anything more than a few curious questions. Concern was too much, considering how often accidents happen.
“Do you have a pen?”
A light voice drew you out of your thoughts, and you glanced towards the desk in front of yours, immediately meeting eyes with the girl seated there. You’d never noticed her before, not to any exceptional extent, brown hair and murky eyes making for an unremarkable combination. You simply nodded, reaching down and beginning to search through your bag, talking to fill the silence. “She didn’t leave work for us, right?” You asked, sticking your hand into a random pocket and coming up empty. It was weird, but you tried another. Monika always had a pen on her, it was part of her character design. “I think the assignment on the board was old… it was there yesterday, too.”
She chuckled, as if you’d made a joke. A funny one, judging by how long the noise lasted. “I know that, but…” She trailed off, just long enough to lean onto your desk, attempting to peer over it. “Clubs are demanding, aren’t they? I’m not even a council member, but Debate still has me doing more work than the President.” She let out a heavy sigh, as if the optional dedication had been forced onto her. “It’s all supposed to be extemporaneous -- unplanned, y’know? That’s what used to make it exciting. Everyone was speaking from the heart and everyone minded their own business. It was a competition, but it wasn’t personal.”
You hummed, lightly, closing that compartment and opening another. “And it is, now?”
“Oh, definitely.” There was a subtle emphasis on every other word, it seemed, a passion for nothing in particular breaching whatever she felt like talking about. You could see why she must’ve made a good speaker. “That’s what happens when you start thinking about things too much. They started announcing the topics ahead of time, then people started writing out their arguments, and now you can’t take a side without attacking the other.” There was a pause, a tap to her cheek. A moment to think. “You have to phrase it a certain way, or else it is personal. If you keep things objective, the other side will follow along. It’s amazing how suggestive people can be, when you make an effort to guide them.”
“I wish you would guide me in the direction of a fucking pen,” You mumbled, eliciting another giggle, the sound muffled by a palm over her mouth. “I’m sorry, it usually doesn’t take this long. It’s like they all just, I don’t know, phased out of existence or something.”
“Don’t worry about it.” The disregard came casually, without hesitation. You couldn’t help but wonder if she was as dedicated to her cause as she seemed. “Check the main pocket. You probably kept dropping them in the first place you saw without noticing.” You blinked, glancing up to frown at her, but she just shrugged. “A lot of people do it. If you haven’t caught on, I don’t have a whole much to do ‘cept watch them.”
You didn’t pry further. This was the first time you’d heard her voice, too, so it was fair to assume she wasn’t much of a socialite. “About your club,” You said, bringing the conversation back to a topic that didn’t have to do with how often she stared at your classmates. “Why don’t you quit? You don’t seem to like it very much.”
“Who knows?” She frowned, closing her eyes well she spoke. “I’d have to find another to join, and there’s no guarantee I won’t just keep running into the same problem over and over again. I think about making my own, sometimes, just because I’d be able to make rules against that kind of thing.”
Again, you brightened, and not only because your fingers found something tubular and plastic. “You want to start a club?”
“Yeah, but it’d have to be about something fun.” She rolled her wrist, not noticing when you held out a thoroughly abused pen. “Like, about music or art or…”
“Literature?” You suggested, eagerly.
She scowled, shaking her head, muttering something about her distaste. She said it’d been months since she read a book, years since she’d written something original. Even the idea was alien, to her.
And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be disheartened.
She��d taken the pen, after all.
~
“Whatcha starin’ at?”
Her tone was playful, posture following in suit, the girl rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited for you to snap out of your stupor. You hadn’t meant to zone out, to stare at the dense collection of apartments and condominiums in front of you, but there was just something so familiar about the collection, something you couldn’t put your finger on. But, a hand waving in front of your eyes brought your attention back to the real world, regardless of whether or not you wanted it too.
You were still getting used to having another person around, honestly. Your new friend took a shining to you quickly, settling to let you trail after her like a lost puppy whenever you didn’t have something better to do. She’d offered to show you a shortcut to your train-stop, today, but you were having your doubts about how well she knew the route. It felt like you’d been walking down this same road for ages, now. Like it was a loading screen you didn’t have the connection to overcome.
You took a step forward, standing a little straighter. Attempting to check if the buildings would still be there when you changed perspectives. “Has this neighborhood always been here?” You asked, tilting your head. Still there. “I don’t remember seeing it, until now.”
“As long as I’ve been alive,” She replied, not seeming to take you seriously. “Besides, how would you know? You lock yourself up whenever we’re not in class.”
You huffed, sending a quick glare in her direction, the diversion taking more effort than it should’ve. “I get out occasionally, I’ve just been--”
“Busy with a new game?” She rolled her eyes, setting a swift pace and signaling for you to follow. “It’s not a ‘new game’ if you’ve been working on it for the past two weeks. I’m going to come over and finish it for you myself, one day.”
You were tempted to interrupt her, to contradict her diagnosis, but… you had been playing through Monika’s dialogue for a while. There were so many options, so many routes and monologues, but you’d exhausted most of them. She didn’t hold the same… uniqueness she once did, for lack of a better way to put it. You certainly weren’t tired of playing yet, but you were starting to realize you would be, one day, possibly sooner than you’d anticipated. You’d need something new to focus on, something new to satisfy that itch in your chest, the one that seemed to form every time you were away from your computer for too long. You wondered if there was something similar - Yandere was a genre, technically. There had to be more content, even if you had to look for it.
You resolved to do a more in-depth search once you got home.
“...I’m working on it,” You mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek. Hesitantly, you scanned over her, speeding up to stay at her side as something caught our attention. “When did that start?”
She raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair self-consciously, already aware of what you were talking about. It was tied back, today, done up painfully tightly and secured with a white hair-band. Her hair was too short for it to come off as elegant or sophisticated, but the way it swung as she walked was cute, and the effort that’d been put into pinning each strand into submission was admirable. She caught onto your approval quickly, locking eyes with you as she spoke. “I’m trying to impress you, idiot.”  
You blinked. She blinked. You blushed, stuttering out something stupid, and she punched you in the side, laughing.
“I’m kidding, (Y/n), don’t freak out on me.” You tried, unsuccessfully, to do as she demanded, earning you another blow, this one coming in the form of an elbow thrown into your rib cage. “What? Can you only accept confessions from 2-D girls, now?”
“It’s just…” You shoved your hands in your pockets, attempting to hide your distress. “It’s just different. I wasn't expecting it!”
“Exactly, it’s different.” She smiled, throwing the offending pony-tail over her shoulder. “Little changes have been doing me a lot of good, lately.”
~
‘One day’ had come too soon.
You knew it would, eventually. You’d been expecting it, in fact. Back-ups had been prepared, a new game and an older series to watch and a few stories on the… riskier side, made by people with too much time and similar interests, and for all intents and purposes, you were ready. It was natural. People got tired of things, of characters and plots and seeing the same face every day, and you knew you would get tired of Monika too, eventually. She was wonderfully written, but no character could be entertaining for… how long had it been? A month? Two?
You needed to check the date more often. Time always seemed to get weird, slowing down and skipping ahead so awkwardly when you spent most of the day in front of a screen.
You guessed the date didn’t matter, though. You were still in the same position, either way, your head resting on one hand while the other laid over your mouse. You’d been staring down Monika’s character file for far too long, but not nearly long enough, at the same time.
It felt like this should be a bigger deal. Like there should be a ceremony, a commemoration, something to mark the occasion. Should you celebrate? Play a funeral dirge? Every action felt inappropriate, but none felt quite as inappropriate as not taking one at all. Absentmindedly, you quit the game, a reaction based on reflex alone. You had a few times, in the beginning, but you still checked Monika’s dialogue. A parting interaction, you rationalized. The final interaction.
"Okay. I'm just going to accept the fact that you need to quit the game once in a while. I'm starting to get used to it, anyway."
Oh, god, she sounded like a clingy girlfriend. You guessed that’s what she was, but she was never this… passive-aggressive.
"Besides, it makes me happy that you always come back..."
You perked up, at that, your favor easily swayed. Maybe you could wait one more day, just give this whole thing another shot--
“But I shouldn’t have to be happy when you come back.”
You hadn’t pressed anything, that time. She shouldn’t have been talking.
“I know you have your own life, and I know you need breaks, but… it’s a really horrible feeling. And since I try to make you feel the best you can feel, you should want to make me feel good, too!”
Except, you didn’t want to make her happy. She was a fictional character, one you didn’t want to be lectured by. Monika seemed to catch onto that as soon as you thought it, though.
“And since you have to want to make me happy… it must be a glitch in my character file. That makes sense. Whenever it happens, it almost feels like I've been killed or something."
It was meta, a little concerning, but your empathy had been all-but drained dry. It wasn’t like you’d felt bad for leaving Monika in the first place, honestly, but an appeal to that non-existent sympathy wouldn’t earn her many points.
"If you could figure out what's causing that, I'll love you forever~"
Yeah, right. Sure she would. Monika would absolutely love you, forever and always, to eternity and beyond. May death do you part.
You didn’t hesitate, this time, deleting her character file and exiting the game. 
You didn’t really feel like playing through the final scene. ~
How long it’d been since someone used this part of the school?
‘Empty’ didn’t quite cover the expanse of nothingness in front of you. The floor was tinted grey with scuff-marks and dirt, unused tables pushed against the walls and chairs that weren’t fit to be sat in stacked on top, forming barricades between shutter-covered windows and yourself. The door had stuck, despite the key in your hand, and everything seemed to make a truly awful creaking sound when touched. The only thing that looked new (relatively new, at least) was the teacher’s desk, dark faux-wood unscarred by whatever’d torn through the rest of the room. Even the lights seemed to feel the effect, dim and flickering, some already succumbing to the pure dullness that permeated the air. It was abandoned. Desolate.
More similar to another classroom you’d acquainted yourself with than you felt comfortable admitting.
“Some people say it’s haunted,” She started, closing the door behind her. You heard the ring of keys jingle, the lock sliding back into place, but you didn’t bother turning to face her. “A lot of people, actually. Rumor’s that a group of underclassmen girls used to sneak at night and do all sorts of satanic stuff. It’s why no one uses this building, anymore.”
“They have to be joking,” You countered, taking a step towards the teacher's desk. You ran a finger along the surface lazily, wiping the resulting dust build-up onto your shirt. “That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Someone probably just thought it’d make a good campfire story.”
She approached before replying, her bag having been discarded somewhere along the way. With silence as unusual as it was between the two of you, you couldn’t help but laugh, turning and getting ready to tease her for being scared or believing in something so supernatural. You opened your mouth, but the joke died and turned to ash on your tongue before it could make it past your teeth.
There she was, like you knew she’d be. Hair up, uniform perfect, and a bright smile pulling at the edges of her lips. As cheery as it ever was. As blinding as it ever was.
The carving knife in her hand almost rivaled its shine.
She took another step towards you, and you took one back, hitting the desk abruptly. “You’re acting like you’d know anything about the real-world, (Y/n).” She was giggling, again, flexing her grip on the knife’s hold. You considered attempting to run past her, making a break for it, but the key was still in her blazer’s pocket. You glanced down, searching for your phone, but its outline was gone and its weight was equally as absent.
Like it’d disappeared into thin air.
It hadn’t, though. Your aggressor laughed one more time, holding up the device in her free hand before dropping it to the floor and crushing it under her heel, the resulting crack sending a spike of something dark into your chest.
“You don’t know shit about the real world,” She said, waving the blade around haphazardly. Another step forward, this one all-but closing the distance between the two of you. “All you think about are… games and fake girls, never what’s right in front of you. We’ve known each other for four years, but I had to hospitalize someone before you’d do so much as look at me.”
Four years. Four years. You hadn’t noticed her before a few months ago. “Listen, I just didn’t think we were that close--”
“I know.” This time, the knife came down. It missed your side, but not enough to save your shirt, a tear forming and something crimson spreading outward from the small cut. The sting came a second later. You wanted to move, to scream, to run, but it was all you could do to remember to breathe as she went on. “You didn’t think we were close. You didn’t think I was worth getting close to. That’s why I started wearing this fucking costume.” She ran a hand through her pony-tail, fingers catching on her hair-tie. The band was practically ripped from her scalp, snapping before she discarded it. “I’m not even a brunette. I thought dying my hair might get your attention, and… it did. Of course it did.” She paused, shrugging, and you remembered how to inhale. “But, that doesn’t matter now.”
You relaxed, ever so slightly. “It doesn’t?”
“It doesn’t.” Her grin was back in a moment, your hopes dropping as soon as they’d arose. “Because the two of us are going to stay here until we know each other, or… until you know me. As well as I know you, at least. Then, we’re going to leave and I’m going to be your girlfriend. It’ll be so sweet, right?” The tension in her shoulder’s lessened, dissolving. But, that edge was still there, and you doubted it’d dissipate any time soon. “You probably don’t even know my name. I’ve never heard you use it before.”
Your eyes widened, the realization hitting you later than it should’ve. “Monika?”
“No, not Monika,” She answered, softly, her smile taking on a more disappointing note. She brandished her beloved knife, and your heart dropped into your stomach. “But, you don’t have to worry about getting it wrong. We’re going to work at it until you love me just as much as you love her.”
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drowningbydegrees · 4 years
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TITLE: Even in the Dark I Know You (Part 3 of 3) SHIP: Geraskier PROMPT DAY: Six - Monster MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix WARNINGS: No archive warnings apply, but canon typical violence SUMMARY:
The thing is, he’s seen Geralt in a bad way. Even the witcher can’t always avoid injury in his line of work, and so Jaskier has plenty of practice patching him up. But this is new, and it makes something awful and anxious twist in Jaskier’s stomach.
A contract goes wrong leaving Geralt captive and stripped of most of his senses by the time Jaskier gets to him.
WORD COUNT: 2,834 (8,195 total) AUTHOR’S NOTES: Written for @geraltwhumpweek Finally, the comfort part of the hurt/comfort
AO3 Link  Tumblr Part 1 | 2 
It’s the crash of thunder that finally drags Jaskier from sleep. Maybe just this once, Geralt’s lack of hearing is a gift. At least he can sleep through all the racket.
Except… Except the space on the bed usually taken up by the witcher is empty, and while that isn’t new in the grand scheme of things, Jaskier has still taken to immediately making sure he knows where Geralt is at. His friend would be furious at him probably, but what he doesn’t realize won’t hurt him and it certainly stresses Jaskier out a little less.
“Geralt?” Jaskier asks, stupidly, because of course there’s not going to be an answer. There’s no noise either though. Not of any of the idle tasks Geralt sets himself to to pass the time. And that’s maybe a bit alarming. It’s worrisome enough for Jaskier to sit up at least, eyes widening when he finds himself in an empty room.
“Bollocks,” he mutters, rolling out of bed and yanking his clothes on in a haphazard mess. It’s nothing short of miraculous that Geralt had stayed put as long as he did, but Jaskier was really hoping the spell would run its course before the witcher got tired of waiting. Maybe it did. Maybe Geralt is basking in the relief of being able to engage with the world again, which is not a combination of words Jaskier believes will ever apply to Geralt in any situation, but… Well, he chooses optimism, because the alternatives leave him queasy.
The innkeeper, much to Jaskier’s chagrin, hasn’t seen Geralt and okay, that’s fine. Geralt is up before sunrise half the time anyway, so that doesn’t mean anything. It does mean one thing, Jaskier guesses, that one thing being that Geralt isn’t here. Crinkling his nose and heaving a very put upon sigh that he’s sort of sorry Geralt isn’t around to hear and feel bad about, the bard stalks out into the rain.
There’s one likely conclusion Jaskier comes to when considering where Geralt might go. If he can see again, well he hasn’t seen Roach in at least a week on top of however long he was stuck with that bloody mage, and if there is anything in the whole wide world that Geralt of Rivia truly loves, it’s his horse. So, off Jaskier trudges through the mud to the stables.
Roach whickers at him, and Pegasus, his own mount, pokes her head over the stable door waiting for the apples he always brings. She stares until he’s forced to apologize and show her his empty hands. They’re both safe and warm and that’s good, but there’s no sign that Geralt has been here at all.
Jaskier wanders in search of places Geralt might have gone. The streets of the market are empty except for the occasional overflowing puddle where dirt road has worn away. The smithy is shut up for the day. The grand total of two people who are also out in the rain are no help at all.
Maybe Geralt went to go grouch at the awful mage, which would be very much an improvement over Geralt grouching at him. Also, entirely understandable because the woman is insufferable and Jaskier wants to do a great deal more than grouch at her about it. Either way, it’s the only place Jaskier hasn’t checked, so he sets off in that direction with only minimal grumbling about the weather.
The trek isn’t a long one, but it’s outside of the town proper. The landscape is probably quite beautiful under normal circumstances, but with the rain coming down, and worry crawling up Jaskier’s spine, it’s all horribly bleak. Grass and leaves that might normally be vibrant are dull in the lack of sunlight, leaving the rolling hills feeling like some melancholy memory. The mud squelches uncomfortably under Jaskier’s boots with every step. The poor man who’s caught himself out in this mess looks completely miserable in the hopelessly inadequate shelter of a solitary tree.
Said man lifts his head enough to slough some of the rainwater off of his face, and Jaskier’s heart lurches. It’s not any of the number of progressively more horrifying scenarios Jaskier’s mind cooked up to explain Geralt’s disappearance, but that’s a small comfort in the face of what he’s found instead. Wishing he’d thought to bring a blanket (or anything else, really), Jaskier ignores the rain and the mud, cutting across the meadow to make his way to Geralt.
---
He does not know how much time has passed. Long enough to slide from despair to fury and back again. Anger is the simpler one to cope with, so by the time he feels a hand on his shoulder, he’s bristling against the urge to snarl at his would be salvation. His chest shudders with it, even if he can’t hear himself protest. “I don’t need your help. I’m-”
What is he? Mutant? Monster? He’s the kind of creature villagers assume feels nothing. He’s the sort of thing a mage assumes no one will miss. He’s an entity defined by what he destroys, and in that he’s not so terribly different from the creatures he engineers the demise of. Hardly a person at all sometimes.
And yet, in the face of all his ire, there is still a hand on his shoulder. Fingers curl around it. A hand then, and he sullenly expects he’s going to be bullied into standing up, but it isn’t what happens at all. Against his thigh, he feels someone sink down to their knees. The hand leaves, but only in favor of being a pair of arms that draw him in. The bard, then. Stupid man. He’ll be whining about mud stains on his clothes later, not that Geralt is likely to hear a word of it.
Left to his own devices, Jaskier basks in his creature comforts. Warm spaces and comfortable beds and not the mud and the cold, cold rain. He must be lonely too, Geralt notes, because he hasn’t left Geralt in all this time, and the witcher can’t even hear him to carry on a conversation, and yet Jaskier stays.
What a pair they make. Geralt really shouldn’t need mercy in any shape, being what he is, but he wearily leans into it anyway. He’ll dredge up the energy to pull himself together, but right now he’s just tired. Bit by bit, he caves in the face of unsolicited affection, until he’s cautiously feeling his way up Jaskier’s arms, along his shoulders, cradling the bard’s face. He should let go. He means to. Jaskier leans into his hands and Geralt finds they just won’t budge.
It’s a stupid thing, an emotional thing, a want he’s set aside to gather dust because he knows better. But his mind has been shrieking its loneliness and isolation for what might have been hours, and the face cradled in his palms is sopping wet from the rain, but it’s Jaskier’s and he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. So, when he pulls Jaskier into a clumsy sort of kiss, it’s not so much about desire as it is about contact. He cannot see, cannot hear, cannot smell, but he can feel the hammering of Jaskier’s pulse where one of his fingers settles under the bard’s jaw. He cannot witness the way Jaskier’s arms wind around his shoulders or the way his lips part in surrender, but it’s warm and real, a beacon in this lost and empty place.
Geralt does not imagine the way Jaskier’s fingers clutch at his soaked through shirt. He does not imagine the pressure of Jaskier’s lips fitting against his or the tremor of what is probably a moan when the bard licks boldly into his mouth. For a second, just a second, the awful litany of alone, alone, alone goes silent.
But all at once Jaskier retreats, panting roughly against Geralt’s jaw. There’s a featherlight kiss pressed to Geralt’s cheekbone, a hand smoothing over his rain soaked hair, affection unmistakable even though he can’t see Jaskier’s expression. And he knows Jaskier probably wants to put a pin in this until they can talk about it, but Geralt isn’t sure that’s a conversation they’ll ever even manage, and in the meantime, that awful, lonely ache bubbles to the surface.
“What are we still doing in this town?” he demands, and though he cannot hear himself, he can feel the frustration bleeding into his words like a physical thing.
There’s no answer. Of course there’s no answer. How could there be when neither of them can bridge the gap between them? Geralt heaves out a sigh and tries to jerk his hand away when Jaskier grabs for it.
Only, one of Jaskier’s hands cradle Geralt’s clenched fist, and the other gently coaxes his fingers to relax. It’s just perplexing enough that Geralt lets Jaskier smooth his hand into a flat surface, and trace a shape in the palm of it with one finger.
W
There are more letters after that. An entire word. Not that it’s any less confusing.
Waiting
---
“For what?” A scowl takes up residence on Geralt’s face, much to Jaskier’s dismay. He’d been so pleased with himself for finally thinking of a way to communicate, thinking it would ease the way for Geralt, but maybe not so much. “If I’m going to adapt to this, it’s not going to be by sitting in that room.”
Oh. Oh no. The mage had said it would wear off, but Geralt couldn’t possibly have heard. Guilt twists miserably in Jaskier’s stomach as he realized the witcher must have thought this was a permanent affliction the entire time and that Jaskier wasn’t even trying to help him fix it. “Oh Geralt. I’m so sorry. I-”
Jaskier stops mid-sentence. The witcher can’t hear him now either. So, he takes Geralt’s hand instead, and traces another word.
Temporary
“The spell?” Geralt’s eyes aren’t even pointed in Jaskier’s direction, but his very genuine surprise makes the bard’s heart ache.
Sentences are slower going, but Jaskier isn’t about let it stand that Geralt thinks he matters so little that his closest friend would just leave him with this. So he tries, watching Geralt mouth the words as he spells them out.
If not, we would be fixing it!!!!!!!!
Maybe that was too many exclamation points. Geralt’s face scrunches up, and it’s either annoyance, confusion, or the fact that the rain keeps dripping from his hair into his eyes. None of those possibilities explain, “It’s not your responsibility.”
Well, that is something they’re going to be unpacking later, at length, when Jaskier doesn’t have to confine himself to sentences his frayed patience can handle spelling out.
I would never abandon you, Geralt. Never. I
“You what?” Geralt prompts when Jaskier stops writing, so quietly Jaskier misses it in the din of the rain. The thing is, there are things he wants to say, but he rather thinks Geralt deserves to hear it. They both do.
Care. I care. About you. Ridiculous man.
“Hmm,” Geralt says, and there in the moment, their back and forth is almost familiar. Jaskier allows himself a relieved sort of smile.
Now can we PLEASE go inside?
---
It’s longer than Geralt is sure he’s got the tolerance for before the spell finally fades. It does fade though, and Geralt doesn’t at all appreciate the mage’s parting gift. As it turns out, not even relief can just be gentle.
There’s no quiet easing of the world back into its rightful place, and while the wave it rides in on would be uncomfortably jarring to human senses, it’s agonizing for Geralt. Geralt wakes to find he’s already caught in the midst of an avalanche, an onslaught that is truly inescapable. The morning light is gray at best, but even with his eyes closed, Geralt feels like he’s staring into the sun. Ducking away only presses his nose more firmly to the blankets that smell of old soap and even older sweat, so overwhelming he can barely breathe. It’s raining again, and where the sound might be soothing any other day, right now it’s like a constant banging right in his ear. Geralt hasn’t even sat up yet, and he’s already feeling something like vertigo, and he hasn’t been sick in ages, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t right on the edge of it now.
He sucks in a shaky breath and hides his face against the pillows, waiting for it to pass. It’s a terrible decision, all told. Absently, he fists his hands in his hair and pulls, straining to focus, but it’s only pain rolling out in one more direction. The scent of all the other people who have slept in this bed is far too much and with his eyes squeezed shut, Geralt scrabbles for the edge of the bed, stomach lurching threateningly.
It doesn’t matter in the end. Nothing comes up but an awful, sour taste that collects at the back of his throat, and that might be worse because the nausea refuses to pass. There’s nothing comfortable about his head hanging over the side of the bed. The room itself isn’t offensive, but even the subtle sweetness of the wine left in the bottom of a carafe across the room is too much, inescapably so.
Geralt doesn’t realize he’s even made a sound, but a warm hand splays between his bare shoulder blades, more familiar now than it’s ever been. Jaskier, bless him, has probably been practically vibrating with the need to have a conversation, but he doesn’t try to. He doesn’t speak, barely even breathes as he presses closer and coaxes Geralt from the side of the bed.
Rosemary. Jaskier shuffles and Geralt catches a hint of it, and it’s the first thing since he’s woken up that hasn’t threatened to upend his stomach. So really, it’s just instinct that makes him roll over and take reluctant refuge in the space under Jaskier’s chin. Conveniently, Jaskier folds his arms around Geralt like the witcher belongs there, and the bard’s shoulder blocks the light far better than anything else so far.
Jaskier must feel when Geralt’s pride catches up with the rest of him, because there’s a hand cradling his head, a thumb sweeping indulgently across his temple. Still, Jaskier doesn’t speak, but Geralt can feel the bard’s lips move against his hairline. Stay.
“I don’t need this,” Geralt mutters, his own voice like screaming right in his ear. He hates the way he shudders in the wake of it. “I’m not-”
“Geralt. You don’t have to be unbreakable.” Jaskier whispers, but it’s a careful thing, quiet it enough that it almost doesn’t hurt. “I’m certainly not.”
“It’s different.” Against Geralt’s forehead, he can feel the steady beat of Jaskier’s heart. “You’re human.”
“And you’re what?” Jaskier asks like the answer doesn’t matter. He scritches at the nape of Geralt’s neck, a welcome relief, no matter how much the witcher doesn’t want it to be. By inches, he melts into it, chasing after the soothing scent of rosemary and Jaskier’s skin as he hides away from the light.
“...not,” Geralt settles on, quietly as he can manage, though the rumble of the word rattles his teeth in his skull. “I can’t be this.”
“I’m going to assume by ‘this’ you mean your self-loathing… self. So no.” Jaskier smiles against Geralt’s forehead, and he wants to be frustrated, angry, something, but the feeling won’t come. Later, he might fume about the vulnerability he was forced to suffer through the last few weeks. Later, he might be inexplicably angry that Jaskier stayed and treated him like he was worth the trouble of sticking around for, even though they both know that’s ludicrous. For now though, he just doesn’t have the energy.
Instead, he thinks about the way Jaskier yielded, when all the world was dark and silent and terrible. Alone, alone, alone. Without thinking, he tips his head up, and maybe it’s to tell Jaskier to please stop talking, or maybe it’s to learn what Jaskier’s mouth feels like molded to his in the light of day. The world has still gone dreadfully sideways, and even as the aching in his head begins to recede a little, Geralt still feels one drink away from puking his guts out. He allows himself a single kiss, a quiet, tender thing before reality overwhelms anything he might happen to want.
“Right. Good. Okay, I guess that clears some things up. Anyway, don’t be that.” Jaskier’s voice is painful in the way every sound is painful, but it’s more the tolerable, pressing on a fading bruise kind of hurt, and Geralt bears it willingly. When Geralt shuffles to press his forehead against the bard’s collarbone, Jaskier doesn’t resist or give chase. He snuggles into the blankets, his body a buffer of sorts. Geralt hears a quiet hitch in Jaskier’s breathing, an anxious hesitation before he pulls the witcher more snugly into his arms. “Just be mine.”
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shemakesmusic-uk · 3 years
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This segment features artists who have submitted their tracks/videos to She Makes Music. If you would like to be featured here then please send an e-mail to [email protected]. We look forward to hearing from you!
Emily Kate
Toronto-based recording artist, Emily Kate perfectly bridges the gap between country and pop with her unique sound and lyrical storytelling. Pulling from real life experiences, her music conveys relatable thoughtful messages weaved with fresh, soulful melodies. Her meaning filled lyrics coupled with her warm sound is often described as Kelsea Ballerini meets a motivational speaker. She has just released her new EP All In. “These songs have taught me how to love myself, feel inspired, chase my dreams, have fun and grow as a person,” says Emily. “They've been my reminder and helped me through heartbreaks, insecurities, and now they get to be yours. All In features a track which I wrote the morning after a fun night out. This upbeat song is about going out with friends and meeting someone who takes your breath away. Its lyrics are a twist on the common saying, you had me at hello, and instead, this song is about someone having you ‘The Whole Time.’” Listen below.
Emily Kate · The Whole Time
Jordana Talsky
Jordana Talsky is a singer-songwriter and vocal looper who fuses multi-genre influences into her own sound. She accompanies herself by voice with a Roland Boss RC505 loop station. Her ethos is to incorporate digital means into live performance in an organic way, and with the loop machine, she creates a choir on the spot with no pre-recorded parts. Her new single ‘Oh Yeah,’ represents a moment of awakening, like when you remember something you had forgotten about a dream that all of a sudden comes back in a flash, a moment to stand outside of yourself and contemplate, embrace, and inquire of your life. “It takes work, all the time, to choose not to look away and to be honest with ourselves,” says Jordana. “These moments, delicate and challenging, are insights into our authentic selves, that may offer a fresh vantage point from which we can choose to heal and evolve. Inspirational, fun and harmony-rich indie-pop, ‘Oh Yeah’ is about listening to your inner voice and taking faith in the spark you uncovered deep within you.” Listen below.
Jordana Talsky · Oh Yeah
Nimkish
To fully immerse in the multitudes of rising queer Indigenous star, Nimkish, is to honour the past, look ahead to the future, and bask in the resplendent present all at once. The Vancouver-based artist is fearless in her lyricism, confronting anti-Indigenous racism and colonial violence alongside other hard subjects like anxiety, grief and heartache. To the great tradition of singer-songwriters healing through their music, Nimkish brings a bright-eyed aim to flourish in all she has experienced. Nimkish’s lyrics give affirmation to past pain while living in the moment. To some it may sound like escapism, to others it may sound like moxie-driven R&B-pop pulsing through the club. What’s certain is her fortitude — she’s on a mission, combining the coolness and creativity of the TikTok generation with the lucidity and confidence of a grown woman. Nimkish’s anthemic new single, ‘YSB,’ features ASCXNSION and is about the need for healing, freedom, and to be heard. "’YSB’ is about the need for healing, freedom, and to be heard,” explains Nimkish. “Are you listening? Do you hear me? Am I screaming out into nothing? This song is about feeling like you can't get ahead, and specific issues that we as Indigenous women work through on a daily basis. Our generation has been left to deal with trauma and we are continually fighting for equity. It can feel exhausting to constantly try to be truly heard. I wanted to go deeper on this project and write about real shit. What we have created is anthemic, resilient, and confrontational, despite the vulnerability that it took to write about our lived experiences. This release is about showcasing Indigenous excellence and the need to amplify our voices. Our time is now – the future is Indigenous.” Listen below.
NIMKISH · YSB (feat. ASCXNSION)
Tana
Tana is an artist, writer and a topliner with charge and a unique flair for lyrics and melody. Her rich and diverse views on gay culture, have strongly influenced her musical and personal journey. Tana’s music is unapologetic, revolutionary, and liberating. At heart, Tana is a true artist, and is inspired by many things around her - people, sexuality, her heritage (being half Italian and Nigerian), the city she grew up in, and the LGBT community. She places diversity at heart and aims to make music that relates to the masses, whilst pushing her creativity at all times. Her array of influences create new ideas and sounds that break traditional boundaries. Think Halsey & The Weekend. She has just released her new single ‘Bad Habits (Keep On Coming)’. Tana says of the track: “I wrote ‘Bad Habits (Keep On Coming)’ over lockdown, and it’s about wanting to grow from a toxic relationship. I found myself holding onto flaws and limitations that really effected my personal growth, and writing about it helped me recognise these issues and learn from this experience.” Listen below.
Love Crumbs
Love Crumbs is a folk-rock and Americana group based in Massachusetts. Known for blending poignant lyrics with evocative vocal storytelling, their nostalgic, timeless, heart-on-sleeve sound harkens to a bygone era. They have just released their new single ‘Ellipses’. “The track is about trying to connect with someone and not being able to despite the best of intentions,” says Mike. “It's about the things that aren't said or are left unsaid. It's about a meaningful relationship that ended kind of suddenly. The person was typing to me (as evidenced by the "...") but I never got to hear their response. Closure isn't something that someone gives us, in the end. It's something that we have to come to on our own. The sonic influences for me on this track, probably in particular the chord changes in the verses are Neil Young, the pre-chorus Tom Waits.  I wanted to stack Ali's vocals because it has an unreal sound (not occurring naturally, similar to Royals by Lorde) that can work in the right context.” Listen below.
Love Crumbs · Ellipses
Anniee
Anniee is an electronic artist and theatre composer based in Montclair, NJ just outside NYC. As a vocalist she has performed in a variety of styles and genres. Recently she has turned her attention to producing synthwave and retrowave tracks with modern and minimalist vibes. She has just released her new track 'Lonely Wolves'. "'Lonely Wolves' is moody and driving, with retro vibes and a modern sensibility—an intense journey exploring breakdown in relationship," says Anniee. Listen below.
Anniee · Lonely Wolves
Leah Rose
Emerging pop songwriter and producer Leah Rose has released her debut single ‘Goodnight’. The melancholic hue of ‘Goodnight’ arises from the sentimentality of a writer reflecting on a landscape they no longer exist in. The song was written and recorded in lockdown and is a prime example of how an artists’ time in isolation can result in the inevitable dissection of their past. Sonically, ‘Goodnight’ was inspired by artists such as Lorde, The Weeknd and Charli XCX. Leah Rose is a Cork-born artist who has spent the last 5 years based in Dublin. She spent much of that time honing her craft, finding inspiration in lyricists such as Alex Turner and Lana Del Rey. Strong imagery and colour play a huge role in Leah’s songwriting. Growing up with artists for parents meant that Leah was exposed to a range of visual art forms at a young age. She strives to create art not only through music but through her artwork, photography and overall visual aesthetic. “I see my songwriting style as atmospheric and somewhat abstract,” she says. “I love being able to use music as a tool to materialise the things I see in my mind. So when I write a song I try to place the listener right in the centre of my memories and daydreams”. Listen to ‘Goodnight’ below.
Leah Rose · Goodnight
Felyce
Felyce's alt-pop root influences shine through on her shuffling and atmospheric alternative Pop/R&B new single ‘Skin’. The Paris-based singer-songwriter Felyce shares the struggle she faced accepting the color of her skin while growing in France. Getting away from slow tempos, ‘Skin’ offers an energetic but still dark ambiance. Felyce wrote and performed ‘Skin’ and she worked with professional arranger Nicolas Lassus to make the song what it is now. She said in statement: "I wrote 'Skin' thinking about that beautiful story I heard once. A young black girl wondered why her skin was so dark and her mother told her the reason was because the sun loved her too much. That story really stuck with me". Born and raised in Paris, she spent most of her time between stage performances and school until high school when she put most of her focus on studying while writing her first full songs on the side. Felyce graduated from university in 2016 before starting a short career in HR but she realized that music was the only career for her and began learning production the next year while working on her debut EP Fear which dropped in 2018. She's been steadily releasing singles and crafting her sound since; embracing her formative influences, including British pop music acts like Sam Smith, Robbie Williams, Birdy, and American pop acts such as Lana Del Rey or Banks. Listen to ‘Skin’ below.
Kenzie Webley
Kenzie Webley has been writing songs since she was 13 years old but only started recording last year just before lockdown. Her new single 'Loveable' is out now to coincide with her finishing her A levels. Her debut album is almost finished and she already has the songs written for her second album! 'Loveable' tells the story of a couple arguing in public after a night out. It's from the perspective of someone who recognises their own culpability in the events. Listen below.
URARTA
URARTA’s new EP consists of four tracks centred around the issues of standing up for yourself and others, respecting the planet’s boundaries and looking out for your own. Musically, the band has its heart in punk, but simultaneously flirts with genres such as post punk, alt-rock, noise, Goth and indie. The lyrics are in English and in the dialect of Skåne –the southern part of Sweden where the band also has its geographical base. URARTA consists of Monica Richter (vocals), Ketty Hagmann (bass) and Tove Lorentz (drums). Listen to the song ‘D.I.Y’ below.
Vol 2: Vi Fick Fel Adress by Ursäkta Röran
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phoenixfeatherquill · 4 years
Text
Midwinter (1/5)
AN: I’m doing a Midsommar fic and you guys can’t stop me. I’m in the mood for dark fucked up smut, so sue me. A friend on Twitter helped me with the Swedish!
They were going to kill her next.
It was only logical.  Once the Midsommar celebrations were complete, once her title of May Queen was completed, once the community settled into their usual routines, Dani felt certain they would kill her.  Perhaps for their next ritual.  A harvest festival?  A midwinter ceremony?  Dani didn’t know.  She didn’t especially care.
The thought did not concern her.  Death was no longer something to be feared, just an inevitability she would reckon with when the time came.  She had lost her sister, her parents, and now Christian…
She did not want to think about Christian.  His death had brought her a euphoric, crazed delight, a sense of control that she’d never felt before.  
She smiled.  It was still dark, but she knew it was morning.  Her body had shifted its circadian rhythms to accept darkness as a reality in the fall and winter, She smiled a lot more nowadays, it seemed.  
“Dani? Are you awake?”
She shifted to her side.  Her bed used to be next to Christian’s and Josh’s, but now there was no more Christian or Josh.  Now her bed lay next to Pelle’s, which gave her a curious combination of fear and protection.  
“Now I am,” She whispered back to him.  
“It’s morning now,” He said softly and sat up. “Let’s walk together.”
She raised herself up on one elbow.  No one else seemed to be up, save for a few mothers who were cooing at fussy babies.  
“It’s still dark,” She murmured.
“It will get darker as we get closer to Yule. Come. It’ll be too cold for morning walks soon.”
He offered his hand to her.  Pelle had been taking her on a lot of walks lately.  He was an early riser naturally, something that Dani would never be able to relate to, but she shrugged nevertheless and pulled on a pair of denim shorts.  
Pelle shook his head.  “Too cold for those. Almost October.”
She looked at him.  He knew perfectly well that she only had about a week’s worth of clothes, all summer garments.  She was only supposed to have been here for a week.
“Here,” He tossed her a pair of fleece-lined pants.  She’d seen him wear them before.  They were far too big for her, but she was able manage them, tightening the strings as far as they would go.  He gave her a sweatshirt too and she tugged it on as well.  It smelled a little of peppermint and something flipped in her stomach.  She hadn’t worn another man’s clothes since Christian…
“Ready?” He asked her with a smile.  
“You owe me coffee,” She returned and pulled on her sneakers.  
“Deal,” He took her hand in his and led her outside.
It was that odd time of morning partial to Sweden, where darkness surrounded the community but light framed the edges, as though the sun wanted to come out but wasn’t sure how.  The cold grass tickled Dani’s ankles and she shivered a little.  Pelle squeezed her hand a little as they began to make their usual rounds about the compound.  
“I’m surprised it hasn’t snowed,” She commented.
“Soon,” Pelle told her. “Probably this week, actually. We’ll need to get you warmer clothes.”
Dani said nothing.  She didn’t see much point in that, since she was fairly certain they would kill her eventually.  Still, Pelle seemed to expect a response, so she said simply, “I like wearing your clothes.”
Pelle laughed.  “I like you wearing them too. But they’re too tall for you. You’re so small, Dani.”
His voice was undeniably tender and Dani looked up at him.  He cared for her, at least of a sort.  Months and months had passed since the summer solstice. Perhaps he was fond enough of her to be truthful now.
She stopped short in front of the remains of the burned temple.  The fastidious Hårga had not cleaned up much of the temple ruins; she could still see the blackened pieces of wood all around. She inhaled deeply and smelled the incoming frost Pelle warned her of—but in her mind’s eye, she could still smell the pungent stench of burning flesh.  
“When will you rebuild it?” She asked him.
“Spring,” Pelle told her. “One of our rituals to welcome the sun. And you’ll preside, as our May Queen.”
Dani looked at him hard. “Will I?”
Pelle looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I’m the last one left,” She said pointedly. “How long do I have?”
Realization clouded Pelle’s sky blue eyes.  “Oh, Dani…no. You are our May Queen. We won’t have another queen for ninety years; until the next Midsommar celebration…that is, we will still celebrate the solstice. But not like last time.”
Dani digested this.  She doubted this meant that the Hårga would let her leave.  This didn’t particularly bother her though, because Dani was having trouble remembering what there was to return to.  Her family was dead, Christian was gone, and she couldn’t quite summon the energy to care about finishing her degree.  She had friends that were probably wondering where she was.
“What will I do here?” She asked him.
“Whatever you please,” Pelle told her seriously. “We honor the May Queen. She is…our goddess, you might say.”
Dani considered.  “What does that entail?”
“Different ceremonies,” Pelle knelt down and picked up a bit of charred wood interestedly. “A ceremony to say goodbye to the sun—we’ll symbolically say goodbye to you and you will sleep in your own rooms, rather than in the common area. When spring comes again, we welcome the sun and you back into our common area. We celebrate, we feast, we make merry—”
“Sounds lonely,” Dani said without thinking.  She wasn’t sure where that came from.  When she first arrived at Hårga, she’d resented the lack of privacy.  The cacophony of coughs, snores, and lovemaking kept her up at all hours.  But somehow she’d gotten used to it and her own chambers, separate from the Hårga seemed isolating.  
“No, no,” Pelle shook his head. “We adore our May Queen. We…pamper her, you might say. The best foods, wines, ales, whatever she needs. And she may choose a consort, if she wishes.”
He tossed the charred wood towards the temple and Dani started a bit. “Consort?”
“Yes,” Pelle replied but didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.  Dani waited a few moments and when she realized Pelle wasn’t going to continue, she exhaled.
“What does a consort do?” She crossed her arms.
A small, somewhat sly smile crossed Pelle’s face.  “Oh…whatever the May Queen desires.”
“Ah,” Dani kicked a piece of burnt wood. “I get it. I don’t know if I’d be into that.”  
Pelle cocked his head.  “Oh?”
She really did not want to get into this conversation.  Besides, he’d been close to Christian, hadn’t he?  He probably had heard all about how bad she was in bed, how frigid she was, how there was something wrong with her.  She chewed her lip.  She had walked in on Christian complaining to Mark about this very subject once, and she recalled the burning humiliation and the subsequent fight.  
“I don’t want to force anyone to do anything they don’t want to,” Dani said finally. “Especially with me.”
“No one forces anyone to do anything,” Pelle told her earnestly. “It’s considered an honor to be chosen by the May Queen. But people may refuse the gift, if they wish.”
“They’d refuse with me,” Dani retorted.
“What makes you say that?”
“Pelle,” Dani sighed. “I’m not stupid. I know—I know Christian complained about me to you and Mark and Josh.”
The sun had just started its slow ascent and Dani noticed its cautious gold touch the tips of Pelle’s hair.  He was silent for a long moment, as though trying to pick his words carefully.  
“Christian was my dear friend,” He said finally. “But he—was not always honest with himself.”
He scratched his head. “My sister was not overly impressed by him. Nor my aunts.”
Pelle was referring to the strange, outlandish sex ritual Dani had caught Christian participating in with Pelle’s underage sister.  She shuddered at the memory.  
“Is that what it’s like here?” She asked in disgust. “All those women watching? Chanting?”
He shrugged.  “Not always. Maja wanted to get pregnant. It was her first time, so she was nervous. Our aunties were there to support her, comfort her, ask the gods for a baby.”
There was so much of Hårga culture Dani would never understand.  Women crooning over her as a man penetrated her—the idea seemed repulsive.  The ritual seemed to have worked, in any case; Maja had announced her pregnancy a week prior.  The news had filled Dani with the strangest emotion of all—apathy.  She did not care that Maja was having Christian’s baby. She had no jealousy, no anger, just blissful neutrality.  
“My point is,” Pelle cleared his throat. “I thought—I have always thought—Christian was unfair to you.”
Dani narrowed her eyes.  “You’re just saying that to be nice.”
“No,” He shook his head. “In fact…”
He hesitated for a moment and Dani stared at him curiously.  The sun had nearly risen now, and people were leaving the common area to prepare breakfast and start their early morning chores.  
“I would show you,” Pelle said finally. “If you were to choose me as your consort.”
Dani’s mouth went dry.  She hadn’t felt this taken aback since she’d been named the May Queen and he’d taken her face in his hands and kissed her so deeply.  Color rushed to her cheeks and she couldn’t figure out how to respond.
“Pelle! Jag måste prata med dig.”
Ulf was calling him.  Pelle cast a almost mischievous grin towards her and jogged towards Ulf.  Ulf glanced at her and gave her a cautious smile.  Dani couldn’t seem to figure out how to move her legs.  She watched the two men disappear around one of the cabins, speaking in rapid Swedish.  
I would show you, if you were to choose me as your consort.
She hadn’t planned on choosing anyone as her consort.  Spending the entire winter having her every whim catered to seemed a promising prospect (though who could really tell with the silver-tongued Hårga), but the whole concubine nonsense seemed…archaic.  She didn’t need a consort.  She was just fine on her own.  Sex was stressful and Christian had played on every insecurity of hers when they were together, making the whole prospect seem so unappealing…it had been a relief when he stopped bothering her for sex, which only happened after her family died…
She thought of the barely concealed disgust on Pelle’s face as he’d delicately suggested that Christian had been the problem, not her.  She was also forced to admit that she thought of his kiss more often than she should. It was not the gentle kisses on her cheeks her handmaids (as they called themselves) gave her when she was crowned, but something altogether deep and passionate.  
He hadn’t kissed her again, so did it truly matter?
She started towards one of the cabins, where she knew they would be preparing breakfast.  But as she crossed the commune, she couldn’t help but hear Pelle and Ulf speaking passionately.  
They were standing near Pelle’s garden and hadn’t noticed her—not that they would’ve cared.  Most of the Hårga believed her Swedish was rudimentary at best, and they were mostly right.  But while her conversation skills were lacking, Dani understood more than they thought.  
She was not an eavesdropper at any rate, so she would’ve walked on by—until she heard her name.  
“Stannar du här på grund av Dani?”
She froze.  She understood that sentence.  Ulf was asking Pelle if he was staying because of her.  In an instant, she remembered that Pelle was in university too and had not returned to finish his degree.  
“Hon är ensam.”
She is…something.  But by the concern in Pelle’s tone, Dani guessed he was explaining why.  
“Din resa är inte slut än.”
Ulf was telling him he wasn’t finished with…a journey?  His journey.  
“Mitt öde är här.”
Pelle’s journey was…here.  Here?  
“Älskar du henne?”
She didn’t understand that one.  Ulf was asking him something.  Something about her.
“Ja.”
Yes. Dani shook herself.  Enough snooping.  She was hungry.  So what if it sounded like Pelle was staying in Hårga for her?  What did it matter?  They would dispose of her as soon as she inevitably offended them. Like Mark.  Like Josh.  Pelle was too optimistic.  And anyway, why should she trust him?
The memory of his lips on hers flashed through her mind.  She swallowed hard.
Fuck.
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mallowbees · 4 years
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i dont know much about TMA but ,, could you tell me a bit about avatars? I want to make a sona really bad because they look so cool haha
Oh heck YEAH I can!!
Right so!! Avatars are people who have had experiences with or behavior that aligned with one of the 14(15 kinda?) fear entities and end up serving them!! Throwing people to their, for lack of better words, god, to feed off of their fears and occasionally try to kick of rituals to make their god strong and getting some sweet powers as a reward!
!! It’s gonna be kinda hard to avoid spoilers with explaining this, so I’ll try to keep it to the minimum but some spoilers for avatar people’s stuff :’D !!
The 14 are as follows (I’m just gonna snag most of this from the wiki but anything not in italics is me):
The Burried :
Also called The Center, Choke, Too Close I Cannot Breathe.
The fear of claustrophobia, small spaces, of being unable to breathe and the underground and dust. Being at the centre of everything and it is all pushing down. Fear of being trapped without enough space.
Notable avatar person I can think of is 18th centry guy who worked in a grave yard and would nap in the graves cause it was quiet and when they installed bells incase someone was actually alive when they burried them they could ring it, so someone rang it and he cut the line because he thought they were nice and deserved to sleep, also early episode lost johns cave is a good example but doesnt have an avatar in it so hfgh
The Corruption :
Also called Filth, The Crawling Rot, or The Hive.
This entity is linked closely to our feelings of disgust, of feeling revulsion and fear of corruption, disease, filth. Manifests as mould, bugs, rot, decay, infection. The feeling of your skin crawling.
Jane Prentiss, she wanted to be loved and found love in a bunch of worms in a wasp nest in her attic, so she became their hive, she loves her worms and her worms love her, they sing
Also other guy I genuinely don't know his name he just made everyone sick at that retirement home with disease and hung out at hill top road a few times, got sealed in concrete and he always looked like he was skin and slightly rotting
The Dark :
Also called Mr. Pitch, The Forever Blind, The Sandman
A manifestation of our very primal fear of the dark, of what lies beyond what we can sense. What might be in it?
One of the oldest of the Entities.
Uhh cult kidnapped that one kid i think that was them, i dont know who the dark avatar is actually
The Desolation :
Also called The Lightless Flame, The Torturing Flame, The Devastation, Blackened Earth.
This entity deals in fear of pain, of loss, burning, fear of unthinking or cruel destruction.
Acolytes are enriched by destroying the lives of people who had things to live for, destroying things before their potential is realised. In exchange, the cult members can create heat--but not fire--and gain the ability to make their skin run like wax.
They burn from the inside and consume everything in flames, Jude Perry and Agnes Montague are the two i know, Agnes was born into it and died because of forbidden love and Jude set her girlfriends flat on fire so hgfhfg
The End :
Also called Death, Terminus, The Coming End That Waits For All And Cannot Be Ignored.
This entity deals in the fear of death itself, uncaring and unstoppable.
No known attempts at a ritual, presumably because it sees no need to, as Death claims all in the end.
Oliver Banks!! Had dreams of strings that tied people to their deaths, actual rational avatar, also didnt ask for this but he does pretty well. Also commited identity fraud
The Eye :
Also called Beholding, The Watcher, The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You.
This entity is fear of being watched, exposed, followed, of having secrets known, but also the drive to know and understand, even if your discoveries might destroy you. Fear that you’re suffering for the sake of something watching.
Elias!! Horrible man!! Can body hop! Just wants to watch the drama unfold and get more power. Knows lots of things and compulsion ! Also Jon because he reckless curiosity kinda screwed him over there and yeah. And that one security guy who got consumed by a watcher lietner watching other people via security camera, rip that guy
The Flesh :
Also called Viscera.
Born from the fear of animals bred for meat, and in the human realisation that we are just animated meat and bones.
Manifests as strange bodies being twisted, reshaped, and butchered.
Thought to be the newest of the 14, born around the time of the Industrial Revolution
Jared Hopworth! Got a Lietner, runs a gym to change bodies into what people want until they're practically not human anymore, likes most bones if they're good bones
The Hunt :
Hunting and chase and violence, this is an animalistic fear, very old and primal. Fear of being hunted, being prey.
Less able to affect people due to our self-removal from the food chain. Self-proclaimed monster hunters (and those who do the same without referring to themselves as such) run a strong chance of becoming Hunters and then having a need to hunt and kill monsters.
Daisy! Things get kinda messed up when you combine non-human impulses with a person so! Murder! violence!
The Lonely :
Also called Forsaken, The One Alone The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone. Fear of being disconnected.
Peter lukas, Martin, grew up lonely and shunned idk what you expected, can literally vanish, cool aethetic- Also that one girl who married one of the lukas’, nayomi? But she wasnt an avatar just with one
The Slaughter :
This entity feeds off of pure, unpredictable, unmotivated violence. Strong ties to war. Fear of not knowing, where, when, how or if pain will come but that it will. Can be violent like a frenzied killer or calm and regimented like soldiers firing on the battlefield.
Melanie! Anger! Murder! Stabby stab! Justificated feeling that your anger is right!
The Spiral :
Also called Es Mentiras, It Is Lies, The Twisting Deceit, It Is Not What It Is.
This entity is fear of madness, of being lost, that your world is wrong, that your mind is lying to you. It deals with deception, lying, deceiving the mind and senses.
Michael! Helen! I don’t,, really know what to say on this one hgfhfg
The Stranger :
Also called I Do Not Know You.
Fear of the unknown. That creeping sense that something isn’t right. Also of unfamiliar people. Manifests as objects pretending to be humans, like mannequins and taxidermied people.
Theyre not people they arent who they arE
The Vast :
Also called The Falling Titan.
This entity deals in our fear of our own insignificance in this universe, of losing yourself in too much space. Its effects involve void, vertigo, and falling, but also anything to do with openness and open spaces, fears like Agoraphobia, fear of deep water.
Simon fairchild is honest to god just vibing hes having so much fun also reeeally long lifespan he likes watching people fall off this and falling off himelf, also mike crew who didnt ask for this but just kinda ended up there anyway cause he got struck by lightning on a hill and got a book
The Web :
Also called The Spider, Mother of Puppets.
Deals with fear of being controlled, entrapped, being trapped and not knowing it, and your will not being your own, of being manipulated. Manifests as spiders and spider webs and patterns like spider webs.
The Extiction :
Also called The Terrible Change, The Future Without Us, The World Is Always Ending
The 15th Entity hypothesized by Adelard Dekker to be currently emerging. 
It is not yet confirmed to actually exist, if it is yet to be officially born, or if it is a combination of other powers and their overlap. It deals with the fear of catastrophic change, the destruction of humanity and its replacement by something different, especially via mankind's own causing.
Man-made elements are one of its hallmarks.
Avatars of other Entities would like to prevent it from emerging if possible.
Nobody on this one yet but yeah!!
So!! Usually it’s either the thing you are scared of embraces you and flips your behavior on its head, (Scared of being alone? Make other people alone! Scared of falling? Make other people fall!) Or something you like vibe with embraces and justifies you even if it scares you (Want to know?? Huh?? Buddy? Wanna Know? Or you just want some love? Get u some worms) Like if your experiences fall under one of the categories you probably go there if you’re not afraid of it, or if something happens and you’re terrified of it but not dead you’ll probably end up there hfhghgfh
Oh also here’s a what entity are you quiz if that helps ghfhfgh: https://uquiz.com/quiz/zxE9GQ/which-tma-entity-are-you-aligned-with?embed=False
Basically, does it scare you a little? Does it vibe with you a bit? There you go! You have an entity now! Have fun! HFGhfh
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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years
Text
I had an ask about Ray/Mikey fics a few days ago and I finally had the time to make one 😅 I realized that kind of a lot of my bookmarks for this ship are smut but since the ask didn't specify, I mostly left those out. (If you want the porn, you gotta tell me *eyebrow waggle*) I added some cool stuff that I found on AO3 to make up for what my bookmark are lacking, though!
Ray/Mikey
you wanna get it for free by akamine_chan, 2k, Explicit. Ray's a wrestler, you see...
The Fundamental Theorem of Philosophically Inclined Music Majors or How Mikey Way Almost Invented the Flux Capacitor by notthequiettype, 4k, Teen And Up Audiences. College AU. Ray's writing his senior thesis; Mikey's just the TA to help him.
That Rockstar Shit by ladyfoxxx, 2k, General Audiences. It's not that Mikey's never noticed Ray. He just never thought Ray had noticed him.
clear and present danger by Trojie, 5k, Mature. In which Mikey is the failiest most disaster-prone stick insect, and Ray scoops him out of harm's way a lot
Hallelujah (Lock and Load) by fictionalaspect, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. Mikey pauses in front of him on his way into the kitchen. "Where did your hair go," he says. He waves a hand around his face in an accurate approximation of Ray's unruly orange halo. "Oh," Ray says, looking up, and tugs his hair out of the elastic band he'd found in the silverware drawer. He shakes it out for a moment, looks up at Mikey through the curtain, and then ties it back again when Mikey nods like he's satisfied. "Just checking," Mikey says, over his shoulder. "Your hair is a constant in my life."
Tell Me Something True by ladyfoxxx, 15k, Explicit. Mikey and Ray – friends, bandmates, brothers, zonerunners, lovers, killjoys. A story that spans fourteen years.
Mikey Gets His Man by Green, 6k, Explicit. Mikey is a size queen.
Release the Bats by Sena, 10k, Mature. Sure, Mikey's a vampire, but Ray's okay with that. He's still Mikey, after all, still Ray's friend, still dorky and sweet and funny and amazing and, yeah. Maybe Ray likes him as more than just a friend.
L For Lucky (M for Mine) by orphan_account, 42k, Explicit. “Yeah, look.” Mikey turns his head to peer at the crowd over his shoulder. “This is going to seem weird, but.” He stares behind him and seems, for a moment, at a loss for words. “Well, there’s no tasteful way to say it.” Mikey looks Ray in the eye and just shrugs. “This is a highly organized sexual gathering for very specifically kinky people.” Ray feels a bit of spittle lodge in his throat and tries his best not to sputter when he disagrees, “That’s actually a pretty tasteful description of an orgy.”
Catching Pieces of a Fallen Sky by snarkydame, Ray/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 21k, Mature. Ray and Frank are the only survivors of the Jersey Queen, an independent freighter hit by (space!) pirates. In the chaos, the doomed ship took a blind jump through the hyperways, leaving them stranded in a dark and lonely quadrant of space. Mikey and Gerard are the last remaining crew of a legendary "ghost" ship, the Ravenkroft, which has been lost for the fifty years since the War that Broke the Stations. They've been avoiding inhabited space due to emotional scarring from the loss of their crew, and a feeling of isolation due to the fact that they are in fact cyborgs. They pick up Ray and Frank's escape pod, and promise to help them. In the process, old feeling of guilt are assuaged, new emotional ties are wrought, and the legendary ship comes home.
For a Different View by impertinence, 50k, Explicit. AU. Ray Toro is a girl, Rae, but MCR is still just MCR. (Written for bandombigbang '08.)
There Is Just One Thing I Need by Honestmouse, 13k, Teen And Up Audiences. Just a short, sweet one shot about Mikey Way and Christmas time. Except wait, life isn't exactly a Hallmark movie. Mikey could tell you that first hand. Life isn't just kisses in the falling snow and sugary sweets. Sometimes, your gift on Christmas isn't the newest band merch or a nice gift card. Sometimes... sometimes that gift is a person.
3,2,1. We came to... by DisenchantedHalo (Morgawse), 12k, Explicit. Ray is challenged by Frank to come up with a 'fun' way to pass their time in the New Jersey State Prison. Mikey thinks it ought to involve a way of them getting out, because none of them belong in there - right? Ray remembers that early on in his time with his cell-mates, Gerard told a story about using the energy of your orgasm to get what you want. What could be better than combining all three?
This ain't a hero complex, it's a goddamn compulsion by daniomalley, 13k, Teen And Up Audiences. Mikey is on a desperate and dangerous mission, and encounters an unexpected ally along the way. But Ray has some secrets of his own, and they're catching up to him.
If You've Seen True Light by dear_monday, 8k, Teen And Up Audiences. Mikey is, first, last and forever, what they want him to be. He can't help it, it's in his blueprint. The mortals wrought him from nothingness with the power of their belief in him, and he is what they made him. They brought him to life and circumstances pinned the title of Hades on him, and so it goes. Ray, meanwhile, is the Torchbearer, tasked with leading souls back up to the world of the living, light and life incarnate. And when he crosses the river into the underworld, he sets something in motion that neither of them can escape. (tw: discussion of death, but no actual character death.)
Need a Spark to Ignite by daniomalley, 5k, General Audiences. Written for no_tags, for the prompt: Mikey/Ray - Mikey's running out of things to break on his car just for a chance to spend more time with Ray, the ridiculously good looking mechanic.
I'm Feeling Badly, It's Not An Attempt At Decency by annemari, 17k, Explicit. Mikey enjoys being the lead singer of Asthma. It's a good time, and people like them and his bandmates are pretty cool. But everything changes when Silver Skull finds them. Now they're on the run and Mikey has no idea where to go. He ends up staying at his buddy Ray's place. Ray's fucking great, and he probably won't kick Mikey out. Things would be pretty good, if only Mikey could stop being such an asshole. And why the fuck does Ray keep insisting that Mikey has a brother?
Softly Caught The Penny In His Paw by ichangbaek, 7k, Teen And Up Audiences. The words "That'll be ___ dollars ... Enjoy your afternoon" never change. As Ray visits the comic store over the months, he observes the guy sitting there watching the world pass by. He can't help thinking that the guy seems a little sad and maybe he should get to know him more.
Define Mate by gala_apples, 10k, Mature. Love is complicated. You can love your grandfather while not wanting to clean up after the remnants of his life. You can love your boyfriend while not being able to forgive him. And you can love yourself while wishing that you didn’t have so many fucking emotions. When Ray is given the opportunity to make his mental state simpler, more primal, less conflicted, he takes it.
Before this Damage by yekoc, 10k, Explicit. The car’s the exact color of the earth, brown-roasted nothing, dust, and Jet Star dropped it a fucking mile and a half down the road, in the shaded dip behind a half-assed hill. Mikey’s sweating by the time they reach it, bandanna soaked through, and he whips it off and ties it around his forehead to keep the drops out of his eyes. In which Mikey goes looking for the rest of the Killjoys along with Ray, who isn't one of them.
FABULOUS Killjoys by iamdali, 15k, Mature. The Fabulous Killjoys have got a wedding to plan, and it's time for everyone to get involved. Gerard wants to throw his brother the best wedding this post apocalyptic world has to offer, and Frank's right by his side to lend a helping hand. It's all about love in the desert this year, so keep your gun close and your loved ones closer.
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Imperfect Tense - Part One
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Title: Imperfect Tense
One Shot: 1/3
Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC
Genre: Angst
Rating: M
Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.
Authors Notes/Warnings: This was written for @mrs-captain-evans writing challenge. My prompt was the line: “what did I do wrong?”. This was supposed to be a much shorter piece but alas it sort of ran away with me. Much like Brave Face this story deals with the concept of cheating. Apparently I wasn’t done with this idea just yet. Thanks, again, to @redfoxwritesstuff who not only encouraged this but was a fantastic support throughout its writing.
The silence of the room was overwhelming. Tom watched as she sat still as stone, eyes downcast on her hands resting open palmed in her lap. Even with her face carefully neutral and an unnatural coolness radiating from her, Tom couldn’t deny Molly was beautiful. She always had been to him and the years they’d spent together had not changed that fact for him. He fought to ignore the suitcases that sat littered around her; hoping if he ignored them then maybe they would go away even though he knew they would not.
She hadn’t uttered a word in what felt like an age, not since he had walked in the door he realized with a jolt, and, god, he wanted to scream if only just to break the suffocating silence around them. But he hadn’t. Screaming, he undoubtedly knew, would do no good. Not now. Instead, the question that has been plaguing him finally tumbled from his lips.
“What did I do wrong?”
Molly flinched at the sound of his voice and the action cut him deeply. They’d fought before and he’d seen her righteous fury and her cool disappointment. But this…This was something new and it sent waves of unease through him. She toyed idly with the ring on her finger. His ring. The soft light from the window played across the deep blue of its center stone; a sapphire, set in a thin silver band. It was simple, beautiful; much like she was. The fact that she hadn’t taken it off had to mean something, didn’t it?
After what felt like an age, she raised her head, locking her blue eyes with his own. Emotion swirled in them; far too much and far too quickly for him to pick apart. Uncertainty coursed through him, this was wrong, so very wrong. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, and for the first time since he’d walked into the room, Tom felt a real sliver of fear slither through him.
“Everything,” she whispered.
Her voice had the soft edge that he’d only ever heard when she was well and truly done. It froze his insides and he fought against the reality of what it would mean. For him. For her. For them. Molly had been his rock. The calm, quiet place of refuge and safety he had cherished above all others. She was his world and without warning, without any inkling of understanding on his part, it was seemingly all over. He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. Not when he’d worked so hard to keep this one, bright, wonderful thing in his life. He needed her.
Molly swallowed thickly and it was then he noticed the thick envelope resting beside her. “This came for you.” She held out it out to him and his fingers shook as they closed around it.
A registered letter.
He looked first at it then at her in confusion. She held his gaze and didn’t utter a word. He flipped the envelope over, noting that it had been opened (which in itself hadn’t been surprising, he’d been waiting for a contract to be delivered and had asked her to keep watch for it), and pulled the letter from it. His heart plummeted into his stomach as the words, printed in stark black and white, sank in.
‘Mr. Hiddleston, the enclosed is to inform you… Ms. Heather James… Paternity claim…one year old child Francis Henry James…Please contact at your earliest convenience…’
The letter slipped from his numb fingers. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Bile rose in his throat and he fought against the urge to vomit. This isn’t happening. Please god, this can’t be happening. He gripped the edge of the arm chair beside him to keep his balance as the world tilted unnervingly beneath him.
Tom hadn’t heard that name in nearly two years, had done his utmost best to forget it. It had been a stupid, careless mistake born of too much drink and a mad notion that his world was spinning out of control. He had been away from home for nearly six months between filming and promoting and auditioning and the distance had started to take its toll. He missed his home. His bed. His family. And god, he missed Molly. Missed her more than he could hope to express. Things hadn’t been easy and the distance was draining for them both.  
It had been a grueling day and try as he might he couldn’t seem to reach her; calls, texts, emails, Skype calls, all went unanswered. He struggled not to worry about what it might mean; he trusted Molly, but he needed her and she wasn’t there. He wanted to be angry, felt the frustration and disappointment coursing through him, but pushed those thoughts away. Her own life was hectic enough; she worked long hours in her own right (as a nurse she was no stranger to shift work and impossibly long hours) and had more often than not scarified her time and her life to meld with his. She wasn’t required to be at his beck and call; he never would demand that of her. And he’d known he had absolutely no right to begrudge her of her own life. But still, he felt the lack of contact with her acutely.
Tom hadn’t said no when later Chris, accompanied by a handful others, had come by his room and threw out the idea of drinks and dancing. He’d practically jumped at the chance to get out of that room and out of his head. He needed to relax, to unwind. This would offer him that and he’d ceased it with both hands. He couldn’t stand being in that room a moment longer.
It hadn’t taken long for Tom to lose himself in the thrum and energy of the small club. The drinks seemed to flow freely and he’d taken them one after the other. It was heaven; the dancing, the noise, the feel of people moving about in time with the music. It seemed to drown out the loneliness and that was all he’d wanted.
Tom couldn’t remember exactly when he’d registered the hands roaming over his back and shoulders. One minute he was alone on the floor and the next she was pressed against him. Her loose hair tumbled over her shoulders and there was a fire in her eyes that seemed to grab at him, anchoring him where he stood. She was beautiful, even sweating and flushed. And the quiet part of his brain that wondered if she’d look the same spread beneath him, flushed for an entirely different reason, grew steadily louder with each passing moment.
And he wanted her, more than he’d wanted anything. That quiet part of his mind grew steadily louder as they danced; her hips pressing into his, lips on his neck, fingers tracing the lines of his back. He missed this, missed the physical contact, the slow and steady promise of another’s body. He’d always been an extremely physical person; needing to touch and be touched. The past few months had been empty. He’d been surrounded by people; coworkers, crew, journalists. He was hardly ever alone, but still he’d felt removed. Home was thousands of miles away as were the people he loved. He was living his dream, getting to do what he loved on a scale so far beyond what he had ever hoped for. But hadn’t counted on just how isolating it could be; how lonely.  
Before he could consciously decide to act on his thoughts, she pulled him off the crowded, suffocating heat of the dancefloor and into the dark and cool air of the small, dimly lit bathroom. Her hands were all over him, tangling in his hair, roaming down his back, pulling him tightly against her, and he lost all rationale thought; the need for her, for this overwhelming everything else. His head swam with the combination of lust and drink and need; hands roaming her body, lifting her onto the counter. Her fingers tugged at the belt and fastening of his jeans, pushing them down. Her nails dug into his shoulders, his fingers into the pale skin of her thighs. It was quick and brutal and over before he could process just what had happened.
She smiled at him as she hopped down off the counter, pulling up her panties and smoothing down her dress. She leaned in and kissed him again, murmuring “That was nice,” against his lips. She pulled back enough to grab her small bag from the back of the counter and pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen. Scribbling quickly, she smiled and tucked the paper into his hand. “My name’s Heather. Call me sometime, I’d love another round.” She winked, turned, and disappeared out the door.
His knees felt as though they’d turned to jelly and he stumbled, in a blind panic, towards the toilet. Gripping the white porcelain with all his might he retched and spat, his body jerking with the effort. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Another wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Molly. Oh Christ, Molly. He’d lost her. She would never forgive him this. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. What had he done? What the ever loving fuck had he done? Guilt and panic washed over him in waves. He fucked up. God, he’d well and truly fucked up.
Tom wasn’t completely sure just how he’d made it back to the hotel; the next thing he was consciously aware of was rushing through the lobby. The elevator took forever arrive, even longer to make it to his floor, and he was certain his knees would give out before he made it into his room. God, what had he done? He’d dropped the key card three times before steadying his hands enough to get it into the lock and then shove the door open. His heart felt as if it were pounding out of his chest as he pushed the door closed, falling back against its cool metal.
The shrill ringing of his phone cut through the silence of the room and he yanked it from his pocket, staring in panicked horror at the screen. Molly’s smiling face stared back at him; a photo he had taken months ago during a quick getaway they’d taken to the Lake District on one of his rare trips back home. It was a picture that he’d felt captured the warmth and quiet affection that he loved so fiercely about her.
Without conscious thought he hit the dismiss button and dropped the phone onto the carpeted floor. He felt the bile rising in his throat once again and he struggled to his feet and into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the overhead light. He coughed and gagged into the bowl until nothing but bile was left. He took a deep breath and rested his head against the cool porcelain. Once he was sure his breathing was under control, he crawled back into the main living space.
His phone sat silent on the floor. It hadn’t rung again since Molly’s call and he’d been eternally grateful. How could he talk to her, tell her what he’d done, just how badly he’d fucked up? Tears welled in his swollen eyes and he rubbed them away furiously. His head was still swimming and the room around him continued to lurch at an alarming angle. Clutching his head, Tom curled up on the floor and shut his eyes against the returning waves of nausea.
The shrill ring of his phone jerked him once more into wakefulness what felt like moments later. His head was pounding and he had to fight to keep his stomach from emptying itself (though there was nothing left to empty by this point) onto the carpeted floor. He blindingly groped the floor in search of it. His fingers brushed against it, pulling it toward him in trepidation. It was Luke’s number he saw flashing across the screen and for a splint second relief flooded through him.
He hit answer and raised the phone to his ear, ignoring the growing sense of trepidation. “Hello?” His voice was shaking and he knew there was no way Luke would miss that.
“Tom?” Luke’s voice was immediately on edge. “Are you alright?”
A ruthless chuckle fell from Tom’s lips involuntarily and he fought to ignore the rip of pain that shot through his head as he did so. “No.” The words came out choked and broken. “Fuck…Luke…I don’t know what to do…I didn’t mean….I don’t know how it happened…I…”
“Whoa. Whoa. Slow down, Tom,” his publicist implored. “What’s happened? Did something happen when you went out tonight?”
Puzzlement clouded Tom’s mind. “How did you…?” Tom clutched the phone tighter in his shaking hand, fighting off yet another round of nausea as understanding dawned. Oh god, if Luke knew then surely Molly would…
“There were photographs posted online of you, Hemsworth, and a few others heading out of the hotel and then a handful of you all entering a club a few hours ago…Tom, what happened? The photos aren’t at all scandalous…” Luke’s voice trailed off, uncertainty and trepidation coloring his usually wry tone. “Tom what did you do?”
Tom let out a shuddering breath and rubbed his forehead with his free hand, trying desperately to figure out what to say. How to explain. “I…I was drunk…I don’t know how I…It just happened…” The words tumbled from his lips in a rapid tangle. He knew he was rambling and honestly wasn’t making much sense, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Whoa, whoa. Slow down,” Luke urged, “I can barely understand a word you’ve said.” Tom did so, taking several shallow breaths. “Now try again, slowly this time.”
The words were clearer now, though no less panicked. “I drank more than I honestly meant to…And I don’t know how it happened, honestly I don’t but…”
“Tom, what did you do?” Luke’s tone made it abundantly clear he had a very good idea as to just what Tom had been alluding to but wanted him to actually say the words aloud in case he’d been mistaken.
“I had sex with someone,” Tom found himself whispering, guilt and shame flooding through him anew. “…At the club….I didn’t mean…”
“God fucking dammit, Tom,” Luke hissed, his frustration and disbelief plain. “Please, for the love of god, tell me you at least thought to use protection.”
A ball of ice formed instantly in Tom’s gut at Luke’s words. His vision began to tunnel around him, the room shifting violently in and out of focus. Images from the club’s tiny, dimly lit bathroom replayed in disjointed flashes and jarring stops and starts in his mind. The feel of her hands on him, the overwhelming scent of sex and alcohol, the warmth of her body as it yielded to his…God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
The phone slipped from his hand as he darted back into the bathroom, collapsing to his knees and retching into the opened bowl. He could hear Luke’s voice echoing from the other room, tinny over the phone’s small speaker, but the words themselves were lost to him. Tom was hot and cold by turns, panic overwhelming everything; his thoughts racing, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
A few moments later the shrill ring of his phone echoed from the living space. Confusion cut through his panic. How could his phone be ringing if Luke was still on the line? On shaking limbs, Tom managed to push himself to his feet and out of the bathroom, bending to grab the phone from his haphazard place on the floor. Luke’s name flashed across the screen. Mechanically, Tom slid his finger across ‘answer’ and garbled something that sounded vaguely like a greeting.
“God dammit, Tom,” Luke’s voice erupted. Tom cringed at the sound but didn’t speak further, waiting for whatever else Luke would throw at him knowing he deserved it all and more. “Please tell me we lost signal, that you accidently hit a button…Something…Anything…But please, please tell me you weren’t that reckless. That so help me god, you haven’t done what I think you’ve done.”
A choked sob burst from Tom’s lips and he fought to calm himself enough to speak coherently. “I didn’t…We didn’t…Oh God, what have I done?”
The string of curses from Luke that followed would have normally impressed Tom. It took a great deal to rattle his publicist and Tom had taken great joy over the few years they’d been working together to see just how far he could push Luke before he’d crack and go off. But all Tom could focus on was just how monumentally stupid he’d been. How his life was suddenly and spectacularly crashing around his ears.
Molly. Oh God, Molly. How could he ever face her again? Knowing what he’d done, how he’d betrayed her, betrayed them? How could he possibly ever explain what he’d done? She would never forgive him this. Never. He knew that with a stark certainty. How could she?
“…Fucking hell, Tom! What the ever loving fuck were you fucking thinking? Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous this kind of stunt is? Well do you?!”
He could hear the frustration, incredulity, and concern in Luke’s voice and knew he should speak, should say something but he couldn’t find the words.
“God dammit, Tom! Are you even listening to me?”
“Fuck, Luke,” he finally breathed into the phone. “…I…What do I do?” Tom could feel himself shaking and it took a conscious effort to keep the phone from slipping from his grasp again. A thousand thoughts echoed around his mind, pinging off of one another until he couldn’t tell them apart.
This could ruin him. One stupid, reckless decision and his career, the life he’d been working so hard to build could be all over before it had even really begun. This had the potential to be utterly catastrophic. But all of that was nothing, nothing, to the very real possibility that Molly could and most likely would never be able to forgive him this. One stupid choice and he’d lost it all.
It took a frightening amount of effort for Tom to keep his concentration on level enough to focus on what Luke was saying to him. His publicist’s questions were thrown at him in a rapid fire pace, demanding as many details as Tom could remember; the woman’s name, exactly how they had met, who had approached who, whose idea the encounter was, did she recognize him. On and on the questions seemed to go. Tom stumbled and stuttered his way through them, fighting the ever present nauseated fear which ran rampant inside of him. It was a blessed, but brief, reprieve when Luke finally ended his interrogation, stating he would do what he could to minimize the damage; urging Tom to call if his one night stand made any sort of contact. Telling him that he would call again once he’d gotten appointments scheduled for testing. And all but demanding that Tom tell Molly sooner rather than later. “You need to talk to Molly and now,” Luke warned him knowingly. “She deserves to hear this from you, not from the papers.”
She deserves to hear it from you, not from the papers.
The words echoed in his mind, over and over again. He knew it was true and, as horrifying and painful as it would be to confess, she deserved to hear it from him. But Tom honestly wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to utter those words aloud to her; to break her heart and in turn everything they were in the process of becoming. He was the worst sort of coward; selfish and self-centered. Molly deserved so much better.
Sleep was elusive for the majority of that night and if he had slept at all, it was in small and fitful bursts. His mind racing through the late turned desperately early hours; going over and over again just what he had done and all that he could never take back, never fix. Tom blinked as sunlight poured in through the opened curtains of the balcony. He was physically drained, exhausted, but he dare not close his eyes, his mind supplying him with the image of Molly’s face as he told her what he’d done. The way it would crumble first in disbelief then in pain and anger; the way her eyes would darken to a stormy blue and the way she would speak his name like a curse, something completely unworthy and beneath her. And god, it hurt.  
He had picked up his phone so many times, fingers shaking as he dialed her number, and only to find himself utterly unable to complete the call. He knew he had to, knew that she deserved to know what he had done. And knew just was fervently that he needed to be the one to tell her. It wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t fix it, but it would be better. And still he couldn’t quite bring himself to actually make the call. How could he possibly do this to her over the phone? Break her heart in such an impersonal manner? Wouldn’t it be far better to tell her to her face? God, he didn’t know.
It would be weeks yet until he was free enough to go home. They had talked, briefly, about her possibly flying out to him. She had the leave time saved and enough money set aside. The only issue being coverage for her at work. So the idea sat hanging, not quite abandoned but not formed enough to be a possibility. And the thought of him encouraging her to come to him now, only to ease his conscious…It was unthinkable.
Disgusted with himself, Tom threw his phone onto the bed beside him and scrubbed his face with his hands. He thanked god that this was one of his few days completely off, he doubted he could make himself focus for anything. And if his concentration were shot it would affect more than just him. As much as he loathed being left alone with his thoughts it was far better than risking disaster inattention could bring.
Luke had called him back shortly before noon, Tom had spent the morning torn between pacing the now confining room and staring blankly at his silent mobile phone warring with indecision, to inform him that he’d made inquiries about testing and timing of such things and that he had a tentative appointment in five days’ time with a discrete clinic. The idea of having to wait another five days made his stomach twist but Luke assured him that it was the earliest he could be squeezed in that would yield the most accurate results.
Molly hadn’t called again until later that evening. Tom had found himself staring at the screen, at her picture, and utterly unable to move; his indecision not fading until well after the call had clicked over to voicemail. He couldn’t keep doing this, it was driving him mad. He needed to tell her, needed to get this godforsaken axe of his own making to stop hanging over him.
With a determination that he did not completely believe, Tom picked up his phone and with a shaky breath quickly dialed her number, hitting send before he had a chance to second guess the wisdom of his choice. It rang once and then twice before there was an audible click and her warm voice filled his ear. “Tom. I’m so glad you called back.”
“Mols…” Guilt rose in his chest as he uttered her name. God, he didn’t think he could do this.
She let out a soft, heartfelt laugh. “I thought for sure I’d missed you again. How are you? God, did I get the timing right? Please tell me I didn’t wake you.”
“No,” he managed to choke out, dropping himself silently onto the edge of the bed. “No, you’re fine. I was in the other room…I just saw you called… It’s not quite eight yet here…Why are you awake? It’s got to be going on four in the morning? Is everything alright? Are you alright?” Panic overwhelmed him as the time difference clicked in his head…Oh god…She has to know…Why else would she call so late? Oh god…
“No!” She all but shouted, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. “No. No. No. Tom, I’m fine. Completely fine.” She laughed again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think…I got called into work late and I’m currently on quick break. I just…I heard back from my supervisor, they’ve approved my leave for next month! I’ll actually be able to go to the premiere!” The pure joy in her voice was a knife to the heart.
You need to tell her. Tell her now before she buys that ticket. Tell her! “Really?” He heard himself reply instead, the unnatural cheeriness in his voice jarring him. “That is wonderful, darling.” If Molly noticed, she hadn’t called him out on it. Tell her!
Molly gushed her excitement for several more minutes before cursing and apologizing. “Shit, sorry, my break’s just about up. I’ll call you sometime later today…Or I guess tomorrow for you, and we’ll figure out details. Love you, Tom. So much.”
He stumbled out a reply, not honestly sure just what he had said, as his mobile beeped signaling the end of the call. The phone slipped from his fingers onto the mused bedspread. “Fuck,” he hissed aloud. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Sleep remained elusive for the next several nights and the meager amount he managed to scrape together was barely enough to keep him upright. More often than not he’d heard the make-up team comment, usually in quiet whispers, about the ever growing circles under his eyes. He continued, to the best of his ability, to fulfill the obligations he’d promised; both in the newest project he was filming and in the promotional material required by Marvel for Thor prior to its premiere. He did his utmost best to be charming and as ‘on’ as could be helped, but knew he was more often than not falling woefully short.
He’d spoke to Molly a handful of times on the phone, frequently moving to end those calls after only a handful of minutes citing work or other obligations on his time. He hadn’t the nerve to actually bring himself to tell her his mistake during any of the calls; no matter how he tried to word just what he would say in his head, when the time would come he couldn’t make himself talk. He felt the worst sort of coward. Because I am.
Molly was plainly disheartened at his sudden distance; he could hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in her eyes during their one and only short-lived video call. But she did not pressure Tom to tell her just what was going on, though he knew she wanted to. Luke had taken on the helm of helping plan her trip to LA all the while shooting daggers at his client whenever they met.
“What are you playing at, Hiddleston?” Luke hissed as the elevator doors slid shut. Tom had spent the majority of his day flitting around between various hotel conference rooms, from interview to interview both with his Thor cast mates and on his own; he was tired and wanted nothing more than to just sleep.
Blinking in confusion, Tom turned towards his publicist. “What?”
The look Luke shot him would have burned a weaker man to his core and as it stood caused Tom’s stomach to twist itself into knots. “You know damn well what.” Luke raised his hand, jabbing an accusing finger into Tom’s chest. “You need to tell her. I’m imploring you as a friend. Tom, please, please, tell her. She has the right to know what happened and to make her own choices regarding it. If you love her, you have to say something.”
It was a fine line he was walking, and Luke knew it. He made it a rule to not meddle in his client’s personal affairs beyond what he was contractually obligated to handle. But this…This was personal. Tom had crossed that line from client into friend and Molly was someone he genuinely cared for. He couldn’t not push this.
Tom’s hands clenched at his sides as guilt flooded through him yet again. Luke was right, of fucking course he was right. But why couldn’t he understand just how difficult it was to find the words to tell the person you love desperately that you’d done the unthinkable? “I know, Luke. I fucking know! I just…I…I will tell her. I have to…I just need to figure out how. Just let me figure it out on my own. Please. Let me handle this.”
It was abundantly clear to Tom that his friend found his noncommittal answer wanting. Luke merely narrowed his eyes but did not speak. The remainder of the elevator ride was spent in a charged silence that neither man sought to break. With a curt nod, Luke left Tom at his room door and disappeared down the hallway.
Exhausted and frustrated, Tom threw himself onto the bed, letting out a halfhearted groan. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and it took several moments of jerking movement to wrench it free. Molly’s smile lit the screen and the ever present thrum of guilt tightened his chest. The offhand thought to either dismiss the call or let it ring to voicemail was tempting beyond belief. Sorely tempting but Tom knew it would only be a temporary respite and one that could so easily blow up in his face.
He took a deep breath before answering the call. “Molly.”
“You actually answered,” she whispered, her words matter of fact but tinged with a definite hint of sadness and surprise. Tom wanted nothing more than to kick himself, repeatedly.
He winced, rubbing his free hand over his forehead in a vain effort to stave off the headache he could feel brewing. “I know I’ve not been readily available lately, Mols. I’m sorry…It’s just been…”
There was an unnatural silence on the other end of the line and for a brief moment, Tom was sure she’d hung up on him. When Molly spoke again her voice was soft and full of worry. “Something is wrong, Tom. Please don’t insult my intelligence by saying otherwise. You’ve been different…Distant for almost a week now. This isn’t like you…Just please, talk to me.”
“Molly, I…” There it was, the perfect opportunity to tell her, to come clean, and the words stuck in his throat. “It’s just been ridiculously hectic. Between filming and all the promotion I’ve been required to do, I’ve been running myself ragged. I’m sorry I’ve not been more open…I just…I didn’t want to drag you into it, I know you’ve got enough on your plate.” The words felt hollow and wrong but he couldn’t seem to stop them. Liar! His mind hissed at him. Coward!
“Tom…”
“Please, Molly, don’t worry. I’m tired but fine. I’m glad you are coming soon. I’ve missed you.” He felt sick to his stomach. This was wrong; selfish and cowardly and simply wrong, but he’d done it all the same.
“Are you sure that it’s still a good idea? Me coming?” He could so easily hear the uncertainty in her voice and it cut. She’d been so excited about coming to see him, albeit nervous about the red carpet and all that it entailed. He couldn’t take that from her. “If things are as hectic as you say wouldn’t I be in the way?”
“No…No. Not at all. You wanted to come and I want you to come. Hopefully things will have calmed and we can enjoy the time together.” He’d meant it, as twisted as his gut felt. He had wanted her there, and desperately, needed to have her support at his side. But the guilt was near overwhelming. How could he have her right there beside him and live with the knowledge that he’d betrayed her? Betrayed them? He needed to tell her but he couldn’t do it now, not after what he’d just said.
Luke’s words echoed in his mind. ‘You have to tell her… She has the right to know what happened and to make her own choices regarding it. If you love her, you have to say something.’ And the guilt continued to rend his innards apart.
He couldn’t tell her now though…But after the premiere; perhaps after he’d find the courage to say he’d lied…That he had made a horrid mistake that he would give anything to take back. That he was so very terribly sorry. He would lose her…The fear of that fact felt like ice in his stomach. But maybe…Maybe she would find it in her to forgive. Even if he surely did not deserve it.
“Tom I don’t know…”
“Just think about it. Please…” Please let me give you this before I have to shatter everything.
“Okay.”
The next morning dawned grey and rainy, which he’d found oddly appropriate as he was scheduled for his round of testing in the early afternoon. He’d once again slept poorly, tossing and turning as both guilt and fear took their turns running through his mind. He’d been running himself ragged with work trying desperately not to think. Every little change in his physicality sent his mind reeling. Was this fatigue from stress and overwork or a sign of something more sinister? Every cough, every twinge. It was driving him mad. He’d been both relieved and terrified when the car Luke had hired for him arrived, its driver calling at just after noon.
As promised the clinic was discreet; tucked away in a quieter part of town, nothing that would attract any undue attention. The receptionist and PA he saw upon arrival were friendly and understanding. It was a simple matter to drawn the needed vials of blood and give the required urine sample. The rapid HIV screening, he was assured, would be ready in twenty minutes but the remaining tests would take anywhere from five to seven days, leaning most likely towards seven. He had been ushered into a secluded waiting area and offered tea or coffee while he waited.
He’d taken the offered cup of coffee but couldn’t bring himself to drink it, his stomach tying itself in elaborate knots. He didn’t dare let himself hope that the test would be negative for the irrational fear that in doing so he would bring about the opposite. Nor could he let himself ponder the horrifying possibility that it was not. He jumped at every sound and feared he would pull all of his hair out when the waiting room door finally opened and the same PA he’d seen earlier walked inside.
She smiled softly at him. He could hear the sound of her voice, see her lips moving but anything she’d said after, “Your rapid test came back negative” were lost on him. He wanted to laugh and cry, relief flooding through him.
“Mr. Hiddleston.”
Tom’s head shot up and he realized with a flood of embarrassment that she had been trying to get his attention for probably the last several minutes. “I’m sorry, what?”
She nodded in understanding and continued. “I was telling you that we’ll give you a call in around seven days with the rest of your results. I would advise you to refrain from any sexual activity until you’ve received your results and are cleared. I also want to caution you that you will need to be retested in three months’ time for HIV and again in a further six months to be sure you are in the clear. And if anything is found in your remaining bloodwork further testing may be warranted.”
He nodded slowly, his brief respite of relief vanishing. “Al-alright.”
She handed him a small packet of papers and escorted him to the side door where the hire car stood waiting. Tom climbed inside, his brain a constant mess of buzzing fear and uncertainty. He was barely aware of the ride back to his hotel and then of the walk through the lobby, the ride up the elevator and entering the room itself. Nausea rolled through him, he fought back the feeling, shutting his eyes tightly and fell onto the bed.
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The Magnus Archives Season 4 Binge-a-thon (Contains spoilers through the finale)
I’m back!  Life and work have been crazy, but I really wanted to binge the half-season since I last listened in order to get in on the season finale.  It’s been quite the experience.  The last time I binged TMA was season 1, since I started listening at the beginning of season 2.  I had really wondered which way was better listening: twenty minutes every week, having things play out gradually, or in one huge go.
I have to say, things flow really well as one run-through binge.  I couldn’t say I hands-down prefer doing it this way, but that the structure really holds up as a binge.  Plus, the evolving storyline begins to run at a less gradual pace.  The build-up of tension is strong, and I really ended up enjoying my binge.  
I think part of the danger of listening to each week is that you get lost in the minutia.  It lets you pick over everything, which can be great, but it can also be frustrating.  The character choices are that much more maddening when you have to wait a week to see how things turn out (and one character in particular in this latter half of season 4 I found particularly frustrating, so I think that listening week by week to that would have been a challenge).  
I figured I’d go through some thoughts on the episodes, starting with where I left off at ‘Decrypted’ and going from there.  I’ll be talking about episodes in little chunks as I go, with random comments in each section:
Decrypted, Infectious Doubts, Threshold
It’s interesting how much the Lonely was infecting the whole Institute at this stage in the story, although during these episodes it seemed like everyone hadn’t quite noticed it.  Or they’d gotten so used to it during Jon’s coma that they stopped noticing how bad things were getting.  
Listening now, it seems like Basira got hit the hardest, and that combines with the fact that she also seems to notice it the least.  While in season 3 she was the level-headed one, here she’s trying to take that level-headedness too far.  She wants all the answers so she can make the best decisions, but she refuses to wait for answers, and she refuses to acknowledge that those answers might be complicated.
The Lonely may also be the explanation for her detachment.  As in the plot as she is, she’s desperate to not engage emotionally with any of it.  Even Daisy seems to be held at arms-length, and Jon is labeled a monster without any unpacking of that term or what it would mean.  She also seems to refuse to address how close Jon and Daisy’s behaviors have been, at their worst, and that Jon is in the throes of his hunger, while Daisy was starved of hers forcibly.  She chooses to remain calm and chooses to work to overcome the Hunt, but her initial detox program was very much not of her own choosing.  She has simply chosen to stick to it, to embrace the good thing that came out of her imprisonment in the Buried.  Jon is struggling because he’s not being forcibly weaned, and no amount of Basira calling him a monster is going to prompt him to stop.  
I think that Basira, at this point, is perhaps the most blinkered of the characters.  She’s so focused on results that she refuses to do any sort of self-inventory.  She’s so convinced of her own rationality that she misses the places where she’s irrational: Jon has always been a semi-threat to her, so she can much more easily slide into thinking of him as a monster.  Daisy, on the other hand, was her partner; someone she trusted and cared about.  It’s much harder to look at someone you love and call them a monster.  She can see the shades of gray in Daisy, but it’s easier to ignore them in Jon.
As much as I think Basira likes to think of herself as the rational one, I think Melanie and Daisy fit that better at this point.  Both have passed through their own marking by one of the powers, and both have had their own time as monsters.  And that gives them both an outsider’s perspective on the situation, and an insider’s perspective.  And both had to be forcibly wrenched away from their respective powers.  As much as Melanie resents being torn away against her will, without any say in how it happened, she now has the perspective to look at Jon’s monstrousness as both something very not good, but something complicated.  Her own feelings toward Jon are complicated.  He helped her, but he took away her free will to do it.  He’s a monster, but so was she.  
Daisy is even further along that path of understanding, having been given a LOT of time to think in the Buried about herself and her choices.  She understands far more than Melanie, and far far more than Basira how the lines between monster and personal choice blur until there is no hard line between them.  She has to own all her choices, because she may have been deep in the hunt, but being chosen by a power often happens because you love it as much as you fear it.  With perspective, she knows that her choices were awful.  That she was awful.  But in that moment, she chose the Hunt every time.
She wants to help Jon and Martin, but also knows that people need to want her help before it can really be given.  I think that’s why she left as soon as Martin told her to go.  If he wanted to reject her help, she couldn’t stop him.
Melanie is also embracing perspective, choosing to go to therapy.  Choosing to make herself better.  If she’s doing that, her demand that Jon also do better carries more weight.  He’s not yet wrenched free, but he like Daisy still has choices to make.  They’re just a lot harder when he’s inside looking out.
Jon, of course, is deep into his own monsterhood, his guilt, and his isolation.  The guilt is keeping him at least a little grounded, but the isolation is definitely not helping him not become a monster.  People overcoming addiction have to make the choice themselves, yes, but they also need support.  They need people to hold them accountable, but also know what they’ve been through so genuinely useful advice can be given.  Confronting Jon was necessary to prevent him descending further, but I feel like Daisy’s understanding and Melanie’s therapy probably helped more than Basira’s “You’re a monster; don’t eat people” statement.  
Martin wasn’t in any of these episodes, but he continues to reach out in ways that keep him at as much of an emotional arm’s length as Basira, simply without any of the confrontation.  He gave the tape to Daisy and the others after he found out about Jon feeding on people, but didn’t confront him himself.  He’s avoiding all contact with people, making it ‘easier’.  He may have a plan, but he’s also deeply infected by the Lonely.  Like Basira, I wonder if he has much perspective on himself.  They both think they’re playing things smart, but they both seem to be missing glaring parts of the world closing in around them.
Weaver, Extended Surveillance, Concrete Jungle
Jon’s addiction is tied into desire, and also into terror, and also it’s as much a choice as it is for people addicted to drugs to take their next hit.  They do know it’s not good for them, but they make the choice, because it feels good, because they love it as much as they hate it.  And that analogy, in spite of never being directly brought up in these  episodes, continues to be driven home by the statements he reads.  A relationship with an addiction is complicated, and is often used as a substitute for something else initially.  How much of Jon’s embracing of the Eye was originally driven by his terror of the Web, deep seated and still child-like?  I think he fears Annabel Caine more than any other avatar, because she strikes at his worst fear: to be manipulated, to be pushed back to his childhood helplessness, to be lured and consumed against his will.  Isn’t it better, from his perspective, to be consumed by his will, by a power he knows and in many ways loves?
One thing I’ve noticed is that the people who are servants of powers embrace those powers as much as they fear them.  It’s not a new revelation to say that Jude Perry loves the Desolation, or that Jane Prentiss both loved and feared the Corruption.  But seeing that in Jon is harder, because he has something that they seemed to lack: moral qualms about what he’s doing.  He can acknowledge that the Beholding is as bad as any of the others, but how much of that is an intellectual acknowledgement?  How much of him revels in the Knowing in a way in the same way Jane reveled in the song of the hive?
But of course, in his isolation, he’s struggling to hold onto those intellectual moral qualms, when the hunger is so strong.  He can recognize the justifications for harm in other monsters, and even in himself, but his recognition isn’t the visceral pull that the hunger is.  And with a very rickety support system, it feels almost inevitable that he’ll tip over and feed again.  His one saving grace right now seems to be that his skill at analysis is just as powerful when turned against himself as it is when it’s turned outside.  He knows he’s slipping.  He knows that he no longer cares as much about investigation, about the victims of statements, as he does getting his next story, his next hit.  And no amount of admonishment is going to stop that craving.  
The other thing that seems to keep him anchored is Martin, but that’s an anchor growing more and more distant, closer to his intellectual understanding and further away from the deep-seated emotional attachment that might be enough to overcome the hunger.  Jon is continually concerned about Martin, wondering how he is to anyone who will listen.  I think of Gertrude being Agnes’ anchor, both holding one another to the world.  That was done to them, but I have to wonder if Martin and Jon have started anchoring one another simply through affinity.  Martin is trying to cut off all ties, but he keeps looking out for Jon.  He can’t help but try to keep Jon good and as human as possible.
The conversation between Georgie and Martin was interesting.  Georgie has chosen to help Melanie because Melanie isn’t as deep in it as Jon, and because Melanie is actively seeking therapy and help.  Georgie seems firmly in the camp that she’s willing to help, but will only help those actively helping themselves.  And I get that.  She is an outsider reaching in.  And she needs to protect herself as well; she’s right that tying oneself to Jon is probably going to get one killed.  She’s not obliged to die for him, or for anyone.  And from her perspective, he isn’t even reaching for the ropes being thrown to him.  
Contrast that with Martin’s perspective, which is that Jon needs help, and that waiting until he helps himself could be disastrous.  This is also right, but the problem is that if Jon is drowning, Martin isn’t really getting in the water any more than Georgie is.  He’s avoiding Jon, but is offended that Georgie is doing the same.  I can only hope she held up a mirror to his own decisions.  He’s choosing to protect himself every bit as much as he’s ‘falling on the grenade’ in order to try and stop the Extinction.  And trying to protect Jon from afar is as much a defense of himself as what Georgie is doing.  Both are reasonable.  Jon is self-destructing.  But Martin was also right that he needs help.  And for someone to help Jon, they almost certainly have to wade into all the danger that being around him entail.  Georgie’s decision not to be that person is frankly the healthier decision.  No one owes anyone drowning with them.  But that’s a decision each person has to make: how much are they willing to help?  How much of a life-line do they throw?  Georgie has helped, but also protects herself and respects Melanie for doing the same.  Daisy is helping a decent amount because she’s been there, and with a few bad days she could end up right back where Jon is.  It’s why people with addictions are often the ones to help others with addiction.  You sort of have to understand it from the inside.
Martin doesn’t know he understands it from the inside, because he doesn’t realize how much he’s falling to the Lonely.  Disappearing whenever personal confrontation occurs isn’t healthy.  He was an open wound of caring and emotion before, so it’s understandable that he’s swinging the pendulum to be less vulnerable, but he’s swung it too hard, and he’s drifting away.  And as much as he wants to help Jon, he’s not.  If he really wants to be Jon’s anchor, he has to be willing to open up all his emotional wounds again.  And he has to make that hard decision knowing how much it could cost him.  Or he has to let go entirely.  He’s in limbo, Jon anchoring him, but the tie between them is frayed.
‘Cul-de-Sac’ offered up a way to take hold of that tie and make it strong again.  The Lonely very nearly claimed the narrator as a victim, but in the moment he was almost totally lost to it, a call from his husband and the words “I love you” brought him back.  It gave him a way out, and as much as he believes he has to trust Martin’s decisions regarding his work with the Lonely, he also knows that the Lonely is seductive, that it has you do its work for it, that Martin is plagued with self-doubt and self-esteem issues, and that the Lonely is feeding on that.  Jon is trying to trust, but Jon also needs to reach out and help, just as much as Martin needs to do the same, if they both choose to take that route.
Basira has also apparently not made any real choice regarding whether or not she’ll help Jon.  She continues to be around Jon, but isn’t helping.  She’s very intelligent, but increasingly … black-and-white, which makes her blinkered.  And Elias was right: it also is making her predictable.  It’s like she’s trying to be more like Daisy as Daisy becomes more like Basira used to be.  But her taking a harsh tone with Jon and telling him ‘just don’t do it’ is likely to go exactly as well as everyone who’s ever told a drug addict to just stop.  Stopping is usually the hardest thing an addict ever has to do, and increasingly, Basira seems to want things to just happen.  If Daisy has learned patience, Basira has lost hers.  And that means that she also seems like she’s lost perspective.
And then there’s Melanie.  I really like that Melanie is sort of taking the middle-road of Georgie’s approach and Daisy’s.  She’s stuck there, and she’s still interacting with Jon.  Hell, her reactions to him pulling facts out of the ether are more like frustrated rolling of eyes than genuine anger at this point.  But she’s also unapologetic that helping the Eye—whether it be passively or actively—is wrong.  For her own good, she’s opting out.  She knows she could get sick.  She knows she could die.  But she is making a choice.  And like Georgie, I can respect that choice.  
Elias continues to be an evil delight.  Seriously, what a fantastic villain.  He gloats, he’s gleeful, but also urbane and intelligent.  The little moments of vulnerability sometimes feel like manipulation, so it’s hard to tell exactly how much he could be damaged.  He, of all people, seems to have taken Annabel’s advice to heart.  He is always either under- or overestimated.  And that just makes him fun.
Big Picture, A Gravedigger’s Envy, Love Bombing
Simoooon!!!  My favorite wacky wizard is just as much a delight as I had expected.  He’s a ton of fun.  He’s old and he’s full of joy, and he’s horrible.  He’s my favorite.  I also managed to predict that he was centuries old!  So pleased to find that out.  
It’s interesting to find out that so much of the rituals are bound up in the feeling and the fear.  All the ways the powers manifest or work are based on those feelings.  So rituals are made up because they ‘feel’ right, and it seems like they all fail because none of them genuinely generate the fear necessary to bring one power into ascendance over the others.  It seems that the balance is not only something most are dedicated to, but that it’s harder to upset on a global scale than people thought.  Robert Smirke, for example, seemed to think that the world was balanced on a knife’s edge, one second away from falling to a power.  And every fear took a cue from him and generated a ton of rituals.  But none of them have worked.  Because the truth definitely seems to be that none of them know what they’re doing.  They’re groping around for greater meaning, when it’s all really based on feelings and impressions.  That may make Simon one of the most effective avatars, as well as one of the most sanguine with the way the world works.  He’s not trying too hard to make the Vast win because he’s realized how difficult and potentially pointless that might be.
The end of ‘Big Picture’ has another confrontation between Basira and someone, this time Martin.  She’s taking the same tack with him as she did with Jon: telling him she doesn’t trust him, that he’s an idiot for working with Peter, etc.  Again, acting as Daisy might once have done, and again, I don’t see that she accomplished much.  She let Martin know that Jon’s heard of the Extinction, that he trusts Martin, and that’s about it.  Beyond that, they’re much in the same position.  Whatever her goals are in this situation, they’re either escaping me, or she has no real goals aside from being angry at everyone around her for not being as useful to her as she wants them to be.
Helen, on the other hand, is as helpful and delightful as Simon, while being just as dangerous and malicious.  She’s becoming more and more the Distortion, less an less Helen as she lets go of her guilt and embraces the feeding and the hunger.  She’s Jon’s ally, but is also unpredictable and is clearly playing her own game, learning the maze under the Archives, but refusing to let him in on what lies at its heart.  Their discussion about Jane Prentiss, about choice, throws more light on Jon’s choices.  
And the thing that sets him apart from the other monsters: his guilt, his burning humanity.  And his connection to others.  She looks at this as temporary.  Not the feelings, which may well persist, but the effect those feelings have had on his actions.  And I think that’s the hard truth that Basira has failed to impart as an outsider: Helen, as an insider to being a monster, gets that there is no hard line between the one-you-were and the one-you-are.  She gets that being a monster is as subjective as the powers or the rituals are.  It’s about feeling.  And Jon clings to his feelings and his connections.  And because of this he’s been finding excuses for his behavior.  But he still chooses it.  He knows that he shouldn’t want the drugs, but he keeps giving in to the temptation before the guilt spiral starts over again.  They all choose, and their choices may be guided by having no good alternatives, but the choice has always been his.  Of course he gets to keep what makes him fundamentally Jon, because Jon is the perfect Archivist.  He didn’t need personality traits grafted onto him.  They came ready made for the Eye.  How long had it waited for someone just like him?
But the thing about choice is that it’s yours.  Accepting that he makes the choices and that they are his alone means that he can control them.  He can take whatever control he can muster, even in the face of danger and death.  He can make the choice Melanie did, or a different choice.  He can choose to act, knowing that his actions are owned only by himself.  There’s power in that, every bit as much as there is responsibility.
And Daisy is the perfect example of that.  She doesn’t want to go back to the Hunt.  She’d die first, but she also will let that Hunt slip back in just a bit to protect Jon from Trevor and Julia.  Hearing her and Jon work through her impulses to listen to the blood, to find her way back to calm with his help, was one of the first indications that he really does get that choice.  And I find myself hoping that if he can help Daisy, he can learn to make those same choices, and that she’ll be there to guide him back when he needs it.
Bloody Mary, Cost of Living, Reflection
Jon going looking for knowledge the Eye didn’t want him to know was encouraging, and the revelation of Eric Delano’s page was a hell of a thing.  First, of course, there was James Wright (watching everyone through pictures and any eye available) before there was Elias, and Elias ‘changed’ a lot.  Another point for the Elias-is-Jonah theory, perhaps.
There was also the confrontation of Gertrude with a former assistant, how emotionally distant she was from him and the others, and how hungry she was for knowledge.  She wants explanations, not stories though.  More practical and less lyrical than Jon.  And less emotional.  Jon feels thing deeply and desperately.  It might be his salvation, as I’ve mentioned, but also it makes him just as human as her, despite his more outward monstrousness.
Eric was definitely in an abusive relationship with Mary, but after the betrayal and what Gertrude put him through, she seemed preferable.  And that’s thing, isn’t it?  Betrayal and under-handedness hurt worse than straightforward evil in the TMA world.  And so Eric accepted Mary and blinded himself to get out of the Institute, and wasn’t even too hurt that Mary turned right around and killed him for his sacrifice.  He found the way out because he had someone he loved: his son.  Much as tearing the bullet out of Melanie broke her free of the Slaughter, Eric tearing his eyes out let him free of the Beholding.
Could Jon help but entertain that fantasy?  Running away, tearing out the part of himself that is a monster once and for all?  No more hunger, no more temptation.  
But Martin’s right.  He can’t do it.  Because Jon is still choosing the Beholding, he still loves to Know.  He’s turning away from freedom actively.  And for Jon, running away with Martin was just this perfect potential ideal, but would never become reality without some really fundamental commitment that both of them lack right now.  As much as Jon is sunk in his love for what he knows, Martin is sunk in denial about how much he might actually mean to Jon.  He can reject Jon’s proposal easily, because he can’t believe Jon would ever really give up power just for a chance to run away with Martin.  
Martin is sunk deep, and Jon, who could reach him if he tried, isn’t trying.  Just as he isn’t tearing his eyes out.  He’ll be passive, and he’ll look at Martin like an ideal, but the real issue is that neither of them is reaching out to one another as a PERSON.  As more than the ideal that they’ve both seen one another as.  Being an anchor is all well and good, but eventually you need to dig in and get to know one another to have a true reason to stay human.  And they’re both lacking that right now.
Martin is drifting hard.  Realizing that he might only think he misses Jon’s voice, that he cares about Jon, that even his love is getting lost to the Lonely is very hard to hear.  Because Martin threw himself into all this to save Jon, and he’s not even horrified that he’s losing the original motivation for giving himself to the Lonely.  He seems to be going through the motions, letting everything happen, taking the easiest and least ‘noisy’ way out.  And that’s the draw of the Lonely right there, isn’t it?  There’s no real pain to lose yourself, because by the time you’re lost, you just don’t care.  Martin is being eaten by apathy, and that’s the hardest thing to shake.  He just doesn’t care enough to do it.
I really appreciate Jon finally confronting Basira about her hypocrisy.  The fact that she’s willing to give Daisy over to the Hunt to keep her alive, but is demanding that Jon starve himself to death if he has to is the height of hypocrisy.  It’s also deeply disrespectful of Daisy’s very difficult choice.  I appreciate that Jon stood up for Daisy’s stand, and I hope that it causes Basira to reflect about how she’s gone about her approach to Jon and Daisy.  
Because honestly, they’re both questioning their natures.  Daisy understands better, but Jon is actively exploring his nature, and the nature of monstrousness.  ‘Cost of Living’ is the perfect example of the entitled nature of a monster’s survival.  Each time she was confronted with their death, she found someone to exchange a life with.  And what was at first a one-off quickly became a continuous vampirism, one ‘unworthy’ life after another.  At each step she blamed the victim, explained her actions by the good she was doing.  Jon feels the same pull, but also a revulsion for her self-justification.  
And some people would rather do anything other than serve that sort of monstrousness.  Melanie gouged her own eyes out, leaving the Archives as definitively as possible.  I’ll miss the hell out of her character, but I am so glad that she found a way out.  I’m glad that, of all of them, she was the one who seized Eric’s solution.  Jon would never do it.  Basira won’t do it.  Martin won’t.  But Melanie still could.  She tried so hard to leave for so long that it’s fantastic she gets to go on her own terms.  And I’m so glad Jon respected her decision; that she left as bravely and calmly as possible for leaving by ambulance.  
Rotten Core, Panopticon
So Martin or someone else left his final tape to Jon.  Peter might have left it, Annabel could have done, so many others could have.  But the simple question is, what will Jon do with the information that Martin is walking off to oblivion?
Dekker’s final statement was something I wasn’t expecting.  It makes sense with the Extinction storyline gearing up, but it’s still strange to hear the end of this remarkable and remarkably eventful life.  And to go out in such a horrific way is tragic.  He searched for the Extinction so long, only to get taken down by the Corruption.  Just accidentally stumbled on John Amhurst, and though it’s good to know that Dekker properly contained Amhurst, it leaves his work unfinished.  But then, I think the work of people like Dekker or Gertrude always have unfinished business when they’re finally killed.  
Jon is not nearly so sanguine with death.  Hearing that the Extinction may be slow or strange or not real at all, he can’t not follow Martin down into the tunnels.  He tried to get a second opinion from Melanie, who is with Georgie—in all senses of the word—but she’s out.  He tried to go to Helen, who is not interested in helping because it entertains her more if he finds out what’s in the tunnels on his own.  She may think he’d just go home and give into his hunger, but the one thing that anchors him is in those tunnels.  So Jon is definitely going in.
At least he waited for Daisy and Basira, as much as it must have killed him not to go charging in.  And he’s lucky he did.  Peter Lukas set the Not-Them loose again, and Trevor and Julia are also back to finish Jon off.  And of course, Elias has also made a jail break to be there for the final show of whatever it was that Peter planned.
And it directly affects him, of course, because we finally got that confirmation: Elias Bouchard and Jonah Magnus are one in the same.  Jonah left his body behind in the Panopticon that lies at the heart of the labyrinth, permanently jacked into the All-Seeing Eye.  That was the Watcher’s Crown, attempted first as himself, and again in other bodies.  Peter wants to overthrow Elias, to replace him with a willing puppet in Martin.  The temptation of having that sort of power must have been undeniable.  
But it all still hinged on Martin choosing to serve the Lonely, to give himself freely to the Panipticon and to Peter’s power.  And Martin has been playing this game well.  Telling Peter what he wants to hear, all to see what his end-game was.  Listening to Peter and Elias duke it out verbally over him, Martin clearly knew that this was never about the Extinction.  This was just a stupid bet about whether or not Peter could steal Martin away.
So Martin refuses.  As much as he wanted to kill Jonah, he refused the game (but in so doing handed the victory to Jonah).   
The reason he knew that Peter wasn’t being straight with him about the Extinction was more than a little heart-breaking, but very in keeping with why he couldn’t believe Jon would really run away with him: Martin cannot believe that he’s important enough to be made a priority, let alone to be made a hero.  And so, even though Elias won the round, Peter had one more game to play: he threw Martin into the Lonely, and both he and Elias waited for Jon to arrive.  Because consuming the Archivist would certainly wrench the ultimate victory from Elias’ hands.  
But Elias is far too calm, and far too pleased with this turn for it not to be just as much set up in his favor as Peter’s.  He might have verbally warned Jon against going into the Lonely, but he was all too eager to show him the way.  This is just more of his game, and I’ll be interested to see how it plays out.
The Last
Which leads us to the penultimate episode of the season, Jon plunging into the Lonely after Martin.  The end-game of whatever bet or game Peter and Elias have been playing with one another turns out to have hinged on first Martin giving into the Lonely, and then Jon following him down.  Elias’ biggest pawn is on the line, and Peter has put himself on the line, letting something like the Archivist into his world.  
At first, Peter clearly has the home advantage over Jon.  He confronts Jon with the fact that he and Martin have been chasing the ideal of one another for so long, but they don’t really know one another.  But Jon is pissed, and Jon is hungry, and when faced with dying for Martin, he didn’t even hesitate.   Peter doesn’t understand love, or any connection.  And so he can’t understand how deeply tied Jon and Martin are to one another.  Hell, I don’t know if they quite understand it, except that they’d walk through hell to find one another.
So instead of giving in, Jon fakes his own drift into the Lonely to draw Peter in close, and then goes after him hardHearing Peter’s story was interesting, but not particularly sympathetic.  He was created to be a Lukas, certainly, but he also relished it and wallowed in the upper-class life he was given.  He wallowed in his loneliness, and hated everyone around him.  Sure, his family messed him up, but he embraced it while other siblings didn’t.  
So hearing that Gertrude took down his ritual with a call to a newspaper?  Amazing.  Wonderful.  Perhaps my favorite takedown of hers ever.  I laughed out loud at Peter Lukas drowning in community outreach.
And hearing Jon tear him apart?  Also amazing.  Potentially terrible, because once you open that door, it’s hard to close it, and Jon’s “Stubborn fool” is as close to truly being lost to the monster as we’ve heard Jon on tape.  But if Jon had to feed, tearing Peter apart wasn’t a bad way to do it.  But of course, that means Jon doesn’t get an answer as to how Elias gets him.  
But Jon does get Martin.  And that reunion?  The “I see you”?  So beautiful.  They’ve built to that moment for so long that the quiet conversation, walking out of the Lonely hand-in-hand and so gentle, was utter perfection.
Which is why having this be the second-to-last episode of the season is so ominous.
The Eye Opens
Here we come to the end, and we begin with domesticity and a continuation of the gentle quietness started last episode.  It seems, from the date of the statement, that Martin and Jon did get at least some time together before this episode to settle in and be together, and it shows.  There’s a comfort and a familiarity between them I’ve never heard.  Whatever time they’ve spent getting to know one another, they clearly fit together exactly as well as they’d hoped.
They may be on the run, uncertain if Trevor or Julia or the Not-Them are still alive, but it has an almost honeymoon feel to it.  They’re in contact with Basira, but seem distant from all that, here in their coccoon in the woods with its crackling fire and poetic cows.
And it’s really lovely.  Hearing them together, quiet and gentle and happy, was wrenching if only because it came so early in the episode.  And then it hits.  Jonah, smuggled in as a disguised statement, slipping in and taking over Jon’s body and forcing him to read against his will.  You can hear Jon struggling not to read at first, perhaps knowing what was coming, but Jonah’s will was too strong.  He’s too good at control to let Jon slip his noose here at the end.
And the end, as it turns out, is the end of the world.  It’s discarding the Watcher’s Crown as a botched job, and instead embracing a new ritual: the Magnus Archives.  The transformation of Jonathan Sims not into the Archivist, but into the Archive.  
And Jonah will become king of the ashes of a ruined world.
Jonah, Rayner, Lukas, and likely Fairchild all came together to become not only the first to realize that the world was almost guaranteed to end, but to figure out how to handle it.  Only Smirke kept to his guns and refused to embrace the end.  He tried to use balance to prevent it, to keep it from ever tipping over, but one by one the others embraced one power and decided that if the world was going to end, then it should end to their benefit.
Jonah tried the Watcher’s Crown, sitting in the Panopticon, but failed except to become a mind freed of his body.  He built the Institute to help himself with the race, trying the Watcher’s Crown again and again, each new body dying and giving rise to another.
And then he realized that the Watcher’s Crown was a flawed ritual from the off.  All the rituals were flawed.  All the rituals were doomed to failure, because every ritual only involved a single fear.  And so there wasn’t enough fear to keep it going.  Every one, even the ones not stopped, failed under its own weight.  
The true ritual was the Archive itself.  Turning a person into an Archive, and through him, with every other power burned into him, tearing open reality.  Because the true ritual HAD to have all the fears involved, because all fears are one fear, each blending into each, each reliant on another.  And so all powers had to come through at the same time, with the Eye watching over all.  
And Jon has been marked by every single fear, chosen by Magnus after he survived Mr. Spider.  Stabbed by Michael, burned by Jude, thrown into freefall by Mike Crewe, cut by the Slaughter when he tried to save Melanie, went into the Buried bodily to rescue Daisy … more and more and more until he went into the Lonely to save Martin and took the final step.  He consumed stories, consumed lives.  He embraced his own power in destroying Peter.  He chose to be the Archive at every turn, built himself as a record, wove a tapestry of every fear to create something greater than each alone.  
And so Magnus used his Archive.  He used Jon’s body and his power, and then left Jonathan Sims, both tied to and gutted by the world he created, behind as the world cracked open.  We finish the season with Jon and Martin, clutched together in their cabin, Jon knowing that the whole world has been consumed by the powers and by his own embrace of the Archive.  
“Look at the sky, Martin.  Look at the sky!  It’s looking back.”  
The Future
And so we head toward the final season of ‘The Magnus Archives’.  Daisy and Basira may both be alive, or Basira isn’t sharing the fact that she’s already killed Daisy as she promised.  Melanie and Georgie got out, but there’s not a lot of getting out of an apocalyptic world.
And the world is apocalyptic.  Jonah intends to sit the throne of this world, but I’ll be interested to hear if things go to his plan, of if the powers are so much larger than him that he is swept aside as every other living being will be.  This seems like the sort of plan born of hubris, from a man so desperate not to die that he’ll burn the whole world to survive it.  And I just don’t see fully manifested fears giving much of a shit about Jonah Magnus.
And that leaves Jon and Martin.  Jon is having a well-deserved breakdown over his part in this, but I don’t think he’ll get to do so for long.  If the Archive was needed to rip the world open, it may be the only way to repair it.  Whether that requires Jon to die, or Jon to lose every bit of Archivist in himself to do it, or something else entirely remains to be seen.  But he at least has Martin this time, and I genuinely hope that whatever path they walk in the final season, they walk it together.  That they fall together or rise together.  One or the other being alone at the end would be the worst possible outcome for them at this point.  They anchored one another in the Lonely, and they might well be the thing that pulls one another through to saving the world.  Going down together might be a sort of bittersweet happy ending for an Archive and the man that keeps him human.   What will the world be like now that all the powers are here?  Would people like Simon and the other avatar glory in this new world, or does a complete manifestation of all the powers make moot all the appeal of their gods?  I’m interested to find out who might be interested in a return to a normal world, and who love their new reality.  
40 more episodes until the end.  It’s been a hell of a binge, and honestly?  I’m very interested to see how thing play out come April.
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intotheshade · 4 years
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Hi! can I please get a free reading on how do I get closer to my life purpose? (i.e. What should I be doing more and less) Thank you so much for your time & stay safe♥- HY ♐♡
Hi! Sorry for the wait, I finally have your reading here! It seems tarot wanted to tell you a lot of things.
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Your situation is represented as the Seven of Pentacles. You see this long road ahead of you but you’re not quite sure where you’re headed yet. You know once you start it there’s no going back, but you also know that it’s not quite a straightforward road. You don’t have a map, and you’re just kind of hoping to be able to successfully navigate it as you go along. I would like to point out here that it may seem a lot, probably daunting, right now, and it might make you feel more reassured if you had a map. Except it wouldn’t be your journey if you did, would it? It’s particular to you alone.
The Queen of Cups indicates that you’re ready to walk into the woods that you see in the Seven of Pentacles. Your inner voice is telling you now, you’re ready. The Knight of Pentacles says that you will be gradually, and not very quickly moving forward. This is a good thing, because this slow progress is the one that will let you “stop to smell the flowers.” Because you won’t be rushing forward, and taking it slow, you’ll get to stop and reflect along the way. See the knight facing back—this isn’t to say that you’re going to be dwelling on the past, but merely to tell you to remember to use the past and take what you learned from it to help you go along.
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What you should be avoiding are the top three cards: Nine of Wands, Knight of Swords, and Knight of Cups.The first thought when I flipped these cards over was, “rose-tinted glasses.” You’re going to be, or you already are, faced with a roadblock. You, being focused on what’s ahead, and imagining what awaits, will not realise that there is more happening underneath the surface.
Also, are you the kind of person who tries to see and befriend the outcasts, because you yourself know what it’s like to be one? The Eight of Cups is the card for that. The road less travelled; it’s rewarding, but also lonely. I think this kind of thing comes with the desire to live up to a greater purpose—this isn’t realy something you could find or follow, when you follow the crowd. I feel like you don’t really know what your life purpose is yet, and this card is encouraging you that despite it not being an easy path, despite it being lonely, you’re on the right track. The people who matter will see you. You can see in this card a naked man standing away from the crowd, and a woman is turned towards him. He’s very vulnerable, and I don’t think he even realises that there is actually someone who sees him.
Now, remember what I said about you taking it slowly? And then somewhere along the way, you get rose-tinted tunnel vision, and suddenly you’re just charging ahead missing the whole point—remember that it’s the journey that matters. and not so much the destination. The Five of Cups is reminding you to remember your Queen of Cups and Knight of Pentacles energy—take the time to reflect and listen to your inner voice. The Hermit asks you to trust in it. But the King of Swords says you don’t always have to take it on all alone. I get that this is your journey, but others, being in different places of their own journey, have valuable insights to share to you. Listen to them.
The last three cards I think this is a beautiful card combination in regards to improving your Eight of Cups. The World is a beautiful card of knowing your place in the world and being one with it. She doesn’t really outwardly flaunt it in like, literal worldly stuff, that YOLO feel. For her, it’s a more quiet kind of grace. You know that you’re actually moving towards something more, in accordance to your life purpose. Revel in this. The Six of Cups is actually suggesting that you feel lonely not really because you have no one around you. But maybe straying too much from everyone else, you also isolated you from your friends. All of the other cards so far have been mostly solitary figures. This is a reminder to not fall off the world and forget everything and everyone. Remember that you’re still part of it, and your path is still directly linked to it. There’s always time to appreciate the people around you and to just enjoy time spent together.
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Tarot told you to listen to other people’s wisdom, and to let yourself be surrounded by your friends. You here are the Queen of Pentacles—she is still herself, glowing with the wisdom of what she’s learned so far in her journey, and also of who surrounds her. She is well-supported. With this support and knowledge, you will have to make an important decision (Judgement) on something you’ve been putting off. This is the next step.
After making this decision, you’re finally free from all that stress and burden from the stalling you werre previously doing. Or are currently doing right now, I suppose. As you rest you’ll also find comfort in the knowledge that you’re supported. After only having solitary cards, you now have in the Ten of Wands so many people around you. Have you also been scared of losing something, maybe from the decision you’ve been putting off? The Four of Pentacles shows that you’re going to be getting to keep these resources.
However, for the bad side of this, what I’m getting with the Eight of Pentacles paired with the Page of Swords is “new game.” Having to start over again on something. Are you stalling on making that decision because you know if you do, you’re going to have to restart, work from ground up again, the feeling that you’re a clumsy duckling just again learning to walk. But despite it being frustrating, if you just continue building on something that’s ultimately not going to serve you, you’re just really wasting time and energy, that you could be using on something that will.
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Your three cards for advice is, wow, really interesting progression. Very straightforward too. The Devil says you’ve holding on to something you feel unprepared to let go of, and therefore refuse to. You think you can handle it, even though you clearly can’t. See the figure trying to hold on to his fruits and there’s too much that they fall off. Tarot is advising you to just let go, even though you feel unprepared, and like you’re unarmed (Five of Pentacles). I see you as someone who may attempt to cling too hard on resources. The Sun reassures you that you’ll make it, despite the feelings of unpreparedness. In fact, it might be the holding on that’s preventing you from reaching The Sun, being too burdened and focusing on the wrong things. You’ll be more confident because you let go of your insecurity that was causing you to cling.
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Your shadow card as the Six of Pentacles reinforces you needing to accept help. There is no shame in that, and yet you seem to think so, when it is you doingt he asking.
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cosmonaughty · 4 years
Text
I recently re-watched Season 1 of Fargo FX and, as is the case with every great show or movie, there were things I noticed that I had missed in earlier viewings. A few of these had to do with the portrayal of hospitals in film, which is another small obsession of mine, so I thought that I would take the time to combine these two interests and talk about the way that Fargo FX depicts hospitals. I will be mentioning the inaccuracies in this portrayal and the way that the liberties that are taken advance the plot and enhance the mood of certain scenes. By pointing out these inaccuracies, I am not trying to criticize the show or its writers, I’m just using my specific experiences to talk at length about something I love.
(Also, this post will contain big ol’ spoilers for Season 1 of Fargo FX, so go watch it if you haven’t yet and then come back.)
There are a few scenes that I wanted to discuss here, and I will bring them up chronologically. In episode 5, Lester is rushed to the hospital in an ambulance with what appears to be sepsis resulting from a shotgun pellet lodged in his hand. In the following episode, he sneaks out of the hospital to frame his brother for his wife’s murder. He does this by switching beds with his roommate, whose face is bandaged. As far as accuracy goes, it pretty much goes without saying that this concept is pretty farfetched, but I’ll run down the issues here anyway.
It’s never really clear to me what injuries require intensive care in this show (more on that later), but I will say that Lester recovers from sepsis in what must be record time. When I had more or less the same thing, my body essentially held down its own power button and restarted everything. I was in the ICU for multiple days, though I’m not sure how many because I wasn’t lucid the entire time, and I was pumped full of fluids and antibiotics, as well as hooked up to multiple tubes and wires.
Lester, however, is in excellent condition pretty much as soon as the source of his infection is removed, despite having been delirious, vomiting, sweating, shivering, and all that other fun stuff only the night before. His room seems to be on the general ward and the only thing hooked up to him is an IV, which appears to be dispensing saline and nothing else.
He is also under the care of what may be the least competent nurse I’ve ever seen in any show. Nurse Farber comes in to transport Lester’s roommate to radiology, but if she had checked his bracelet, she would have realized she was transporting the wrong patient. She also moves the entire hospital bed, rather than moving the patient to a gurney or a wheelchair, as has been my experience in the past (those beds are portable, but they’re very heavy and unwieldy).
However, these aren’t “mistakes”. They are deliberate choices that serve to move the plot along. We can’t put the story on hold so that Lester has a couple of weeks to recover and gain his strength back, so that process needs to be hurried along for the sake of the plot. If the nurse had checked his bracelet, his plan would have been foiled and, again, the plot would not be able to progress. If she had moved him to a wheelchair or gurney, he wouldn’t have been able to smuggle a change of clothes with him. So, these choices don’t arise from the writers’ ignorance of hospital procedure, they just need to bend some aspects of reality to advance the plot.
I would also like to point out some things this scene gets right about the hospital (based on my experience).
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This room layout is pretty accurate. I like the little details like the plastic cup + bendy straw that everyone always has on their bedside table (even if you can lift a cup to your mouth, a bendy straw is required. It’s like an unwritten rule). I like the detail that the windows don’t open and I really appreciate that they didn’t have Lester pull out his IV like every renegade tv character seems to do. Instead, he simply disconnects the port from the tube so that he can move around, which I’m sure is more difficult than he makes it look but it’s leaps and bounds better than the old rip-em-out technique that I seem to see all the time.
I also like that the nurse uses the pain scale, which is pretty standard but I get a kick out of it. And, believe it or not, I have actually been deposited in the hall and left alone by nurses while waiting for imaging, which is how Lester manages to escape in the first place. Personally, I’ve never made it out the front door, but I haven’t tried that hard.
 Now that we’ve talked about how the writers take liberties to advance the plot, let’s look at how similar inaccuracies can be used enhance the mood of a scene. If you want to see me get emotional (you sadist), get me talking about episode 7. In this episode, Molly, having been hospitalized after an emergency splenectomy, makes a trip from her room on the general ward to question Mr. Wrench, who is in custody in the ICU after having been shot twice by her (it’s not clear where he was shot, but he indicates his upper right chest, so somewhere in that area). He uses a white board to ask about his partner (Mr. Numbers) and Molly confirms that he is dead. She makes an attempt to connect with him and asks for his help in finding Lorne Malvo, but he shuts her out by refusing to look at her and she leaves. Later, in episode 8, Malvo shows up to taunt Wrench about having killed his partner, as well as to commend him for coming closer to killing him than anyone else had in the past. He gives Wrench the handcuff key and leaves.
Like I said earlier, it’s not clear what requires intensive care in this show, since Mr. Wrench doesn’t appear to be any worse off physically than Molly is (or than Lester was earlier). He does have more stuff attached to him, which is…good(?), but let’s talk about this ICU room:
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This looks nothing like any ICU room I’ve ever stayed in. For one thing, in my experience the bed has always been facing the door, not inward to the rest of the room. I assume this is to make it easier to provide emergency care, which is the function of just about everything in the ICU. For this same reason, there’s very little privacy; the doors are usually clear glass and people come in and out all the time (nobody checks on patients in this show).
As I mentioned above, he has more “gear” (no, that’s not the correct term, but just be glad I didn’t call it “swag”) than either Molly or Lester, but far less than I would expect to see. There are maybe two bags on that IV pole, so probably saline and morphine (no blood/plasma/antibiotics/other medications). He’s got a heart monitor and a pulse oximeter, but no oxygen or bp monitor. Whether I like it or not, I’m always given oxygen in the ICU (which I tend to remove as soon as possible, apologies to my nurses) and if he was shot in the chest, he might actually need it. I’m also not convinced that heart monitor is working, since it doesn’t fluctuate at all when Malvo shows up in episode 8. ALSO: that bed rail should be up; I don’t care if he is handcuffed in place, that looks like a fall risk to me. Who is running this place?
(I’m also kinda jealous, because I’ve never been in an ICU room with this much natural light.)
 As I mentioned before, there is specific intent behind these omissions and changes.  For one thing, if there were several different machines and wires and lines and the like, the shot would be really busy and it would be distracting, both visually and auditorily, as hospital equipment tends to beep and beep and beep and beep.
Additionally, the shots are very clean, which effectively communicates a sterile environment to the audience; the natural light from the window compliments the Season 1 aesthetic really well and it also contributes somewhat to the coldness of the scenes in this room.
Speaking of which, this is as good a time as ever to bring up something I only consciously noticed very recently. Let’s go back to episode 7 and take a look at the difference between his room and Molly’s.
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It’s very subtle, but the light above her bed is a warmer tone; her bedding is also comprised of warmer, lighter tones. Additionally, there’s some framed artwork on the wall, and most importantly she is surrounded by people (and flowers) in every shot.
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Even in reverse shots of her, the frame contains color and warm tones. Contrast this with a similar OTS shot of Wrench in his hospital room. The temperature of the scene is a lot colder and the frame surrounding him is empty, which is excellent shorthand to communicate loneliness and alienation.
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His room also has some kind of mesh over the window, the practical purpose of which (if there is one) eludes me. As I mentioned earlier, hospital windows don’t open, something the writers are obviously aware of, and I’ve personally never been in a hospital room that had a grate or bars over the windows. Regardless of its practical purpose, this is another detail that contributes to the theme of isolation that is present in the design of these scenes. Being in the hospital can be a lonely, alienating experience, which is something I feel is communicated really well here.
These are subtle decisions that make a huge impact on the mood of the scene. I’m gonna be real with you right now, Mr. Wrench is my favorite character and this scene breaks my heart every time I see it. A good deal of that is owed to the quality of the show’s writing and the amazing talent of Russell Harvard and Allison Tolman, but it is always fun to see how my emotions are being relentlessly manipulated by the cinematographer as well. Good job, you guys.
 I want to conclude with a proposed alternative to the staging of that last scene.
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As you can see here, this scene is set during the day, with daylight clearly visible from the window. However, imagine how the emotional intensity might be different if the scene was set at night.
In my experience, nighttime in the hospital can be the most difficult, emotionally speaking, and it’s something I’ve even come to dread as a patient. For the most part, visitors have to go home, the room is dark but the lights are on in the hall and the nurses’ station. You can’t sleep because you’re uncomfortable and people keep coming in to take vitals and blood, and overall it’s very lonely.
So, imagine this scene exactly as it is played out in Season 1, but now instead of a closed off room with daylight coming through the window, the lights in the room are dimmed, it’s night outside (maybe street lights are visible through the window, but not too much). There is a soft glow coming from the heart monitor. Molly is sitting beside the bed with her back to the open door rather than the window. In the background the lights are on in the hall, you can see hospital staff going about their routine in the background. His life is falling apart in this scene, but it’s business as usual for everyone else. Even Molly, as sympathetic as she is, is just doing her job here.
I’m not saying that this staging would have been better, but it would have had a different emotional intensity. I like to see how the environment of the hospital could be used to enhance the mood of a scene, rather than simply act as a back drop because hospitals are deeply personal places, but can be so alienating at the same time. That said, I think that the way they used the environment to impart that sense of loneliness was excellent, and I support the decision to omit certain specifics that might compromise the mood or the flow of the plot.
Oh, and, if you still haven’t done it: go watch Fargo FX.
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