seekesotsibteadmist

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Saima couldn't help but chuckle a little bit when the Professor admitted she had been that person to others. "Hm. Yeah. I definitely understand that. I still like to hold to originals when I can but I do understand many of them as initial expressions that could still be altered as a result of these different tellings."

It only made sense that as a result of Saima surviving into the modern era, that they would be adapting things as they went.

They noticed the way that Professor leans in closer. "I think you are right about that. I definitely understand how it is difficult to deal with ghosts with no one to talk to. I have.. had some encounters with those kinds of individuals for sure. Proud, arguing with me... I would take either one for sure."

The Professor’s mouth subtly formed a smile. “Oh, I’ve been that much with people,” she admitted, leaning back in her chair. “Trouble is, once you’ve seen how much a story shifts just because someone told it in a different wind, you stop believing in ‘originals’ altogether. You start thinking of them like… first drafts. Important, yes, but not sacred.”

She tilted her head as she studied Saima more closely. “You’re doing what cultures have always done. The ones that survive, anyway. They adapt their songs to fit new voices, new rooms, new ears. I’ve seen worlds where the archives were sealed so tightly they suffocated their own people. You can keep something pristine, or you can keep it alive, but you can’t do both forever.”

Then she leaned forward, as if she was suddenly conspirational. “So when someone accuses you of ‘corrupting’ a story… maybe you’re actually rescuing it from becoming a ghost no one talks to anymore. And frankly, ghosts with no one to talk to? They’re the worst kind. Broody. Mopey. Absolutely hopeless at parties. Besides, if the old tellers were here, I bet half of them would be proud of you. And the other half would be arguing with you – which is exactly what stories are meant to do.”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Saima moaned into the shared deep kisses that they had with John. Feeling the tilt of their head, it was even easier to feel so much more of his kiss, of his touch. The feeling of this constant pressure - him rocking into them so urgently was thrilling to feel. They wanted nothing more but to relish in this moment of passion, of the feeling that drove them to seek out this kind of contact with John whenever they could experience it.

John's lips returned to Saima's, their kiss deep and intense. His hands tangled in Saima's hair, tilting their head to deepen the kiss further. The taste of Saima was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and need that John couldn't get enough of. The world outside the alley had truly vanished; there was nothing but the two of them, lost in a moment of raw, unfiltered passion.

[seekesotsibteadmist]

It's always a sensitive matter when someone seems to be aware of the weight that Saima still carried to this day. With all the changes that they had underwent, there was still reason for them to feel tense, to feel concerned about those that they cared about. It impacted what they were willing to do, what they were able to do - always moving with the kind of awareness of the consequences.

"And what a trick it is..." they stated with a low tone to their voice, sighing just thinking about the ways that they had tried to hide so much of themself - often successfully for the sake of others.

"Sometimes that was definitely the point - for people to be so caught up in what was done for them, that there's not a chance to think about me or to notice."

Necessity vs choice. It's a think that they had been considering in some capacity for many, many years now. "I agree that it's very much not the same thing.. - not at all really."

Stepping into the space as myself.. Saima thinks for a moment. "I mean.. I guess.. the fact that I've changed how I presented myself is a form of stepping into that space. That does count for something - but the larger aspects, what does that look like in so many other parts of my existence? I .. I find myself really wondering about that."

The Professor’s gaze softened, but there was an edge in it too. It was like she could see the weight Saima carried and also the parts of them they’d hidden. “Ah,” she murmured, “yes. Yes. That’s the trick, isn’t it? When the universe is on fire, you start thinking the safest place for yourself is the shadows. Out of the way. Out of sight. Even if you built the very ground others are standing on.”

She tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair. “It’s easy to forget that your becoming matters just as much. Easier still if no one around you notices the disappearing act. Sometimes they don’t mean to miss it - they’re just too busy breathing the air you’ve made safe for them.”

"You know … some people live their whole lives without ever being fully seen. And some of them choose that, quite intentionally. But if you’ve done it out of necessity rather than choice…” She tilted her head. “Well. That’s not really the same thing, is it? Tell me, Saima… if you were to step into that space as yourself - no shadows, no shrinking - what would that even look like?”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

"Suppose so. But I'm mostly speaking like myself." Any kind of tie to the way that Time Lords speaking is purely coincidental. But if it applies, it applies - Saima supposes with a light sigh.

"Indeed, there's so many possibilities in each and every moment that most would never really be aware of because of their.. being set in that one understanding, and only being able to experience that one kind of moment at a time for them."

The Professor’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Multiple forms and perspectives… now you’re speaking like a Time Lord.”

She set the teacup down with a delicate clink, leaning forward on her elbows. “Most people look at a single moment and think it’s fixed. Immutable. But if you step sideways - just a fraction - you find it’s not a moment at all. It’s a thousand different moments, layered on top of one another like… like glass slides in a microscope. Shift the light, and you see something entirely different.”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Saima nods a little bit. They definitely had memories of those that they knew who had tried to hold on to everything with all that they had. Which while not necessarily the worst move in desperate situations, often had costs that were unforeseen.

"It's truly unfortunate the ways that so many have been broken in that process. And it's not like they really know for sure at the time that they would be doing so in the process of trying to hold so tight. They often find themself thinking that they were doing what they felt was right for the situation."

Of course, traveling lightly would be harder than it sounded - it was the kind of advice that really only comes from those able to actually do it and for a good long while at that.

"I believe you in terms of how difficult that is. I don't know if there's many, or any that have really mastered that kind of approach honestly. The temptation to dam the flow of time despite being used to it... always has a way of coming up."

The Professor’s smile softened. “Exactly. And the tighter you cling, the more it hurts when it slips away. I’ve seen people - brilliant, brave people - break themselves trying to anchor the unanchorable. It’s not that they were wrong to want to protect a moment… but moments aren’t meant to be kept. They’re meant to be lived, then let go.”

She glanced at Saima. “Of course, there’s a difference between letting go and not caring. I think the trick is to travel lightly, but not without purpose. And that’s… harder than it sounds. Even for me," she said, her fingers drumming against the armrest, as though she could feel the faint pulse of the ship beneath her. “Sometimes I think the hardest part isn’t moving through time - it’s letting time move through you without trying to dam the flow.”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Feeling the way that Rowan wrapped her hands to hold them closer against her - made Saima feel all the more better. They loved the feeling of being incredibly close. With the way that Rowan's thrusts seemed to get even faster, they moaned in pleasure, eager to press back against her time and time again. Certainly, at this rate, Saima was going to feel a certain pressure starting to build up within them. For now, though they were focused on relishing in the attention.

Rowan couldn't help but smile as she listened to their words. "Of course I can, anything for you." She spoke as her hands slipped around them tighter than she had been holding them as her thrusts started to quicken.

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Sometimes Saima had a way of not really thinking the work that they did was particularly meaningful. Of course, it had immediate meaning to them and those around them - but to anyone else, they sometimes had some doubts. It's in describing it to the Professor and her really resonating with it - that they have to admit that stewardship is certainly a part of what they do.

"Hm, yeah that's true. I suppose I felt like it was such a necessary thing for me to do, that I didn't really recognize much more about it until I try to talk about it with other people."

They raised their eyebrow a bit at the mention of having something Time Lord about that kind of action, but they do listen - intrigued by the comparison to varying regenerations. "I really hadn't thought that would be a real comparison but.. if you see it fitting then I'm glad that you see that commonality between them. I do agree that it is the refusal to acknowledge changes - that has been behind a lot of these reactionary situations that really have put people in harms way over and over again. " It's enough to make Saima sigh at the memories that seem to come up for them at the moment.

"Heh. Yeah. I have heard about that. And I'm always tempted to comment about most who would care and have actually heard the original are long gone by now. But I do.. try to refrain from being that much with people."

The Professor listened carefully. There was something about the quiet gravity in Saima’s words that pulled at her. “That’s… beautiful,” she said. “Gathering the fragments. That’s not a passive role. That’s stewardship. You’re curating what others might discard without looking twice. And by reshaping them - not erasing, but reweaving - you’re making space. For others. For yourself. For what’s to come.”

She paused for a moment. “There’s something almost… Time Lord about that, you know. We have these regenerations, these new faces and forms. We change but enough that we have to reinterpret who we are through the echo of who we were. Sounds a bit like what you do with your stories. The same heartbeat under a different sky. The danger’s never in the change itself. It’s in the refusal to acknowledge it. That’s when history gets brittle. When people start mistaking preservation for reverence - and forget that even temples need rebuilding sometimes.”

Then she looked back at Saima, sharp again, wry but warm. “I imagine some folks don’t take kindly to your tweaks and updates. You ever get people telling you you’re ‘corrupting’ the originals?”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Saima laughed at his joke about a record deal. "Well I wasn't thinking anything like that. I should have figured you would have a much different approach in that. If anything I think the more unorthodox approach would allow my music to reach the people who really should be hearing it."

As they heard him talk about the thread in them - that's incredibly old, that spoke to something internal to them, that has felt terribly true as it was connected with the other creatives over the years. "Of course. I have no choice but to keep that sharpness to me. It's been crucial to how I have continued to survive in the midst of so many things that have threatened to take me out."

Something about the way that Constantine is willing to walk into potentially very bad places because of their music - that means a whole lot to them. It's not anything they would ask of most people but his willingness to commit in that way.. it stirs something in them. "It means so much to me that you would be so willing. I.. I will definitely make sure to share my music with you."

When John offers the cassette tape to them, Saima slowly takes it - accepts it in their hand and takes another look at it. "Oh.. wow. That sounds really interesting. I'd love to listen to it and see what I can make of it. Might be a truly fascinating situation.."

John chuckled. “Well, don’t go expecting a damn record deal. I’m more the kind of bloke who kicks down a door than opens one gently. But I’ve got a few... unorthodox avenues. People who listen in corners most don’t even realize exist," he said. “You’ve got something worth keeping safe, Saima. And I’m not just talking about the songs. There’s a thread in you - older than your face, older than whatever town tried to raise you. I’ve seen that thread before, tangled through prophets, poets, and people who burn just a bit too bright to be anything but trouble to the world around ‘em.”

His voice lowered a bit. “That sharpness you mentioned? Hold on to it. There’s things out there that’ll smile while they bleed you dry, just to wring out the last verse stuck in your bones. They don’t care what it costs - to you, or to the rest of us. But you - you care. You remember. That’s why it matters.

“When you're ready to share that collection... I’ll be there. Even if it means walking into a bad place with both hands tied. Music like yours - it does more than echo. It binds. It warns. It heals, too. I’d follow that kind of sound into hell, if I had to.”

John reached into his coat, pulled out a small, battered cassette tape. The label was half-peeled and written on in red ink that had long since smudged. He held it out to them. “Found this in a place that doesn’t show up on maps. Been trying to make sense of it for years. Can’t tell if it’s a curse, a prayer, or something in between. Thought maybe you’d have a better ear for it.”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Saima is making their way towards the dance floor, already letting their body sway to the music. It's not long before they are just grooving on the dancefloor, really enjoying the feeling of it all.

They hum along to the melody, really liking the way that the music feels and sounds. If their dance moves are a little bit unconventional, they are relishing the feeling of spinning around and just following the sounds because they could.

"Sounds good to me!" Farryn says with a bright smile, heading towards the dance floor, making sure Saima is following. Of course, that's the fun of a club: dancing to the music. And so far, Farryn is definitely enjoying what Ctrl Alt Del is offering.

Once they reach the dance floor, Farryn begins to dance, not caring how it might look to strangers. Then again, when does Farryn ever care how others perceive them? They would never want to harm anyone, of course. But they don't mind if others find their dance moves a bit weird. That is something that in their view is harmless, and isn't worth worrying about.

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Saima groans a little bit, knowing full well that Constantine is correct about this kind of situation. They are very aware that the sheer scale of what is likely heading their way is going to be devastating and truly horrible to have to deal with.

"I certainly don't like it either - especially when it's so blatant." And just as much John's comments about it's not whispering, it's gathering - the confidence that seems to imply definitely made something feel sink in their stomach.

"I don't think it's stupid either." Saima sighed, shaking their head.

"I'll make sure to contact them and bring them in. I'm sure if they know I'm calling under these circumstances - it's more likely to be a very serious situation. I will call them in.. I know that. I.. I am sure that they are ready for that. "

John let out a long breath through his nose, smoke trailing up into the summer night like incense at a wake. “Yeah. That’s the thing with these kinds of stirrings, when the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up before the thing’s even got a name. You start wondering if it’s paranoia or prophecy, and by the time you know for sure, something’s bleeding out in a back alley.” He flicked ash off the cigarette, as he remembered something he hadn’t planned to.

Then he looked back at Saima. “If you’re feeling it like that, and I’m feeling it like that, and you’ve got someone solid enough that you’re willing to burn a favor calling them in? Then I believe you. But I also don’t like it. “What I really don’t like,” he added, “is that whatever’s on its way isn’t doing the usual subtle creeping. It’s not whispering. It’s not hiding. It’s gathering. And it wants to be seen.”

He took another drag. “That kind of confidence? Either it’s stupid... or it’s strong enough it doesn’t need to hide," he said, then quietly, he added, “And I don’t think it’s stupid.”

He crushed the cigarette under his boot, and turned to face Saima fully. “Alright. You bring your person in. You tell them to be ready for anything, because I don’t think this is gonna be ghosts in the attic or some cursed little trinket. I think we’re looking at something old, something hungry, and something that’s about to use this paper-thin veil like a door.” He tilted his head slightly. “You trust ‘em, Saima. That’s good enough for me. But once they step into this? There’s no getting clean again. You know that. You sure they’re ready for that?”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

"I'm glad that you do at least trust my opinion about such matters.. It means a lot to know that. I probably should have guessed that might be the case.. but it's nice to hear that directly." Still, they appreciated Hel's fondness for them, it was very obvious in the way that she treated them when they were around her.

"I will never know." Hel answered, returning their smile. "But it heartens me that you believe it." Her cheeks warmed but thankfully didn't blush as she admitted, "I hold your opinion in high esteem."

It wasn't that she was ashamed or embarrassed to admit it, just that such sincerity sometimes prickled her anxiety. She didn't know why. Hel hoped her love and fondness for the other was abundant and apparent. It just.. wasn't easy to speak. Not for her.

[seekesotsibteadmist]

@fangsandmagic

[x]

Saima found themself gasping at the feeling of how Rowan was feeling using this toy. "This is .. this feels really nice. I'm enjoying this a lot. I'd love for you to go a bit faster, hold me tighter." They kept letting themself roll back against her, eager to continue enjoying her continuous thrusts into them.

[seekesotsibteadmist]

The nature of cost being factored into so many decisions that have to get made has never escaped Saima. It's something that they had dealt with the complications of for many years. "Seems like there's always a tradeoff to be made one way or another."

They don't mind the quiet much, it's in the pauses where something natural to say might emerge. They give a little bit of a sheepish chuckle at her mentioning them doing what the universe needs, they had known what was necessary for their land and those tied to it - but for the universe? That was a bold claim that Saima found themself very reluctant to take too much credit for.

"I suppose if you call it that, I certainly can't begrudge you for finding value in it."

Hearing the Professor's question in that quieter tone is enough to have Saima stop for a moment.

"Hm. I... I definitely have had long periods where I was lost in everyone's else becoming because the circumstances were so dire that.. I didn't think there was room for me as me. I've ... hidden many parts of myself along the way to allow that room for others to blossom in the midst of challenging circumstances."

The Professor tilted her head thoughtfully. “At what cost,” she echoed, her voice soft but precise, like she was testing the weight of those words. “That’s always the question, isn’t it? The price of not holding space. The consequences of choosing self over others… or others over self.”

She leaned back in her chair a little, letting the silence between them stretch, but not awkwardly. She was good at silences, though. “I’ve known beings who could burn stars out of the sky and still never grasp what it meant to offer someone space to be. And here you are, quietly doing what most of the universe doesn’t even know it needs.”

“It makes me wonder,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now, “when you hold space like that… is there space left for you in it? Or do you sometimes find yourself a little… lost in everyone else’s becoming?”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

Saima continues to listen, genuinely interested in the turns, the details that this conversation has been going. "That's true. Time is something that can't be avoided, can't be held within one's own control in the least. It's going to continue changing and shifting and holding on to it tighter will only get one caught up in a rough way doing so."

The Professor smiled. “It is. And the thing is, the now never stops moving. Even when you think you’ve pinned it down - set the coordinates, locked the stabilisers - it’s already slipped a little further ahead. That’s why some Time Lords get... stuck. Obsessed with fixing a single moment or trying to hold it in place. But the universe doesn’t do stasis. It breathes. My father used to say something like that, actually. Time wants to happen. And it will, whether we’re ready for it or not.”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

@potestmagice

[x]

If Saima had any sense of the cold, they didn't seem to show it or care - the feeling of John pressing them against the wall being all that they could really focus on at the moment. They groaning into the hungry kisses that they were sharing with him, determined to get more and more of a taste that they seemed to relish in.

Lifted up and feeling the way that John's hands wandered across their body, Saima leaned into the attention. They held onto him tight drawing him closer and closer as if they wanted to get as much potential contact as they possibly could. S gasped and sighed at the feeling of kisses on their neck and the continued motion adding more to that constant feeling of overwhelm.

[seekesotsibteadmist]

In the moment, Saima found themself more curious than anything about the constant pressure that they felt. Feeling his leg between theirs, that gave them even more room to grind against him - liking the way that it felt. They huffed and sighed at this feeling.

It's not long before the two of them are both bare chested. He woudl see the lightly silvering marks and some scars that were present on their body. A tale of someone who had lived, survived and reformed in a number of ways over time. It might not be something he would focus on given his drive - but surely, he wouldn't mind the view.

Ephraim felt a surge of energy as he felt them grinding against him, already getting some sustenance from this interaction. Not enough to last, like a quarter of a teaspoon of peanut butter to a human, just enough for him to get enough of a taste for more.

He trusted they would say something if they weren't into anything he did, any roughness he had. He liked being rough, and so far, it felt like Saima didn't hate it. He pressed his leg between theirs, pressing it against their core as he pulled back just long enough to rip off both his and their shirts.

[seekesotsibteadmist]

"That's true. I do like having a general plan. But I recognize very much that plans often go awry. So I have to have room for flexibility, for changes and adjustments. "

Saima lightly drummed their fingers against the table, just to have a little something to do with their hands. "Indeed, there's just so many different opportunities and adjustments that come with time - it only makes sense that would be able to take on multiple forms and perspectives."

The Professor tilted her head. “Yes. And even when it is a straight path… it’s usually laid out by someone else. A timeline, a destiny, a plan. And I’ve never trusted plans much.”

She turned her teacup slowly in her hands, watching the last swirl of liquid at the bottom settle. “That’s the trick, isn’t it? Knowing when to follow the thread and when to unravel it. Most people think time is this grand, rigid clock. Something that always travels in a straight line. But it’s not. It’s more like origami. Folding over itself, creasing into new shapes, never quite unfolding the same way twice.”