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autumnslance · 3 years ago

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I was wondering if I could get your opinion on something from the Ultima Thule part of Endwalker? The way I understand it, each of the beings the scions come across represent a reason to yearn for the sweet embrace of death, and their sacrifices are them standing defiant against it (Thancred's "survive" to Metion's "die," Estinien's "keep fighting for a future full of hope" to Al End's "we have failed, there is no use fighting because the fighting might never end," the twin's "you don't have to carry this burden alone, people love you" to Metion's "i must hide my pain to protect the people I love") but I get a little confused around Urianger/Y'shtola's sacrifices, and everything about G'raha and the Omicrons.

So I'm like 60% sure Urianger's is about knowing that the end is coming but doing what you can now to make life good, but I have no idea about Y'shtola, and I don't understand how G'raha taught the robots to dream again? Is that when what his sacrifice was about?

(I also love the fact that it was Metion that accidentally brought about the ends of these worlds with her overwhelming negative dynamis because the statistic improbably of Elpis being the only life in the universe kinda took me out of the story for a bit, but the explanation pulled me right back in with a punch to the gut.)

Anyways sorry to bother you, it just seems like you understand the nuances of Endwalker's story a lot better than I. Hope you're having a good day!

There's a long note to be said in here about how these are still just my interpretations and readings of the text; while I've played multiple times and kept the raw text for my own records (and know where to look for it elsewhere too to back myself up), sometimes another perspective will differ but be just as valid. But that's it's own post about how literary criticism and textual readings works. Cuz trust me, this gets long enough. Hopefully it makes sense, and is if nothing else a springboard into one's own ideas and understanding of these answers.

We'll start with Krile's words to her fellow Scions as they left the Baldesion Annex that last morning:

"You must triumph. What that means will differ for each of you. To make it back home, or to simply avert doom, or perhaps something else altogether... Yet whatever it is that drives you, I have faith in its power to see you through. So please─triumph. Triumph, as we who remain behind believe you will."

So much of Ultima Thule is not just the culmination of WoL's journey so far, but our companions' as well, as bit by bit they tear down Meteion's preconceptions, leading to the WoL's final truth.

-- EDIT: Adding to the bottom of the post the brief reblog comment I added about 10 days later about how each of these five sacrifices (counting the Urianger & Y'shtola, and the twins, as 1 each) can also fit onto Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, none of which were really met for Meteion before, and how the Scions represent and prove each level so the WoL can finally get through to her and summon the Scions back.

Also added commentary in Urianger’s section about Hermes and things learned in the Rising 2022 short story about Meteion’s creation. --

A quick summary of the mentioned Scions, though trust me I could go on about each of these all day as well:

Thancred's determination to survive is there, yes--but also how he takes care of others. He is determined that the other Scions succeed; he even makes it so Y'shtola can see in what should be a realm impossible for her to do so. He triumphs by taking care of his family he finally understood in Shadowbringers that he has, and ensuring their continuation, fighting for them even after he's been pulled apart. Meteion sees his darkest thoughts and feelings, which he admitted to and accepted about himself, but she cannot understand how his wish for life yet remains despite that, why he keeps fighting the inevitable. He's the beginning of how the Scions will challenge Meteion's beliefs in the universe, and herself.

Estinien's triumph is in bridging the understanding of revenge and justice, hate and love; he's been demonstrating his emotional growth the entire expansion, and Hydaelyn even points it out, but that matter of fact acceptance of his past and how that lets him empathize with the dragons' grief, and call out Meteion's corruption of it, is what allows him to ensure his friends' survival and success. As a lifelong soldier, ensuring the mission succeeds is likely in his mind, but for Estinien it's really about his capacity to think of and feel for others, after so long consumed by his self-centered rage and grief--a realization Meteion has not made yet, so cannot stand against.

The twins are strongest together, yet also know how to stand on their own, to be their own persons, in a way the Meteia cannot comprehend. The collective mind is many, yet only one, and alone for it. The twins understand that bewildered, naive fear at realizing the world--the universe--is bigger, more complicated, so different from what one expected. They meet Meteion as peers, children who've grown into young adults and learned from those stumbles and failures, to face their fears, rather than give into them. Whose greatest wish is the happiness of another's future, when she cannot see beyond herself.

So where do G'raha, Urianger, and Y'shtola fit in?

Let's begin with G'raha, as I find him a bit easier. The conversation with the Omicron is where I'll start:

M-017: The Omicrons will never leave this star. M-017: They will stand by until their reserves of energy are spent. For I have no path to offer them. None.

G'raha Tia: It is not our place to pass judgment on the deeds of the Omicrons. G'raha Tia: But surely this does not have to spell the end of your people? G'raha Tia: With your power and knowledge, the possibilities are endless. Why not seek out a new purpose?

M-017: That is impossible. M-017: In the beginning, we had a higher purpose than our pursuit of power. M-017: But we lost sight of it when we so irrevocably altered our fundamental forms. M-017: When we cast aside our flesh, so too did we cast aside all that defined us. Nothing remains of who we once were. M-017: I have no aspirations. No longer can I dream. The vital spark is lost. M-017: Lost amidst circuitry and code and commands...

It's not only "we can't dream" (as in, have ambitions and goals that aren't "grow stronger through warfare"), it's the fear that in turning themselves into machines, they have lost their very souls, the "vital spark" that marks them as living, thinking, feeling beings who could imagine a life beyond this existence. They deal in concrete, in physical, in absolutes. We see this in the side quests where they struggle with things such as relationships and creativity. The ephemeral, they believe, is beyond them.

The G'raha Tia we knew in the original Crystal Tower story woke to a world 200 years past a Calamity. Everyone he knew was dead through violence and time, the civilizations he remembered had collapsed, and many despaired there was no way out, no future, and so were willing to let go of that world on the chance it could be averted. He agreed to a wild plan to send himself back in space and time to change history--and in so doing, changed himself. There was no way back, once he merged with the Tower. So he thought. No way to save the WoL from the corrupted Light except by sacrificing himself to the Rift. So he thought.

And he was proven wrong. He began to look for alternatives, because the Scions showed him compassion and friendship and their own sheer stubborn refusal to accept loss when there's a sliver of a chance of success. So for them he found a new way. And in so doing, decided to seek and find his own happiness.

G'raha figures out how to defeat the despair, but his decision is framed so differently from how he approached what he assumed was his end in Shadowbringers. Where the Exarch was quietly fatalistic and mysterious, assuming there was nothing in his future but a sacrifice he had to protect his people from the pain of, G'raha in Ultima Thule makes the WoL promise they'll go on more adventures together, making plans the whole time. He doesn't know if it'll happen, if this will work--but there's a sliver of a chance, and so he will cling to that hope as the other Scions have taught him (else Alisaie may flick him again).

A crystallized Exarch stands atop the First's Tower. But G'raha had changed himself yet again, merging his soul and memories with his younger, pre-Calamity self still in the Source's Tower. Memories of two worlds, two lives. A confusing situation for anyone. But G'raha spent the later Shadowbringers patches reconciling those two versions of himself--and we see the results through Endwalker in those moments of goofy awkwardness, and those moments when the music and his stance shifts and the Exarch comes out, as it does again with the Omicrons:

G'raha Tia: If you would humor me a moment─when we awaken each morning, how can we prove that we're the same individual who retired the night before? G'raha Tia: Through the remembrance of past events, we might say. We have our memories. Yet there are times when we forget, or recall incorrectly. G'raha Tia: What of our bodies, then? It is the same one, we might say. Yet technically speaking, as living beings, our bodies are constantly changing. It will never be as it was at an earlier point in time. G'raha Tia: Our souls are no more immutable. On our star, people are known to inherit the souls of others, yet they are decidedly different beings. G'raha Tia: For my part, I've subjected my totality to much and more. I've made my body into an extension of a tower. Blended my soul and memories with those of another self. G'raha Tia: And each time, I would ask myself: what is it that makes me, me?

M-017: Were you able to determine an answer?

G'raha Tia: No. But that doesn't mean I'm confused. It simply means I'm the same as everyone else. G'raha Tia: So I posit this: who we were need not prescribe what we now hold in our hearts. G'raha Tia: Whatever came before, what matters most is the present. G'raha Tia: For me, that is being here with my friends. Full proud of how much we've grown together. G'raha Tia: So I urge you to not give up. Heed your heart's desire, and hope that the future you long for shall be realized!

M-017: I...cannot. We cannot. M-017: We cannot understand desire, nor comprehend hope. We do not know how to create such things.

G'raha Tia: We're not unalike, you and I... I too have struggled to find the courage to express and embrace my wants. G'raha Tia: If you like, I will tell you a tale. A tale of a world on the brink. Of a people who never gave up on the future. G'raha Tia: Of a man who realized his grandest dreams, and then awakened to a grander reality.

Is G'raha talking about the 8th Umbral Source, or the First under the Flood when he speaks of "A tale of a world on the brink. Of a people who never gave up on the future"? I think both. While the characters have no way of knowing, we players know from the Tales from the Shadows that the 8th Umbral timeline did continue on--if anything, the Ironworks' success heralds a new Astral Era for them, another chance for their future, after they spent 200 years struggling for it. And the people of the First came together to help the Scions save their world, never giving in to the Light's tyranny (even if some of them had to be woken from their own indolence first).

However G'raha, as the Exarch, had given up. He hadn't known a way forward for himself, in finding one for the First and the Scions, for the WoL. Until he was made to consider the possibility.

A possibility he passes on to the Omicrons. He is a proof that Meteion had not met, could not consider. He defies the idea that changing into something else (as Meteion herself has changed) means one has lost oneself forever. That one can change again, for the better this time.

And as she does not know how to counter that hope, our Crystal Exarch creates for us a crystalline bridge to move forward.

Urianger is who we'll puzzle out next.

Our funny-talking fortune teller started as a mysterious prophet, making himself Garlemald's most wanted, and trolling Hildibrand into attempting to fly to the moon back in 1.x. Urianger ever worked behind the scenes, to the side, as a supporting figure, continuing in that role in ARR and its expansions. The trusty librarian and liaison with the Students of Baldesion and Sharlayan, the one who kept the lights on in the Waking Sands, the one who used Moenbryda's research to give us a leg up at random times.

The one who listened to the whisperings of an Ascian, and decided to take a dangerous path on his own without communication or support to learn more, bargaining Minfilia's life in the process. The one who listened to the Exarch's fatalistic plans and went along with them, lying to his dearest friends in order to save them.

These decisions tore at him, his regrets obvious both times, and both times he was forgiven, for the others understood--perhaps better than he did.

Urianger gets a lot of good moments in Endwalker, one of them on the moon, when the loporrits are trying to coerce him into their own secrets, but Urianger confides in the WoL, and for once, instead of following logic for the greater good, he follows his heart and refuses to play along, this time not only communicating with his friends, but also convincing the loporrits to look for another way.

In Ultima Thule, he draws WoL and G'raha into one last secret, as our wizard can't help himself to a bit of mischief; WoL, due to his promise to never betray their trust again, and G'raha...as payback for the Exarch's schemes. Urianger puts forth his idea on how Meteion unwittingly unleashed the end upon many worlds, mistaking their own despair for her own, as she had confused others' feelings in Elpis. And then Urianger tells us:

Urianger: Yet even if I must needs go to such lengths, I cannot well feign ignorance of the answer I have found within... Urianger: The answer to the question: in what moment might I stand strongest?

Urianger is never the first to challenge an enemy; that's for the others to do. He uses his magic to support them, to heal them. His knowledge is for their benefit. While he can fight as fiercely for his beliefs, his is a gentle soul more at home in contemplation. And he worries his will is not equal to that of his dear Moen, or of Thancred and Y'shtola, or Papalymo and Louisoix. His beloved friends who face fear head on to succeed, even at the cost to themselves.

But none of those friends have ever doubted Urianger's heart. It's why they forgave him those other times. Urianger's love is why Elidibus was unable to sway him with logic. Love was why the Exarch was able to coerce Urianger.

Urianger: That, most assuredly, is the Ascians' belief. 'Twas in the hope of opening mine eyes to said revelation that they first came unto me, imagining it sufficient to secure mine allegiance. Urianger: Nor would they have been mistaken─were my heart a temple to truth alone. But as a devoted follower of Master Louisoix's teachings, and for the love I bear him and his, I hearkened not to their words. (An Ending to Mark a New Beginning, Heavensward patches)

The times he stood alone and apart, the times he kept secrets, though it was Logical and things turned out in the end for the Greater Good, those were the hardest moments for Urianger, and they caused much grief for his dearest friends. It nearly led to Alisaie dying of a poisoned arrow, it led to the tragedies of the many Minfilias upon the First, led to the loss of their dear Antecedent, and nearly cost the WoL their life, along with G'raha's.

So when the time comes, it is in facing honestly his own failings and what he learned through them, and in support of someone he loves, that Urianger finds his answer. To shore up another, to bend his mind and emotions to solving the problem in collaboration with a fellow researcher. As a healer, as a support role, Urianger is part of the glue that holds the Scions together as a team. Where he stands strongest is in not letting a dear friend stand alone against overwhelming despair, to aid her in proving her own hypothesis, while accepting all of himself as well.

If the Ea could have turned their minds to supporting each other, instead of isolating themselves in their research, perhaps they may have been able to stand up to Meteion. If Hermes had been able to open up to anyone else, admit his own need for aid, to find the support and collaboration he needed in her creation and her mission. As it is, she doesn't understand the honesty and love Urianger is made of, to sacrifice himself in support of another, in the hope that those they leave behind will continue on.

EDIT: According to the Rising 2022 story Tales from the Dawn - A Question of Life, Hermes did get some input on Meteion’s creation from his colleagues; but only of her visual design and aesthetic, as he specifically noted that was not his forte. Her abilities, her mission, how she was to carry that out, remained his secret, and his fellows did not know of his internal struggle. That no one knew the full details of his “personal project” are made clear in the MSQ, nor did he get input on the questions she was to ask, as Emet-Selch’s response and Hermes reaction to it made obvious as well.

Y'shtola: Keep calm, and listen well. Y'shtola: Though my body will soon dissipate, there may be a way to restore it. Y'shtola: Azem's magick. So long as our souls remain, you can use it to summon us back. Y'shtola: But you mustn't, for it would mean losing our way forward. This, I only reveal so that you can promise not to invoke the magick. Y'shtola: We came here knowing what victory may cost, so press on. Press on, and do not look back.

Urianger: I shall join thee. As subterfuge is not required, thou shalt not suffer for mine absence.

Y'shtola: Urianger...

Urianger: My resolve hath never been as strong as thine. Full oft have I wavered in my decisions, and afterwards been stricken with regret. Urianger: In spite of this, I may still stand with my comrades, supporting them as they attempt the greatest of feats. Urianger: This truth, I have learned in the course of our journey. Urianger: And many though my shortcomings may be, I may also claim to excel in prophecies. My studies into which have granted me the flexibility of mind needed to bend this malleable reality. Urianger: Thus shall I hope... That thou mayest have the strength to resist, and our comrades the strength to continue.

Y'shtola: With you to urge us on, how could we possibly fail?

Which finally brings us to Y'shtola.

Our sassy cat hasn't gotten much focus, not the way the twins have over every expac alongside WoL, or Lyse in Stormblood, Thancred in Shadowbringers, Urianger in Endwalker; Shtola's overdue some story focus, in my opinion. Yet I don't know that she needs to grow or change in that focus. Some people know who they are and are happy with that, and Y'shtola strikes me as in that camp.

She also strikes me as being different than her beloved master, even while bemoaning the ways in which she's grown alike. Matoya hides herself in a cave, using familiars for various things, grousing about the state of the Forum while doing naught to change it. Grousing about people visiting and their disruptions to her solitude. She does care, in her own way, but you've got to earn it through sheer persistence with that old misanthrope.

Y'shtola, in contrast, lives in the world and seeks to make it better. She fights Merlwyb, the Forum, her fellow Scions, and anyone else who doesn't stand for decency and caring about others. She adopts the entire Night's Blessed, becoming one of their leaders, in Endwalker still using their traditions for her own and others' comfort. She nearly sacrifices herself with Flow again to save them. Even when being harsh and misunderstanding Thancred (cuz he wasn't communicating, so was she trying to make him?), she had the best of intentions, and confidence in his own heart and willpower. "Giving up (on people)" is not a phrase in Y'shtola's vocabulary. You will do better, if she has her way. And she likely will, sooner or later *looks at 5.4 and the Melee Role Quest.*

But like Matoya, Y'shtola is consumed with an overwhelming need to Know. To puzzle out the secrets of creation, to find the answer to every burning question, and there are oh so many questions! Not content with the many secrets of the Source, she is determined to find a means of traversing the Rift to visit the other reflections to plumb their secrets as well!

Yet she is all too aware of her finite time. It's an ongoing joke that Y'shtola lies about her age, claiming to still be twenty-two when she is, by pure mathematics, somewhere between Papalymo and Thancred, perhaps of an age with F'lhaminn (EDIT: As of the 6.x patches, it's indicated Y'shtola is closer to Thancred in age). Some of it is sheer vanity maybe--but given Y'shtola's drive for answers, and how long it will take to puzzle out even a fraction of them, perhaps it is more a bid to maintain the fire, the drive, the impatience, the time of youth.

So to meet the Ea, a people who had attained what she would consider the ultimate goal, and find their ghosts in despair, is an affront. They had defined goals. They had the time to see them through. They lost all will, due to finding an answer they didn't like. As a scientist, how galling, that that would be their response! That instead of looking beyond it to other answers, they simply stopped.

The Ea could not comprehend a reason to continue. Y'shtola can't comprehend their willingness to end. An answer is simply the start of a new question, after all.

(and I don't know about you, but when "Thunderer" kicked in for Y'shtola, I got chills and went "ohcrap!")

Y'shtola: So that's your story. Y'shtola: While I appreciate your advice, I will not heed it. Y'shtola: Convinced though you may be of this truth, it is yours and not mine. Indeed truth, I have ever believed, is in the eye of the beholder.

Coph-coodg: Are you suggesting that we have reached a faulty conclusion? That our science failed us?

Y'shtola: Hardly. As you yourself said, the subject matter is beyond my comprehension. Y'shtola: And that, I accept, is true. I do not possess the knowledge to prove or disprove your conclusion. Y'shtola: In my mortal years, I doubt I could even approach the wisdom of the Ea. Y'shtola: But of one thing am I absolutely certain: I would not be happier in ignorance.

Y'shtola: The most important lesson I've learned...is that learning isn't simply passing one's eyes over words. Y'shtola: Nay... 'Tis when understood for oneself that knowledge attains its true value. Y'shtola: This is what has sustained me. Driven me onward in joy and wonder. In anger and sorrow. Y'shtola: The universe may end, and all may be for naught. But I will live as I always have. Y'shtola: I will always seek out new knowledge. And no conclusion of yours, no matter how grim, can dampen my desire.

Y'shtola is righteous anger, a fierce fire--but also brittle, in her way. She relies so much on her drive, on her single passion, she hasn't left room for much else. This is where Urianger's malleability complements her hardness, his ability to bend supporting her rigidity.

And she is grateful for his aid. She accepts it, with no questions, no deflections, no insistence he save himself, no remorse. She does not order it, as she did Thancred in the Sil'dihn tunnel (and tried to save him anyway); Urianger comes of his own volition, and she allows it. She has stood alone often, in imitation of her master--but she is not Matoya. Y'shtola doesn't hide from people; she lets them into her heart, takes care of them, heals them, challenges them. While she doesn't need anyone to complete her, she has learned to allow others to take care of her, too. To let them heal, challenge, and love her, in a way Matoya cannot.

So she accepts a loved one's help in this terrifying moment, and together they challenge the idea that learning must end, that an answer is conclusive. That their passion for knowledge can be dimmed.

Meteion was sent to find an answer to a question. She thought she found it, and so stopped looking, giving into what she believed was inevitability. Y'shtola defies that response, asking new questions, demanding different answers. Y'shtola accepts help and support, as Meteion did not at any point in the journey. That passion undoes Meteion's naive understanding, her own fear, and a way lights for the others to move forward--to not stop seeking, asking, learning, and in so doing, triumph over despair.

That's what I'm taking from these moments, anyway. At least in this moment. In response to others opinions and pointing out of textual moments, on another play through, on a dev interview, on life changes in a year, I might read them differently. But for now, this is what I'm taking from our Scions' sacrifices at the edge of the universe, and how they allowed their own journey over the expansions at the WoL's side to ready them for these moments, and decide, as Krile asked, what Triumph meant to them.

EDIT: MY REBLOG ADDITION - MASLOW’S HIERARCHY & THE SCIONS Also now thinking about how the Scions' answers could each correspond to a level in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, letting the WoL go a step beyond them at the end once the others show Meteion how she's come to the wrong conclusion about life, as her needs were never met/actualized, leading to her (and the rest of the universe's) downfall.

Five levels of the pyramid, five sacrifices made.

1. Physiological needs - Thancred (need to provide survival for his family) 2. Safety needs - Estinien (end of the war and the changes that wrought in him & Ishgard) 3. Love/Belonging - Y'shtola & Urianger (what I already said above) 4. Esteem - G'raha (all those changes & growing into his own hero) 5. Self-Actualization (The twins pretty much embody this)

This is what happens when I'm trawling very old posts on my main blog and get hit with old psych writing references.

Anyway just chewing on this in addition to what I said before under the cut in the original post

#Final Fantasy XIV #Endwalker #Y'shtola Rhul #Urianger Augurelt #G'raha Tia #Krile Baldesion #Thancred Waters #Alphinaud Leveilleur #Alisaie Leveilleur #Ultima Thule #A Realm Reborn #Heavensward #Stormblood #Shadowbringers #character analysis #character development #Estinien Varlineau #meta analysis

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pure-kirarin · 4 years ago

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The flowers of evil - Sanji x f!reader (Hanahaki)

A/N : Hiii ! thanks a lot for this request. I had a lot of fun writing it ! I didn’t know what hanahaki was before. I really adored it. It’s such a beautiful metaphore for one-sided love. I hope that you will like this !

Hanahaki definition : a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated (wiki)

Warnings : Angst (but happy ending) - Unrequited love

____________________

You forgot when it all started, when these doomed flowers of evil began to blossom allover your body, asphyxiating you, extracting the air from your lungs. The mysterious sickness took over your body, metamorphosing it into a garden of murderous flowers.

Red spider lilies, a field of them, encercled your frail limbs in your sleep, strangling you almost to death, sealing your agony. It was a slow process, a sadistic sickness that savoured each second of torture.

But what was worse ? The pain of the thrones scratching the delicate skin or the pain of a love that was doomed to fail ?

As the flowers grew, you simply withered. Watered by your tears, every day, every breath bringing you closer to an end. For a crime you weren't guilty of, for a love you have never asked for.

« If someone told me that I'd die this way...I would've killed myself. »

And it was true. Your paths crossed with the Strawhats by a mysterious fate. They have found you just after your ship got wrecked by the marine.

You were the only survivor. How ironic.

It was as if you survived just to die to that illness.

The evil flowers have spared you to savour the pain.

Since there were no options, you had to stay with them, but little by little they grew on you just as you grew on them. But someone stood out. His kindness was something you have never encountered before. It was all in the eyes, in his laugh, in the way he treated you like you were the only woman on earth. Oh god, it seemed perfect, too perfect ?

« I am so happy to be his friend ! »

Why couldn't you settle for that ? Why did you want more ?

It was greed and yearning. Craving a happiness that wasn't yours. He wasn't one to give his heart to one woman. You knew it too well, but then, why did you want otherwise ?

The heart wants what it wants. You stopped looking for a reason.

It all started by a habit, a ritual. Coffee in the morning, no sugar, no breakfast.

The cook always woke up earlier to prepare food for the crew. You on the other hand, weren't a breakfast person.

Until you met him.

« Y/N-chan, you're up early today too. » He said, back turned to you, pouring coffee in a cup.

The smell of the coffee invaded the kitchen. You were sitting in front of the table, hair in a mess, yawning. His voice was soft and comforting ; a morning breeze.

«I like waking up early. I get some peaceful moments before everyone else wakes up. » You chuckle.

He puts the cup in front of you. Not only the cup, also a plate with a pastry on it ; a croissant. You look at Sanji, confused ; he knew that you didn't eat for breakfast.

« I made this especially for you, (Y/N)-chan. It's bad to skip breakfast. »

You still remember the buttery richness of the croissant, the face he made as your teeth sunk into it, Just try it for me, he said. And he was right. It was delicious. Was it his skill as a chef, or his encouraging smile that stimulated your appetite ?

Your appetite for something else grew simultaneously.

The long nights you have spent contemplating the stars on the deck. The times he taught you how to use a knife and how you almost cut your finger. And the sweet, sweet taste of croissant balancing the bitterness of coffee, like a bandaid on a deadly wound.

If you didn't love me, why did you do all of this ?

Sometimes, when your chest couldn't take it anymore, you were visited by that thought, that cruel thought. You blamed him. How couldn't you ? It was his kindness that made you fall. It was his gentle smile that was going to be the end of you. And yet, what hurt most wasn't the flowers that grew in your lungs, it was the pain of not being loved in return. The pain of not being good enough for a man like him.

At first, it was a few petals that you coughed. You didn't understand, but when he was closer to you, you felt so light, when he was further, it felt like death. Your yearning for him grew, your body was moved by a fever that made you wish to be dead.

It took you a few days to figure out that the sickness that was gnawing you from the inside like a worm was love sickness.

You knew the condition, it was hanahaki, you have read about it in some fairytales. How could it be real ? Its victim has flowers grow inside of them, grow till it kills them silently.

You tried to hide it, but how when you had a month to live at best ? Everyone started to notice your pale complexion.

You were decaying by the day. In front of you, you had the disease and the cure.

« (Y/N)-chan » His voice. His damned voice making you fall even more. You turn to the side, facing the wall, resting in your bed. You refused to look at him. Did you really loathe him for not loving you back ?

Seeing that you didn't answer, he just keeps talking,

« These are beautiful flowers.. » He says as he looks at the red spider lilies resting in a porcelain vase. Would he say the same if he saw the flowers on your body ?...

« You should tell me if you don't feel alright...You're different those days. You don't even eat anymore. You can count on me. I know that you will feel better if you open up.

-You know nothing at all, Sanji »

You cut him off and sit down on the bed. You were just wearing a nightgown that showed your bruised arms. Fine cuts caused by the flowers that grew on your skin were displayed. You had to snatch them violently multiple times a day.

« You know nothing at all, you said that these flowers were beautiful. Do you even know what they mean..Sanji ? »

He looks at you in disbelief, he holds your arm, looking at the cuts. His touch feels like ice and fire on the bruised skin. His thumb caresses softly a wound, making you shiver. Don’t touch me in that way or I will fall even more...

-Who did this to you ?!

The bruises were like ones of ropes ; it was the stem of the roses that would encircle your arms in your sleep. You snatched off your arm, how could you tell him that it was him ?

You did this to me Sanji.

- It's none of your business...Come on. Leave me alone. I don't want to see you.

The words you spit out felt like poison and hurt him. You didn't even dare looking in his eyes. Those cruel words, you said them so he goes away. To stop the suffering. His worrying looks hurt more as they emphasized your unrequited love. You put a hand on your lips, nauseous.

-(Y/N) ! This is serious. What is the matter with you ? You look sick. I'll call Chopper right now. You go rest.

He gets up and you follow him, almost falling on the ground. You hold his arm, head on his back.

-Don't go ! Please don't. I don't want anyone to see me like this. There isn't anything Chopper can do for me. I am done with all of this. I want it all to end.

[ If it hurts this much, why am I still in love with you ? If it pains me so much, enough to kill me, why does it have to be you ?

If only I have closed my eyes and let myself die that day. If only I died along with my comrades. I would have had a meaningful death.

But here I am, having to die of love.]

You stepped back and started caughing red petals. You put both your hands on your mouth trying to cover it. Sanji turns back, terrified. He didn't understand what was with you, his cheerful, gentle (Y/N)-chan. He didn't understand why you pushed him away like this, as if his fingers burned your skin. As if his mere sight was killing you.

-Don't look at me...Please...Sanji...Don't look. You fall to the ground, your head looking down and tears running down your cheeks. It pained him so much to see you in that state. The petals you were coughing looked like blood. It was stupid, he felt cruel to think that even in such a state you looked so delicate, a flower.

He held the hand that you had on your face and moved it away to take a look at your face, eyebrows frowned, an anger growing inside of him. So, you, his (Y/N)-chan was in love with a bastard that didn't love you back ? It was certain. He knew about this condition.

Hanahaki, a mythical disease born out of one-sided love.

-(Y/N)-chan...This is...

-Hanahaki. You whisper, you can't hide it anymore now, it's too late,

He holds you against his chest, now thorns growing around your body. And you thought that in that moment, you could die in his arms and you'd be happy. Maybe in another life, you thought, maybe in another universe you'll love me back. Maybe it's the price I have to pay for having you...

-Don't die on me. Please. I am sure that...That this bastard loves you back. I mean...You are a goddess, (Y/N). How could anyone...do this to you. Tsk. It makes me sick just to think of it. I'll go look for him and bring him right now ! Hell, I'll kill him if he doesn't love you back.

You have a bitter smile. The flowers grow more and more, you were now vomiting entiere flowers that fell into his lap. You held onto him tighter.

-It's impossible...He is...An idiot...He doesn't even notice and it's right in front of his eyes...

-It doesn't matter. Just tell me who and I wi-

-Why ?! Why do you keep being so kind to me ? Why did you do all of this ? Why are you so gentle, so caring ? Why did you care that I don't eat breakfast ? Why did you make sure I don't feel cold on the deck ? And most of all, why are you like this with all girls ? It kills me...bitter laugh. Your kindness is killing me ! Don't act like this if you don't want girls to fall for you, you idiot ! Don't play with my feelings !

The blond man froze instantly. He has never imagined than a woman like you would fall for him, and to realize that you were suffering because of him left him in a loss of words. Him, Sanji, the lovecook, the man that devoted all of his existence to please women, those delicate creatures that he wasn't worthy of. The same Sanji was the reason of your distress and the object of your desire.

To feel desired to the point of death was flattering in a cruel way but also so foreign. He has convinced himself that no woman would love him and he was happy that way. It was enough for him to share the air that you breathe. But you were offering more ; a flower so pure, so delicate that his fingers could turn into dust.

-It's me that you love ?...

You didn't have any strenght left. You didn't answer. Your days were counted. You felt your chest getting lighter after confessing. It was relief. Words that had to be said.

-It's because of me that you were suffering so much...(Y/N)-chan...You...Wanted someone like me this much ?

He holds you tighter and the thorns sink in his skin, but he didn't care much, the pain that he was feeling inside was way bigger.

-I never thought that I deserved someone like you. I never thought that I deserved to be loved. It was enough for me to see you smile. But you are telling me that you are dying because I don't love you back ?...I would give up my life for you. And because you want someone like me, because you love me this much, I will make you the happiest woman on earth.

It was at this moment that you made him realize, you, on the verge of death, that even a man like him could be loved ; A man that even his father didn't want.

Your eyes were veiled by tears, was he saying this only to mess with you further ? However, the flowers stopped from spreading, and the petals started fading away little by little.

-Sanji...You...I...

He puts a finger on your lips and just says with a smile ;

- (Y/N)-chan, thank you for loving me. For wanting me so bad...Nobody has every loved me the way you do...Nobody has ever loved me to death.

He kisses your tears and adds ;

-I love you too.

#hanahaki disease #hanahaki #one piece x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece imagine #one piece scenario

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purplepenntapus · 4 years ago

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Rating Versions of Harry Osborn: Updated

Wanted to redo this post with a more comprehensive and inclusive list of Harrys

616 Comics:

Just such a good and complex character. The OG Harry. His relationship with Peter just adds so much depth to every Green Goblin arc because of the inherent conflict of Peter knowing he needs to take down Norman Osborn, but not wanting to hurt or lose his best friend. (If you’ve read Kindred no you haven’t.) He’s still... ugly... I’m sorry 616 Harry... I love you so much but they did you dirty... Some artists do their best with what they have but... I’m not a big fan of western comic style in general so that doesn’t help. Has three failed marriages by the time he’s 30 because he’s gay and deeply closeted. 8/10

Spider-Man the Animated Series (1994):

The Harry plotline in this show reeeeally doesn’t feel earned, because the first time we see Harry having an active role in the show, he asks Peter to move in with him because Norman wants him to have a responsible studious roommate (a detail from the comics I was EXTREMELY excited to see play out), and Peter comments that they barely know each other. Ultimately they live together for all of one day before Peter decides to move back in with Aunt May. The next time we see Harry, MJ calls him Peter’s best friend, despite the fact that we haven’t seen Peter hanging out with—or even MENTIONING—Harry since the last episode when they were basically strangers. Really it feels like he’s just there to cause romantic drama as the guy MJ graciously settles for when she gives up on Peter. I found the whole goblin plotline kind of boring and lacking in depth. 3/10

Raimi Trilogy:

I was never interested in Raimi Harry until after I started liking and exploring other versions of Harry, because I just thought he was kinda a shit friend. He’s a pretty strong character overall, but his motivations aren’t as obvious. He’s torn between his love of Peter as his best friend, and his bitterness towards Peter for being the man his father wished he was. I don’t think Raimi Harry really wanted MJ, he just wanted to get back at Peter in a way by taking someone that HE loved. However I feel like his characterization kind of sways back and forth between sympathetic and not depending on how he’s written in the scene, and it disappoints me that the thing that gets him to stop tormenting Peter is the butler telling him out of nowhere that Norman died from his own blade, rather than any real character development on his part. 6/10

Spectacular Spider-Man:

I still haven’t watched all of this show because I... can’t STAND this version of Peter... but I’ve watched many clips with this boy and he’s just... so sweet... He only wants to be loved and keeps getting his heart broken. Deserves better. On everything. He deserves a better father, a better best friend, better love interests, everything. I do really enjoy the way they incorporated 616 Harry’s drug abuse into this show with the Globulin Green, it was a very clever way to incorporate that aspect of his character, but tone it down for younger viewers. I’ve watched the scene of him getting “unmasked” as the Green Goblin about a million times it’s very good. 8/10

Ultimate Spider-Man:

I love him. Most people fear drifting apart from those close to us, so watching Harry struggle with the new and increasing distance between him and Peter as Peter seemingly makes new, “better” friends is downright heartbreaking. Especially when he overhears Sam implying that Peter only hangs out with him for his money which is something he’s clearly experienced a lot. (Seriously Sam what the fuck.) I also love his struggle with Venom throughout the series as a metaphor for his anger and bitterness, it’s never truly gone even when they work hard to remove it. It’s always there to bubble back up under extreme amounts of stress, especially when Norman is involved. (Also this isn’t a Norman review, but USM Norman is the only version of Norman Osborn that has rights and he works hard to be the father Harry deserves.) Had an honest to God meet-cute with Peter like come on???? Its unfortunate how much they cut back Harry’s role in the third and fourth season, I really would have loved to see more of him. Threw a party specifically so he could ignore Peter to his face because he was jealous and I respect that level of pettiness. 9/10

Spider-Man: The New Animated Series

I didn’t think it was possible to create an uglier Harry than 90s Harry but this blonde, fuck-boy lookin creepass came and proved me wrong. Who the FUCK is this?? Doesn’t have any recognizable characteristics of Harry Osborn besides being rich and hating Spider-Man. Also just... look at him. I wouldn’t trust this man anywhere NEAR my drink at a party. #NotMySon -3/10

The Amazing Spider-Man:

He’s okay. I think he has some very emotional scenes and good chemistry with Peter, but it’s dampened by the fact that he wasn’t present in the first film and had to share the second with like two other main plot lines. Ultimately ends up being the least sympathetic version of Harry Osborn because he became the original Green Goblin and killed Gwen, rather than following in his father’s footsteps. That’s not to say he’s a completely unsympathetic character. He has a strong motivator in his fear of death, and I do think the choice they made for his character were interesting and could have developed really well, but they didn’t get the chance since the franchise was dropped. 5/10

PS4 Spider-Man:

ABSOLUTELY ADORE HIM. WISH WE GOT MORE OF HIM. HAVING YOUR EXPECTATIONS OF HARRY OSBORN BROKEN AS YOU SNEAK AROUND NORMAN’S PENTHOUSE AND LEARN THAT HE’S BEEN SECRETLY STRUGGLING WITH A GENETIC DISEASE HE’S BEEN HIDING FROM HIS BEST FRIENDS FOR YEARS WAS -chef’s kiss- GENIUS. PLEASE GIVE US A SECOND GAME WITH VENOM HARRY. 10/10

Marvel’s Spider-Man (2017):

Still easily my favorite version of Harry Osborn. When I first began watching the show I was startled by their decision to make Harry a science genius like Peter because it was so different from their usual dynamic, and many people who aren’t fans of the show point to this as something they dislike. But I actually ended up really loving the decision. It gives a different flavor to Harry in how he reacts to the events of the show and how we interpret his character traits, while still being very inherently Harry Osborn. Harry is jealous of Peter, he loves him dearly, but there’s always this ember of bitter envy ready to burst into anger whenever the plot creates friction between them. This is one of the defining traits of their relationship and in most versions it’s not hard to understand why. Peter has what Harry wants. He’s intelligent, he has potential, and most importantly he’s loved. Peter is the son Harry knows Norman wishes he had, and that creates a wedge between them. Marvel’s Spider-Man changes this dynamic. Harry can easily stand toe-to-toe with Peter in terms of intelligence, and in fact they often work together to create things or solutions Peter couldn’t have come up with on his own. That initial wedge between them isn’t there, creating a very endearing and loving friendship that we know is doomed to sour because it isn’t enough. MSM Harry could be the person Norman wants him to be, and that places the full weight of his father’s impossibly high expectations on his shoulders, always within reach but never quite achievable. So it makes a lot more sense why Peter initially has a low guard towards Norman (as opposed to some other series where Peter seems oddly dismissive of Harry’s justified complaints) and Harry’s own steadfast loyalty to his father. On the surface Norman seems like a perfectly loving parent, he encourages his son, he created an entire school for him when he was wrongfully accused of sabotage, it’s only when you start to dig deeper into their relationship that you see the subtle manipulations and the issues Harry has from constantly chasing his father’s approval. This creates a Harry who is desperate for validation and extremely sensitive to rejection, which colors his relationship with Peter throughout the show. I’m still mad he got nerfed in the second and third seasons because Disney is homophobic. TLDR: I may be biased ... Infinity/10

MCU:

Where is he? Who knows? Man missing in action. ?????/10

#Harry Osborn #spider-man #msm 2017 #did i rant about various Harry Osborns way longer than I intended to? Yes yes I did #if anyone reads this tell me if i missed any prominent Harrys lmao #long post

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sofiaaaaaaaa03 · 4 years ago

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Lively

Summary: Reader enjoys singing to themselves while Din is gone for bounty hunting and one day gets caught.

(I’m new to the app so I lost the message the person sent to me, but here’s the first request I managed to copy before I lost it. I really hope the person enjoys it. I had a lot of fun!)

Request: My prayers have been answered! Thank you so much for doing this, the lack of Dad!Din Djarin with young adult reader is killing me. Ok, so could you do a one shot the where reader (who is around 17) really enjoys listening to music and singing, but is afraid that it’ll annoy Din since he’s usually so quiet. So when Din is looking for bounty’s, the reader listens to music through her speaker rather than her iPod (or whatever is the space equivalent of an iPod) and just sings her heart out. But Din comes back early to find the reader singing to herself along with the lyrics, and surprises her. I’ve got some song suggestions, you can choose which one can fit the mood of the one shot. I tried to give you a wide range of genres, but not too many songs. Let me know if you need anything.

Pairs: Dad!Din Djarin x Young Adult Reader

Words: 1,520

A/N : So I got a little carried away and ended up writing a little backstory for the reader because I imagine that they’d be from Earth and still LOVE listening to earth tunes. Like, can you imagine Din’s confusion to most human songs’ lyrics? Anyways, I really hope you guys like it and please request more things for me to write or tell me your thoughts on the story. I’d really appreciate your feedback!!

Ending up in outer space was the last thing you’d expect to happen when you turned seventeen. You thought you would be dealing with high school drama and figuring out where you’d be attending university. Not getting picked up by an alien spacecraft during a camping trip and taken lightyears away from Earth. It was too much for you to handle as you had no clue what was going to happen to you, so you quietly hummed your favorite song to help calm your nerves of whatever impending doom you would face. Though it seemed that you were not meant to face such a fate, when blasting came from the corridor of the ship and what seemed to be an armored knight entered the room, finding you huddled in the corner wearing nothing but your pjs.

You later found out that the knight was known as a Mandalorian while conversing with him under the star lit cockpit of his ship.

“Never heard of it.”

“You’ve never heard of Earth?” You looked at him incredulously, shocked at his indifferent tone.

His helmet humbly shone as he shook his head. “Wherever you’re from, kid, it must be far. Is there anyone you know around the system that can look after you?”

You shook your head. If he didn’t know about Earth then you must be really far from home. This could be why people back home haven’t been able to find any alien life forms. They were so far out of reach that they didn’t know about humans back home. Did that mean you couldn’t go back home? What would you do now that you were stranded?

The Mandalorian looked at you for a moment before sighing. He confessed that he lived with a son who needed to be watched over while he was out pursuing bounties and offered you to stay with him for the time being so long as you watch the child while he was gone. He would also do his best to find any information about this Earth you spoke about and try to return you to your home. By Creed, he’d said. Which confused you at the time though you didn’t try to argue, not wanting to get marooned your first day in space. From that day forward, you began your life with the Mandalorian and his child.

--------

“When are you coming back?” You followed Din as he activated the boarding ramp to lower to the ground. He was off to retrieve another bounty. You could tell by the puck he carried with him. Whoever’s information was in it was not going to have a good day, you were sure of it.

“End of the day, if things go well.” Din began to make his descent down the ramp, not bothering to turn around and face you. “Close the ramp. You have your coms in case anything happens while I’m gone.”

You watched as the Mandalorian set off for the nearest town, waiting for him to distance himself from the ship before pushing the button that’d close the ramp and heading back inside to get Grogu. You stopped in the middle of the main corridor, looking inside Din’s bunk. Grogu cooed inside the makeshift hammock, sleepy eyed and yawning.

“Din’s gone. You know what that means?” You picked up Grogu and made your way to the cockpit. A small squeal erupted from the small green thing in your arms, causing you to chuckle as the doors to the cockpit opened dramatically. For a baby he sure was able to understand so much. Plopping onto Din’s seat (something you only had the courage to do when he was gone) you pulled out your phone and began connecting it onto the main board.

Back on Earth, it was no secret about your love of music. You used to spend hours in your room completely losing touch with reality while you sang your heart out. It was different in space. Though the music to you was foreign and full of languages that were not of your native tongue, you enjoyed them nonetheless and even listened to them using an old datapad you found in the ship. Never aloud though. You were afraid of overstepping your boundaries with the Mandalorian you’d lived with. The fact that he never said much intimidated you enough. You didn’t want to annoy him. Besides, after a long day he deserves to come back home to peace and quiet.

That didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy yourself while he was gone. Oh, on the contrary it became tradition for you and Grogu to turn the Razor Crest into one big speaker while the two of you jammed out to music. As it turned out, Grogu really enjoys the 70s.

The two of you pranced around the ship for what only felt like an hour, when in reality the suns of the planet had gone down a long time since. Grogu had tired himself out and fell asleep the moment he returned to his little hammock. You, on the other hand, sat in the cockpit where the music was currently playing in. The wires had to be redirected and closed so that the only area the speakers played music in was where you were. Even though Grogu was sleeping, you were far from done listening to music. At the moment, you were singing your heart out to Killer Queen. You had been silently listening to the music before. But with a classic like this it deserved to be sung with. Or at least, that’s how you felt.

Unbeknownst to you, Din was making his way to the ship when he heard sounds coming from within. This worried him for a moment. His instincts told him that someone else was inside and with the kids. Quickly making his way up the ramp, Din upholstered his rifle and scanned the main hull of the ship. A moment passed. The hull showed no signs of struggle. Taking several steps forward Din picked up on the light snoring coming from his son’s hammock. He checked Grogu quietly, careful as to not wake him but still wanting to make sure that he was alright. Comforted to know that his son was safe, Din admitted to himself that he was being too rash with an intruder inside of the ship and took a moment to glance around the vicinity in search of his other ward. Where were you? He checked your empty cot before making his way into the cockpit.

“Didn’t know there were concerts on this ship.”

“Dank Farrik-” You jumped out of your seat, startled by Din’s clapping that had interrupted your vibes. You were too busy singing to hear the Mandalorian’s steps as he entered the hull. “I didn’t hear- how long were you watching?”

Din made his way beside the main chair, placing a hand on the headrest. “Long enough to know you messed with my cables. How’d you learn to do that?”

“Peli taught me some things last time we were with her.” Your ears burned hot. “She thought it’d be useful to learn in case you needed an extra set of hands.”

You stared at anything but Din, still embarrassed from the startle he gave you. With his helmet on it was virtually impossible to look at him and tell what he was thinking. To know if he was annoyed. If he was upset at you for messing with his ship, he certainly didn’t show it. Was he going to kick you out? Leave you stranded? You sighed, closing your eyes and waited for him to say something.

A chuckle emitted from Din’s helmet. “Y’know, I was wondering where that song was from.”

You opened your eyes, tilting your head at him questionably. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” He sat on the co-pilot’s seat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “Grogu has been mumbling some sort of uh… song whenever he doesn’t see you around. I always assumed that it was his way of calling for you. Didn’t really know where he’d gotten it from, until now.”

A large smile found itself on your face.

“Really?” Din nodded. “He really loves Earth music, yknow.”

“He doesn’t do a bad job mimicking it either.” A pause. “You two should play it more often when we’re travelling. It’d certainly make the place more…”

“Lively?” You added with a smirk.

Din hummed, nodding at your words. “Yeah, kid. Lively. Alright, out of the chair. We gotta hit hyperspace for our next commute.” He ruffled your hair and chuckled at you swiping at his hands. You settled in the co-pilot’s chair while he positioned himself on the pilot’s chair, grabbing your phone and staring at it for a moment. Its wires remained connected to the ship’s board.

“Here.” He handed the phone to you. “I’d like to learn more about your music...if that’s alright with you.”

You smiled, hitting shuffle on the playlist and listened to the music flood into the cockpit. You didn’t fail to notice Din’s foot tapping to the beat of the song.

#din djarin #din #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #star wars x reader #star wars #din djarin x reader #dad!din #grogu #the mandalorian x reader #y/n #din djarin x y/n

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stories-by-rie · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1 - Heart of Silver

Evelyn turns to the infamous curse-broker Ariel for help, after she got cursed by a dead granny’s fork.

words: 3763 || masterlist

Despite the late summer, the air had grown cold with the night’s storm. The wind was blowing the rain drops harshly against Evelyn’s coat and the persistent noise of its dripping onto her hood mixed with the ringing sound in her ears. With the anxiety that threatened to overflow, she shivered. Even if her hood saved her from the worst, she had to hold it in place with one hand so the wind wouldn’t blow it off. Now, that hand was wet, cold and shook even more than the rest of her body. Tripping from one foot to the other did nothing to bring her warmth or to disperse the gnawing threat of doom inside her chest.

Once again, she pulled out her phone. The fourth of September, 22:34, a Thursday, no new notifications, battery at eleven percent. Raindrops landed on the bright screen and distorted the picture of a flower field in irregular splashes. From the upper right corner, lines like spider legs drew through them.

Frustration settled in her, taking coin-sized bites. Her eyes flicked over to the doorbell again -- she had rung two times already -- maybe a third time would be all right? She knew that Ariel was home, so if they hadn’t opened the door after two times, a third ring wouldn't make them either.

Still.

Just as Evelyn was about to press the bell again, the door opened slightly, barely enough for her to make contact with one eye.

“Why didn’t you text me that you’d come?”

“I did. You haven’t read it yet.”

Ariel pulled out their old flip phone, dipping their glasses into bright white reflections, and skimmed through what had to be a real handful of messages.

“Ah. Oh. Hm.” They stared at a message for a while before they looked up to Evelyn again, opened the door a bit wider. “There will be a sale for winter tyres down in the old factory on the main road next week.”

Evelyn was too stunned to answer anything but, “Ariel, you don’t drive. You don’t have a car.”

“That’s true.”

“It’s summer.”

“Are you sure?” Ariel looked at the rainy night sky, and squinted their eyes.

“Listen, Ariel. I wrote in my message-”

“Yeah, I read your message. So what?” They looked up at Evelyn again, closed the door a bit more to shelter from the rain.

“I didn’t know who else to ask.” Her voice sounded a bit thin to her own ears then, the uncertainty growing with each passing minute. But she had held on for hours now, and it didn’t feel like she had it in herself to hold on for much longer.

Ariel scoffed. “Yeah. Obviously, asking anyone but me would be foolish, but I am really busy, you know? A curse is a curse, you should just let it run its course. I am not some sort of all-purpose antidote.”

Evelyn managed to put her foot in the door before Ariel shut it.

“Please? Listen, no one knows curses as well as you do. I am afraid I don’t have that long and I absolutely can’t do this by myself.”

With both hands against the door, the wind had enough freedom to rob her of her hood, so it drenched her within seconds, stung on her skin like a hundred little needle pricks.

“There’s just a handful of curses that more or less kill. You want me to believe that you got one of those? Do you know how hard that is? What would be in it for me?” Ariel eyed her suspiciously. All Evelyn did was to pull up her sleeves as far as possible. Where the skin was thinner and fairer, the black veins stood in sharp contrast to her body, shimmering in a dark grey. Ariel’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement.

“A Heart of Silver? How far has it spread?” They grabbed her wrist.

“It’s in my whole blood-stream,” Evelyn replied and pushed her hair from her temples where her veins were just as black. Ariel looked up with an ‘ah’ on their lips and then let go of her wrist again.

“So, I’d get the reaping?”

“It’s all I could offer.”

“Say, if we fail and you’ll be a silver statue, can I keep you then? Put you in the corner of my kitchen?”

“This is not funny, Ariel.”

“That’s a yes then. Fine. Come in.” They opened the door enough for Evelyn to step through. Instantly, they were caught in this different world of theirs. She was quite certain that Ariel had put a curse on their own apartment somehow that captured the people who walked in, but so far she did not have evidence to support that theory.

Books towered against the walls everywhere. There was a pot with an enormous fern right in the middle of the hallway. Not a single lamp was lit, and Evelyn could not shake the feeling that it was to hide the shadows of some ghosts living there as well. Perhaps it was the people the not-yet-proven-curse trapped inside of it.

“You must tell me everything,” Ariel mumbled while pulling out a few books out of their stacks, seemingly randomly.

“So, I got an unexpected call from a granny in the morning. She asked me to help with a haunting. I thought I could just handle a simple ghost. You know that I am good with ghosts.” Evelyn tried to follow them, focusing more on not tripping over most likely enchanted vases, gemstones, and one array that hopefully was not used to curse the apartment.

“I am quite aware, that’s why I don’t like you coming over.”

Or maybe the array was drawn to specifically keep her out, who knew.

“So, I drove over in the afternoon. Just one old granny and a ghost. There is a nice magnolia tree in the garden. It’s next to the old school that’s half covered in ivy and the neighbours complain about it all the time because they think it’s weed, although ivy is very useful with old houses for climatic purposes-” Distinctly, she noticed how she started to ramble, her tongue too fast for her mind to catch up on.

“Please, for the love of the currently absent blood in your veins, cut yourself short,” Ariel thankfully interrupted and pushed the door to the kitchen open. Evelyn tried very hard to calm herself down with a few measured and calculated breaths, focused on the red lava lamp on the windowsill instead. Multiple candles were lit on the table and next to them slept her black cat whose name Evelyn had never learnt. She only knew her as a beast, my evil gremlin, an annoying menace, YOU!, and the apple of my eye. Currently, the proximity to the candles was once again anxiety inducing.

Ariel pointed at one of the chairs, so Evelyn sat down and forced herself to keep talking, wiped some of the rain out of her face, along with her sticky bangs that hung in her eyes.

“The granny didn’t have money to pay, which is fine, you know I like to help where I can, right? And she had this very evil looking set of silverware in her kitchen drawer, so I started to work on it and she kept rambling about how I had a heart of silver -- which was already a bit weird, I guess, since usually it’s a heart of gold, right? -- but at that moment, I thought she was just old and confused because I was working for free, right? Well, until I poked my finger on a fork and that’s when it happened.”

“Was that the short version?”

“I left out a lot of detail.”

The coffee machine beeped and Ariel filled the matching cups. They slid one with big bold yellow letters over to Evelyn that read Best Curse Victim, and kept the one with Best Curse Broker In The Whole Wide World.

“Did you custom-make these?” Evelyn asked and Ariel set down the two cups with a grin. They knew that Evelyn preferred tea, but, Tea is for curses and rituals, you can’t make me drink hot water with leaves, they liked to argue.

Ariel raised an eyebrow at her quizzically. “I assume the granny then turned out to be a ghost?”

“She apparently had died over three months ago, yes.”

There was a deep sigh coming from Ariel as they put up their feet onto the table, dangerously close to the candles.

“And never once while working on silverware and getting praised for your silver heart did you consider the option that perhaps you were getting cursed?”

“Ghosts get better at hiding themselves each day, Ariel,” Evelyn replied with multiple glances to the shadows. Ariel only offered a weak smile and nodded while they pushed the books into the middle of the table, tapped on it with their sparkly painted fingernails.

“I have fourteen books on the Heart of Silver, all very rare collections from back when curse-brokers still thought that this classy beast was curable. I also have read all of these fourteen books.” Ariel took a sip from their coffee and grabbed another pair of glasses that were tucked into a pot of parsley on the windowsill next to the lava lamp. They pushed their former golden glasses up into their soft pink dyed hair.

Last time they had met, it had been deep purple. They had tried to make her believe once that it was tied to their moods, like those 90s mood rings of which they wore three. “Obviously, I read all the books you can find in this apartment, I wouldn’t keep anything that just took up space.” They opened the right page on the first try and slid the book over to Evelyn. The pages were blank.

“The pages are blank.”

“Ah, right. I put a curse on them. No one steals books you can’t read, am I right? Here,” they slid over the glasses to Evelyn, and once she put them on, black letters appeared on the blank pages. Just none she could read.

“I don’t speak that language, Ariel.”

“Ah, it’s just encrypted.”

Evelyn sighed deeply and put the glasses down again. She warmed her icy fingers on the coffee cup in front of her, the bitter smell of it made her jittery enough.

“Please, can you just tell me what you know about it? I am certain that you know your curses, you don’t have to prove anything by showing me book excerpts I can’t read anyway.”

Ariel smirked openly then, their eyes clearly tracing the black lines on her skin where the liquid silver was running through her veins.

“The Heart of Silver is a curse that dates back all the way to the sixteenth century. That ultimately makes it a curse of the black night level, because we don’t know its origin anymore, so understanding it has become as good as impossible. Legends say that it was just another love story, though. Why it is a heart of silver and not of gold is equally unclear. Perhaps they didn’t know any better. Then again, a Heart of Gold curse already exists, so. Anyway, the story says that one woman, got jealous of her maid. The maid, being kind-hearted, was just too lovely to her husband, you see. So when that woman died she cursed her maid on her deathbed and said something along the lines of With your heart made of silver, you still won’t be worth enough to appeal to him. Maybe you could feed his greed by turning into actual silver instead.” They took another sip of coffee, taking out another book from the stack on the table and flipping a page open. “How the curse is passed on is totally unclear as well, although, as you might have noticed, contact with silver seems to be one determinant, as well as someone actually cursing you, also known as a ghost. But why and how? No one knows.”

“Not even you?” Evelyn asked, feeling punched out. She pulled the new book closer, putting on the glasses again, and there they were. The photos with the evidence that this curse existed. That it was more than just a rumour, a scary story told to teach children not to steal. Proof that her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her; that she had understood the situation of her own doom correctly.

A silver statue of a man, the face too realistic to be art, distorted in a scream. His arms were outstretched, all around him scrolls of parchment. 1982, Vienna.

A silver statue of an old woman, sleeping in her bed. She looked much more peaceful, but her brows were drawn together, giving her discomfort away. 1864, Kuressaare.

A teenage boy, locked inside a dark room with handcuffs tied to the walls, screams on his silver lips. 2003, Hildesheim.

Evelyn didn’t need to look at more of them. It just made her picture herself as one more of these photos. A corpulent young woman, the face silver but clearly pleading for her life-

“Does it hurt? Do you know?”

“Not sure, sorry. Would it help if you knew?” Ariel looked directly at her then, the soft pink hair glimmering red from the lamp, the candles’ lights dancing on her glasses.

“Probably not.”

“Then let’s try to make it so that you don’t have to find out. But just to be clear, I will take notes on the curse’s progress, for scientific purposes.” They pulled a notebook out from under their coffee cup.

“Sure.”

Ariel grinned and drummed with their golden painted nails onto the table.

“Soon I will be the first curse-broker to have dealt with the Heart of Silver. Everyone will know my name. Maybe someone will finally publish my book. My google reviews will skyrocket!”

“You always say a truly good curse-broker gets only bad reviews. And that book doesn’t get published because you describe for three hundred pages how to create various curses. ”

“That’s because if you want to deal with curses, you need to understand them from the inside out first. Also, creating curses can be fun, I promise.”

With a glimpse to the shadows, Evelyn nodded in slight agreement. Unease found its way back to her, like an intrusive thought stuck to her skin. The more she listened to her body, the more she felt like it had changed. She was sure to feel the silver in her veins, believed that her body had gotten heavier – was silver heavier than blood? She was sure that her skin had gotten harder where it ran through her.

“You still there?” Ariel waved before her eyes, nearly poked her, but Evelyn flinched back before they got to. She finally took a sip of her own coffee. The bitterness made her squirm but at least she was able to still taste it.

“So, if the books are all useless, as you say, then where do we start?”

“Well, as I said, if you want to deal with curses, you have to know them from the inside out. Only if I know how you got it in the first place, I will have a chance at extracting it and exchanging it for a different one. A curse is a near-living thing, after all. If I just rip it out, it might do more damage than aid. I need to know why you fit in its scheme, how it develops inside of you. So I would say we should start with the ghost who put that curse on you, since that granny might be able to answer those questions, but I assume you hunted the shit out of that ghost, didn’t you?”

Evelyn froze as she remembered the exchange, the prospect of a new curse. She gave her best not to tremble too much as she asked, “The new curse-”

“I can’t tell you what it will be yet.”

“But how-”

“Okay, I’ll give you the short explanation. Any curse corrupts its host. Your body lets it nest inside of it, and usually you will let the curse run its course until it’s fulfilled or withered and the space will grow back. More or less. If I have to extract the curse, the space will be hollow and harm your body and mind. It leaves room for possessions, diseases and much more. So instead I extract the awful curse and give you a new one that is slightly less awful. But in order to do that, the new curse needs to fill out the same space. I need to understand both curses to the T, so that this procedure works. That’s also why I can’t tell you anything about the new curse yet, because I need to understand the Heart of Silver first. Got it?”

Evelyn nodded, a little as if in a daze.

“So, the granny?”

“Gone, yes.” Evelyn sighed deeply. “I didn’t think that she would be of help. I just saw her as a ghost and sent her off.”

“The mark?”

“Just the silver veins, they started in the hand with which I touched the fork.”

“Mn. It looks like it has spread completely since then. That doesn’t need to mean anything, though.” Ariel wrote down notes in a book, the pen’s ink invisible to Evelyn’s eyes.

“When exactly was this?”

“Somewhen between five and six, this evening.”

Ariel wrote down more notes, far more than Evelyn had said, so she could only assume that those were some curse related conclusions. After a few minutes, Ariel had emptied their second cup of coffee. At this point, they looked up again and pressed their lips together.

“I would like to see the curse medium then. You don’t happen to still have that fork?”

Evelyn shook her head, “I assume it’s still in the house, though. I saw the police wrapping everything up as well, so we should be alone there.” She forced the rest of her coffee down her throat, ignoring how it upset her stomach just a moment later. Ariel nodded and got up, carrying the two cups over to the sink.

“Well, then. Let’s get going, shall we?” They nodded towards the door and Evelyn went to follow them. Before Ariel closed the kitchen door, she looked back. “Shouldn’t you blow out your candles? Your cat is so close and-”

“Oh, I cursed the candles, don’t worry. They don’t burn anything. I feel a little bad for doing it, though. Imagine being a fire and then the only thing you can burn is candle wax. So sad.”

They reached the door and Evelyn stopped once more in her tracks.

“Do you really want to leave like that?” she asked and looked down Ariel’s onesie with ghost-print.

“Oh, right, shoes,” they answered, fetching a pair of run down converse, not bothering to tie the laces. They tucked them in and pointed to the door. “Now?”

But Evelyn still felt like they had forgotten something important. Something they needed to consider before they left. Maybe it was just her fear of entering that house again where she had gotten cursed in the first place, the fear of not finding what they needed to. The fear that she would so utterly fail in the quest of saving her life, of destroying the curse. It was too close to past memories, perhaps. The image of the old lady dissipating into thin air as she sent her off still lingered in her mind, and she couldn’t help but see herself in that place.

“Ah, of course,” Ariel mumbled, pulled out a single hair from Evelyn and burnt it in the candle standing next to the door. “My mistake.” They waved to the outside, and finally Evelyn found the strength to walk again.

“So you did curse your own apartment!”

“Nonsense, I never said that,” Ariel replied with a grin and the rain poured down on them once more. Like needles, it pricked on her skin. If she turned into a silver statue, she would never feel it again. They ran to her old Corolla, parked so very badly in line.

“You know, those winter tires are really cheap now. You should get them as long as they are affordable. I bet they will be much pricier once it’s winter.”

“Gotta make it to winter first,” Evelyn muttered and turned on the motor. The radio gave white noise – a side effect of getting cursed, or maybe just a coincidental break-down.

“So pessimistic. Really, you’re insufferable.” Ariel started to play snake on their phone.

The way to the old house was quiet except for the occasional white noise when the radio came to life unasked. The road was mostly deserted at the late hour, some street lights only blinked yellow already. It was not until she turned on the road to leave the small city that Ariel shifted in the front seat.

“Where were you the whole last year, Evelyn?” Their voice was softer now. The phone tucked inside their pocket. With a quick glance, she could see that they looked outside. Of course, they would ask. Evelyn had known that. Despite this, she still didn’t know what to answer. How to say the words to Ariel that she could hardly think to herself.

“I just… I was not so well.” A kind euphemism for lying in bed all day, ignoring her calls and living off of pizza and instant noodles.

“We could have really used you then. There was that Undine in the sink of that favourite restaurant of yours. Took three of us to get her out of there. You could have probably managed her yourself.” A harsh way to say that she had been missed. A nice way to say that Ariel was hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Lousy words. They would not make up for letting her friends down. Not really.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize.” She had to, though. She really had to.

Evelyn pulled into the street, the utmost street of the small-town. One could see the forest behind it from here. At the end of the street stood an old house, next to the old school that was covered in ivy.

“I just wanted you to know that you’re needed, even if you think you aren’t. Or I don’t know… Ah, you know.” Words were hard for Ariel, too. But Evelyn thought she understood them, and nodded with a slight smile. It had been like that between them from the beginning, somehow.

----

WIP intro || masterlist || next chapter

#writeblr #novella #my writing #original fiction #fantasy #urban fantasy #ghosts #curses #wip; heart of silver #heart of silver chapter 1 #tw body horror #tw depression #tw death mention #not really body horror but also not not body horror but no spooky if that clears it up x)

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blitzturtles · 4 years ago

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Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 6

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba, FugoNara / NaraFugo (Could be platonic, honestly, tho the BruAbba definitely isn't.)

Summary: “What?” he snaps.

“I’m just thinking.”

A pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). Here's another Bucci-centric chapter for the Bucci-centric fic.

Additional Notes: Sometimes having two disabled folks in one relationship is... rough. Not at all based on real life experiences...

Content Warning: couple fighting and a panic attack.

Also, for unnecessary clarification: Moody doesn't zipper through anything. Abbacchio goes around barriers and resets her timer as needed. Oh, and I use she/her for Moody. I've got a fic planned for that eventually.

There's also a mild mention of a headcanon I have where Bucci is technically Narancia's guardian. For school and healthcare purposes. (Fugo emancipated post-disownment, and Giorno kind of flies under the radar.)

Bucciarati won’t admit it, but there’s something devastating about the first medication not working. Or not working well enough. They can’t be sure, but he’s not willing to continue on something that ultimately failed to curb such a traumatic experience for one of the people he cares for most. He can’t quite shake the guilt that’s been slowly wearing away at him for days.

It’s only the anxiety of having another seizure in front of his famiglia that has him permitting Abbacchio staying home once more. He can’t do that to Narancia again, and he knows that it won’t be any less stressful for the rest of them. It’s bad enough when Leone has to deal with the fallout, but he’s better prepared for it. He’s seen worse, and it’s part of what they both signed up for. For better or worse, in sickness and in health. They’ve done everything but scribbled their names on the paperwork to make it official, but Bruno thinks that, with everything else they’ve gone through, they’ve more than earned their right as one another’s life partner.

Still, that doesn’t mean that Bucciarati likes to be watched like a lab experiment. With eyes that are waiting for the slightest hint that something’s wrong. It makes him acutely aware of the fact that he could have another seizure at any given moment. That he might have one with no warning signs, or at least not any that he’d recognize as such.

That’s the problem with auras; he can’t seem to recognize them for what they are.

He’s being unreasonable, he knows. He hasn’t had enough seizures to know whether or not he’ll learn to recognize the warning signs, but it feels like it’s been an eternity already. And a thousand seizures, rather than a small handful. Part of that is due to how poorly he feels afterwards, and how off he feels on the medication. Part of it is how all of this has disrupted their lives in every way imaginable. And all of it has him in a sour mood.

“You’re upset,” Abbacchio starts with a frown. It’s the first time either of them has spoken all morning.

“I’m frustrated.”

Abbacchio hums in response. A quiet sound that wouldn’t normally grate Bucciarati’s nerves, but it gets under his skin and festers.

“What?” he snaps.

“I’m just thinking.”

A pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You never want to talk about it,” Abbacchio answers, snappish and untrue. Even if it were, he knows why. Understands better than anyone else.

Bruno’s eyes widen slightly. A startled, wounded look evident in his blue irises, but his gaze hardens and he sneers,

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Bruno, wait--”

But Bruno is already gone with nothing but a trace of gold left behind.

Damn that stand.

______

It’s a childish thing, to storm off, especially when Bucciarati knows that Leone’s only worried. That he hadn’t meant the words that came out of his mouth, and that he’s as scared as Bucciarati is. That this is all out of his depth, regardless of what they feel for one another or what promises they’ve made. It’s still terrifying the way it’s terrifying to watch Abbacchio cough up blood some mornings.

He regrets leaving the moment he stops moving. Stops tearing holes through walls and leaving Sticky Fingers to put them back together. It’s like someone punched the air out of him, and all he can do is sink to the ground, on his knees, with his head held in his hands and his mouth open, gasping for air.

Each breath comes too quick, and leaves before he feels like he gets any air. There’s something wrapped around his chest. Too tight, and somehow pulling tighter. It’s all he can do to lie down. Before the next inevitable comes. He already feels too light-headed with a lingering dizziness that makes it impossible to think through.

“Bruno,” the voice sounds familiar. Too much like his own echoing in his ears, but he’s not talking, much less calling his own name. His voice wouldn’t sound like that. Wouldn’t sound steady, if not worried, but, when he looks, there’s a mirror image of himself looking down at him. It falls to its knees, and a familiar sound rings out in the air as Moody’s timer runs out. She reaches for him as purple wraps around her frame once more.

“Bruno,” Leone repeats, this time in his own voice, from his own body. He all but collapses on his knees beside his stand and reaches out with careful hands to brush Bucciarati’s hair from his face.

Time freezes for a moment. Bucciarati expects consciousness to flee him without warning, but the air lingers. Stale and stiff and impossible to breathe, and all he can do is try and try to pull enough of it into his lungs to try to chase away the spots dancing across his vision.

Recognition flashes across Leone’s features. Where his hand has gone still in Bruno’s hair, it moves once more. A gentle carding. A distraction from the racing fears in Bucciarati’s head. He can’t calm his breathing no matter how hard he tries. It feels completely out of his control, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Leone asks him seemingly out of the blue, but he knows that’s not right. That Leone must have been talking since his arrival, but Bruno can’t recall a word that’s been said.

“Yes,” he breathes, because he is now, and he meant to before. It’s just so hard to hear anything past the roaring in his ears.

“You need to calm down a little bit. Take some deep breaths,” Leone tells him, as if Bucciarati hasn’t been trying to do that since he stopped moving. There’s a sense of impending doom that lingers, pressing down on him until it’s crushing and unbearable.

“Hey,” Leone calls, tapping Bruno gently on the forehead, “You gotta focus on me, alright? Stop listening to whatever’s going on in that thick head of your’s, and listen to me. I need you to breathe in-- slower than that. Okay, good, hold-- now out. Annnd in--” They go through the steps several more times, until Bucciarati can successfully follow the counts more often than not. Finally-- finally he can breathe. Oxygen filters through his system, and his vision begins to clear. It’s only then that he starts to put the pieces together, and it’s shame that replaces the panic.

“I’m-”

“Don’t,” Leone cuts Bruno off before he can apologize. “I get it.” He moves to catch Bruno when he wobbles a bit too much upon trying to sit up. “Take it easy, will you?” He sighs and sits back.

“Sorry,” Bruno says, for lack of anything else to say.

“I’ll kick your ass if you apologize again.”

Bruno opens his mouth, and Leone quirks an eyebrow. It’s enough of a threat, empty as it may be, to convince Bruno to click his teeth together.

Leone huffs a sound that might be a laugh. Or it might be the last of his sanity slipping away. He scrubs his hands over his face and sighs. “I’m sorry. For what I said earlier. That was shitty. I’m just-”

“Scared?”

“Terrified.”

“That’s fair,” Bruno muses quietly. He absently wipes at his face, and it’s the first time he realizes that there are tears there. Streaking down both cheeks and plentiful in nature. He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack. He’s better at running from his problems than he is dealing with them head on. At least the ones emotional in nature. The rest he’s always tackled with little more than a hope and a prayer to a deity he’s long lost faith in. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I told you to stop apologizing.”

“When have I ever listened to you?” Bruno snarks back, shoulders relaxing slightly.

Leone snorts, “Not a day in your life.” Bruno has the scars to prove it, too. Bastard. “C’mon. Let’s get off the floor. I’m getting too old for this.”

It’s Bruno’s turn to laugh this time, “You’re barely in your twenties.”

“And I’m too goddamn old. Up,” Leone pushes himself to his feet before reaching his hands out to pull Bruno upright. There’s a pause where the two are lost, staring at one another, and Leone decides ‘fuck it’. What better time to go for a kiss then after your partner has a full on panic attack? They’ve done worse with far more questionable timing.

Bruno responds to the kiss with a pleased little sound in the back of his throat. He tugs Leone closer, wanting the contact more than anything. He can feel Leone’s hands cradling the back of his head, fingers linking together at his nape.

“Gross! Get a room!”

Leone curses as they break apart and shoots Narancia the meanest look he can, “I will murder you.”

“Only if you catch me!” And the kid is off before Leone can even respond.

Bucciarati can’t help laughing at the whole display. He grabs for Leone’s hand before his partner can seriously consider killing Narancia. “May I remind you that I’m legally responsible for him?”

“They won’t find the body.”

“Leone!”

#bruabba #abbabru #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #jjba part 5 #part 5 #blitzwrites #fic: islt #blitz

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moiraineswife · 4 years ago

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His Father’s Eyes - A Kholin Family Fic

RHYTHM OF WAR SPOILERS

GO AWAY IF YOU DON’T WANT RHYHTM OF WAR SPOILERS

THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. GET OUT OF HERE.

Title: His Father’s Eyes

Summary: Set in the middle of Rhythm of War: Dalinar has a late-running meeting so Wit suggests that he and Jasnah can watch Gavinor for a few hours. Jasnah is very awkward and unsure around her baby nephew because this woman will look into the face of god and spit cheerfully, but if you confront her with a toddler she will crumble. Wit encourages her to bond with him and it gets incredibly soft and emotional.

Teaser: ‘Gavinor solemnly picked up his little blue-clad soldier doll, the same one he’d had when Elhokar had rescued him from Aeseudan and the Palace of Kholinar, and walked steadily towards her.

Irrationally, she found herself sitting up straighter in her chair, gripping its arms, bracing herself. As if this was a chasmfiend hauling itself from a black pit on the Shattered Plains, advancing menacingly upon her, mandibles clacking, not her toddler aged nephew. Ridiculous. And yet.

He stared up at her with big, green eyes. Her father’s eyes. Her brother’s eyes. Both now gone. Dead. In part because of her failures. Now Gavinor looked at her with them, and the fear that she would fail him, too, assaulted her in a wave so strong and unexpected, it was almost overwhelming.’

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters

Jasnah allowed herself a moment to pause her work. She had been going without pause for several hours now, and she could tell it was starting to have a negative impact on her. Reviewing troop casualty reports from the latest battle was a grim task indeed.

Letting her mind wander, she glanced to the opposite side of the tent where Wit was entertaining little Gavinor.

It was...Nice, she allowed, to take her mind off the cost of this war they were fighting, to remind herself who they were fighting it for. She felt partially responsible for every one of the deaths listed before her.

Not only did she, irrationally, wonder if there was more she could have done to support them on the battlefield. She had sent them. She was their Queen. In Alethkar that meant she was also their ultimate military leader. She had ordered them to die for her, and her cause. And they had.

It was a worthy cause. Not fighting would lead to all of their deaths. To the destruction or domination of their entire world by the oppressive power of hatred. But it was still hard to read those numbers. To know their fear. To feel their blood upon her hands.

Gavinor reminded her why she was doing this. Not just for her family, but for all of the children on Roshar. She would win this war for them, for their futures, for the chance at peace for them that still lived. Its heart fluttering, lungs filled with blood, wheezing. But still. There was a chance.

Dalinar typically kept Gavinor with him. He had taken very seriously to being more involved in the little boy’s life, which Jasnah approved of, in general. However, he’d had a meeting with the army generals today, who had wanted his perspective on today’s assault, as he’d been the one of the two of them on the field.

He’d asked Jasnah if she wanted to spend a few hours with her nephew. Wit had jumped in to agree on her behalf. He claimed afterwards, in response to her cool glare, thought it would be ‘good for her’. Maybe it was. All the same, she wouldn’t have allowed it to continue without his assurance that he would stay with her.

Jasnah loved Gavinor. As the last good thing she had left of her little brother, and in his own right as her nephew. He was her family. That meant there was nothing she would not do for him. But he was still very young, and she had never been entirely comfortable around small children.

They seemed so...Strange. So alien. They felt unpredictable to her, unknowable, irrational. That unsettled her more than she would ever openly admit.

An adult you could ask questions, you could track patterns and learn to read their emotions, their moods, their personality. You could predict their future behaviours based on observation of their past. They were far easier for her to understand and respond to.

Children were precisely the opposite. And they seemed so...Fragile. Not simply physically. It was so easy to say the wrong thing, to cause unintended distress. They were as changeable and flighty as the seasons. Happy and content one moment, screaming with some unknowable torment the next. She hated the sound of their crying. It cut through her, and it made it very difficult to focus on anything else.

Wit, meanwhile, was so natural with Gavinor, it was as though he’d been made for this purpose.

This being, so ancient and alien in so many ways, seemed able to do so easily things that seemed impossible to her. The ease with which he seemed to communicate, and connect with other people. How he seemed to instantly understand them.

His long life experience no doubt assisted with this, but she knew it was more than that. This was who he was, who he had always been. He had not needed that experience to know how to do this.

He had used another form of Investiture he called Awakening to bring her nephew’s little Kholin doll to life. It now walked around, allowing Gavinor to chase it, hugging him when he caught up to it.

The child had been quite upset at first that his little soldier would not pick up a sword or fight. All it did was hug him, and play with him. She’d caught Wit’s eye when this had first come to light and an understanding had passed between them. A gratitude she had not been able to put into words.

Jasnah understood her Uncle’s desire to have Gavinor with him, and why that meant he had brought him here, despite it being a warzone. He was trying so hard to avoid making the mistakes he personally had made before that he was ignoring the others they were making.

She didn’t know a great deal about children. Though she had done as much research as her current schedule would allow. But she did not think encouraging a five year old’s preoccupation with violence and revenge was a healthy thing.

She would be damned if she allowed her brother’s only son to be drawn into continuing the same cycle of pointless, painful revenge that had killed him.

Whatever else Elhokar might have wanted for Gavinor, it would never be that.

They had talked, a little, before she had left the Plains for her research. On quiet evenings alone in his palace complex save flamespren dancing in the hearth. She wished, sometimes, she’d made time for more of those.

They had spoken together about the revenge against the Listeners for what they had done to their father. It had been a complex thing within Elhokar, though it had never been a driving force for her.

Emotion was a difficult thing for both of them, but in different ways. Jasnah often felt that she didn’t have enough input. That everyone around her got so much more from the world around them than she did. That in turn made their own responses so much stronger, and more consuming than it had ever felt for her.

Elhokar...Elhokar had gotten far too much input.

Jasnah loved their Uncle Dalinar. And she had loved their father in his own right. She knew they had both tried their best for him. But they had never allowed Elhokar to be his own person. Every decision he made. Every path that he took. Every feeling he had. Every thought that entered his mind was subject not only to his own will, but to theirs.

It was not enough for Elhokar to do what he’d thought was right. He also had to do what he thought his father, and Dalinar, would think was right. Their approval and judgement had always seemed to have more weight in his mind than his own.

Declaring war on the Listeners had, in part, been a reaction of grief and pain at losing his father. But he’d confessed to her, in private, and under the strictest oath of confidence, that he had also partially done it because he felt it was what was expected of him.

The Alethi were a warlike people. It was how they dealt with almost everything. This was something Jasnah was working, with Wit’s help, to change. The foundation of a people’s society being violence and conflict could never lead to stability or longevity. The formation of their own storming unified kingdom had only come because of war against their own.

It would be unthinkable, then, that the Alethi would not go to war with the Listeners in retribution. It was not enough to execute those who had ordered Gavilar’s assassination. It was not enough to exile them from their lands. It was not enough. It was not enough. It was never enough. That was the problem.

Everyone expected Elhokar to declare war, and so he had.

They all expected him to relentlessly pursue vengeance for his father, and so he had.

Anything less, anything other, might have implied that he didn’t care, and he couldn’t have that.

Some had suggested that of Jasnah, when she’d left the Plains to pursue her research. Foolishness. But she had felt able to do what she thought was right. Elhokar...Elhokar had always been forced to do what he thought others felt was right.

Her heart ached for her brother in that moment. She did not often think of him. There was so much to do. So much else to focus on. Something she did deliberately, perhaps, to avoid this second grief and failure that now haunted her. But when she did…

She still remembered him as the child he had been. Eager, and earnest, and so desperate to please everyone. To do good. To live up to his father’s name expectations.

That had never been possible. And that had been the true tragedy of her brother’s life: it had always been doomed. He had spent so much time chasing that impossible dream, trying to attain a thing that he had been destined to fail at before he’d ever begun.

Sighing, she stopped her thoughts as they began to spiral down into a pool of grief. Instead, she focused on Wit and Gavinor.

He had used Lightweaving to create a whole scene for him to play in. Something gentle, and calm. Dalinar wouldn’t have approved, likely, but it made Jasnah smile a little.

There was thick green grass that did not pull away and hide when the little boy ran through it. Gavinor was giggling, chasing small round, furry creatures with too large ears that kept popping in and out of holes in the ground.

Every now and then he hurtled past Wit and made some request of him to add something else to the scene, and Wit would bow and comply, weaving the boy’s imaginations into life around him.

Gavinor had started referring to him as ‘Uncle Wit’. Which was as endearing as it was concerning.

As if sensing this thought, Wit glanced up suddenly and caught her watching them.

He smiled, rather slyly, and she immediately felt a flicker of concern. He allowed the illusion to fade, and she frowned at him, though Gavinor didn’t seem upset.

She watched as Wit crouched down and whispered something in the boy’s ear, smiling encouragingly. Then he lounged against the desk behind him and folded his arms, watching, smirking.

Gavinor solemnly picked up his little blue-clad soldier doll, the same one he’d had when Elhokar had rescued him from Aeseudan and the Palace of Kholinar, and walked steadily towards her.

Fortunately, she was well-practiced at controlling herself, and gave nothing away. Not that the little boy seemed to pick up on, anyway. Wit, standing in his corner, cocked his head slightly at her. But uncharacteristically he said nothing.

Without saying a word, Gavinor handed his little doll towards her. Cautiously, she took it, and held it in her lap, tracing her fingers over the stitching on the buttons. The top one was coming loose. He could pull that free and choke on it. She would need to speak to his nurses and ensure that they took the time to repair it for him before-

Gavinor tugged gently at her havah, trying to get her attention. She forced a smile, looking at him instead of the doll, and said, in what she hoped was a warm, friendly voice appropriate for a young child, “Thank you, Gavinor.”

Wit, the insufferable bastard, was being of no help whatsoever. He was still lounging at the back of the tent, watching, as if he were at some sort of play.

She glared pointedly at him, but he glanced down at the desk at the exact moment she looked up and pretended to be busy rearranging his papers, so apparently did not see. Storms. She was going to kill him. She-

Gavinor tugged again, gentle, but insistent, on the edge of her havah and she looked back down at him. He seemed...Expectant?

Stormfather, why was this so difficult?

A part of her wanted to call Wit over, to ask him to deal with Gavinor instead. Though she very much doubted he would deign to hear her command. But looking down into those eyes, she couldn’t. She couldn’t just give him away, pass him off on someone else. Make him feel less wanted, and more alone, than he already did.

This was awkward. It was uncomfortable. It was hard. It felt storming impossible at times. But this was her nephew. Her brother’s son. Her family.

She was not as some people whispered. She was not a heartless monster. A thing that was more creature than human. A being that did not feel, did not care, could not love.

She had difficulty connecting to people. But she wanted to. Storms but she did. Most of the time. She cared, and she loved, and she tried. In her own way, a way most didn’t see or understand. But that had become enough for her, now.

Biting her lip, she looked down at the doll in her lap, then stood him on his little booted feet.

“He’s very nice, Gavinor,” she said, a little stiffly, but the boy didn’t seem to mind.

He nodded solemnly, “It’s my daddy,” he told her, very seriously.

Jasnah nodded back, which seemed the right thing to do, “I see that,” she told him, though she didn’t.

Gavinor studied her face for a moment, as though it was a book with text he could almost translate, but not quite. He wasn’t sure what he saw. Some cold, distant person he was supposed to call ‘aunt’ and love because they told him she was family?

Then he said, very matter-of-factly, “You look a lot like my daddy.”

Something caught in her chest at that, it was so unexpected. But she just nodded and said, “Yes. He was my brother.”

“I know that,” the boy answered, in a tone that implied she was stupid.

She found herself smiling, “Of course you do.”

“Grampa says that he was brave,” Gavinor informed her, “He says daddy was a hero.”

“He was,” Jasnah agreed, and meant it this time.

To his little boy, he had been. And that would have been what mattered most to Elhokar. To him. Not the pressures exerted by others. But deep down. In his heart. Being a hero to this little boy would be more important to him than anything else he had ever done. It would eclipse his perceived failures entirely.

Gavinor scrunched his face up in an expression she struggled to place. Was he upset thinking about his father? About that terrible day in Kholinar when that bastard bridgeman had murdered her little brother in front of his young son?

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his hands towards her, looking expectant again.

Oh Storms.

He looked as though he wanted her to pick him up, to hold him, perhaps to offer him comfort, as Navani had probably done for him countless times before.

Jasnah couldn’t do that. She couldn’t be what this little boy needed. She wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t even Wit, or Dalinar. They would have found some way to reach out, to soothe him.

She was not them. She was cold, and distant, and sterile. She was the last thing this child needed. She would only disappoint him, leave him worse than he had been before, confused, as well as upset.

She looked at Wit for assistance but he just inclined his head and gestured for her to proceed.

Storm him. He was probably right, but storm him. She wasn’t ready for this. She couldn’t do it.

“Jasnah,” Ivory observed, helpfully, voice so soft only she could hear him, “I believe that the small human you are related to would like you to pick him up.”

Storms. Even Ivory was better at this than she was. She resisted the impulse to bury her face in her hands in answer.

Carefully, hesitant, certain she would somehow do this wrong, she put her hands under Gavinor’s outstretched arms and lifted him up.

He sat quite happily on her lap, so that was something, but continued to watch her with those impenetrable green eyes. Eyes that had seen too much for his age.

“Grampa says you’re Radiant,” Gavinor told her, little hands picking with vague interest at the embroidery on her havah.

“I am,” she confirmed, with half a glance at Wit in a desperate plea for help. But he just continued his idle lounging from a distance.

She might actually kill him.

It would be both instructive, giving her an insight into how he returned after he died, which he’d implied he could do. It would also be an excellent remedy for her fury towards him. A scenario with no downsides whatsoever. That made a delightful change for her of late.

“Do you have a friend spren?” Gavinor asked her, distracting her from her wistful fantasies about how, precisely, she would like to brutally murder her partner.

‘Friend-spren’ was what Gavinor referred to the Radiant spren as. Children, from a young age, came to understand regular spren as features of the landscape. It had taken a little extra explaining on Navani’s part to help him understand Radiant spren. He had some...Unfortunate experiences with more intelligent spren who were always around.

“I do,” she told him, “His name is Ivory.”

“Can I see him?” the boy asked, a little bounce of eagerness in him, which was good to see.

Her mother said he was too solemn, for his age. Even Jasnah, with her limited experience or instincts towards children, could grasp that fact.

She hesitated, “He can be quite...Nervous sometimes,” she said cautiously.

Gavinor’s face fell at once, and her heart plummeted at the sight, “Is he afraid of me?”

“No, no,” Jasnah said, scrambling to fix her mistake, “He just likes to be careful,” she tried to explain.

Gavinor nodded, as if that made sense. Which was strangely heartbreaking.

“He-” Jasnah began, but she broke off as movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Ivory had grown to a visible size on her shoulder. He liked to ride on the inside of her collar, usually, which allowed him to be invisible to most, but close enough to speak with her as needed. Very practical.

Now he stood, around the height of her hand, clearly visible to the little boy, whose face lit up at the sight of him.

“He’s very pointy,” he observed, after contemplating him for a long moment.

This was a rather shrewd observation, though he might not know it. ‘Pointy’ described Ivory rather well, in her estimation.

He reached out, then, surprisingly, stopped himself, and looked at her, “Can I touch him?” he asked.

“That is not for me to say,” she said. When he frowned, confused, she added, “You would need to ask Ivory.”

He considered this, then addressed her shoulder, “Can I touch you?” he asked, eagerly.

Ivory sniffed, “You may, young relation,” he said, at last.

That surprised her. Making himself visible was already a large allowance on Ivory’s part. She had expected him to refuse this latest request, but felt a rush of gratitude at him for allowing it.

The little boy frowned at this, however, “My name’s Gavinor,” he said, a little indignantly. Jasnah smiled.

“Gavinor,” Ivory agreed, stiffly. Then he said, “Hold out your hands.”

She loved him for the effort he was making in this. For her. She could sense his discomfort at being seen, even in this relatively private setting. But he did it for her, for her family, which he knew was of the utmost importance to her.

Gavinor glanced at Jasnah, who nodded, which seemed to encourage him, for he cautiously did as he was told.

Ivory walked briskly down her arm and then onto the little boy’s outstretched palms.

“I can’t feel him,” Gavinor said, looking disappointed.

“That is because I exist largely in the Cognitive Realm, young Gavinor,” Ivory informed him in his clipped voice. “I have very little presence in this Realm, despite my bond to your aunt.”

Gavinor blinked at this, then looked at Jasnah, who suddenly became very overwhelmed by the thought of having to try and explain Realmatic Theory to a five year old.

Fortunately, at that moment, Wit decided to make himself of use, finally, and glided over, squatting down so he was on Gavinor’s eye level.

“Ivory is a spren, remember,” he told the boy, “He has his own spren world where he stays. That’s why you can’t feel him. You can see him because your aunt Jasnah lets him be here talking to you a little bit.”

Gavinor scrunched up his face, trying to understand this, “Like the bunnies?” he finally said, looking at Wit for reassurance.

Wit laughed lightly, “A little like the bunnies, yes.”

Jasnah made a mental note to ask Wit what on Roshar a ‘bunny’ was once Gavinor had been safely returned to Dalinar’s care. In the meantime, the arm Gavinor was leaning against was starting to feel numb, and she really had to get back to those troop reports, and-

To her consternation, Gavinor yawned and settled down against her. Amusingly, he coaxed Ivory off of his hands back onto her shoulder first, as if he was a cremling. Ivory complied with characteristic dignity

“Aunt Jasnah?” Gavinor said, sounding sleepy.

“Yes, Gavinor?”

“You’re gonna stop the bad things, right? Like, like what was at home,” his lip trembled slightly, and he grabbed at her havah’s embroidery again before saying, “So they don’t hurt anyone else?”

There was still innocence in those eyes of his. For all seen before their time. There was still the belief, the hope, that someone else would be able to put it all right for him again.

She had sworn herself to this task years ago. Had taken the burden of protecting Roshar and its people onto herself. It was why she had bonded Ivory. It was why she had done so much, sacrificed so much, given so much all this time.

In this moment, looking into those eyes, she felt that burden grow all the heavier. She was the person Gavinor looked to to make everything right in his world again. She would do that for him. She had to do that for him. Or else die attempting it.

She tried to smile for him, and awkwardly patted his head as she said, “I’m going to do my best, Gavinor.”

He nodded, apparently approving of this answer, then, without further ado, he closed his eyes and snuggled into her. One hand held tight to his Kholin doll, the other held a bunched up clump of her havah.

She widened her eyes significantly at Wit and gestured wordlessly at this rapidly developing situation which was not something that could continue, of course.

Wit nodded reassuringly and moved away. She hoped he might return with Gavinor’s nurse but instead, infuriatingly, he just came back with a blanket which he tucked around the two of them.

“Wit,” she hissed, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the child, “I can’t. I-”

“I do believe he’s already asleep, my dear, and so technically you already are,” Wit replied, sounding entirely too amused by this.

“Wit,” she growled, threateningly, though with a sleeping child nestled against her, she was not entirely sure what she was threatening him with.

She stared down at the little boy cuddled against her, and couldn’t shake the feeling that this was wrong.

How could he find comfort in her? How could he feel safe enough to sleep in her arms? How could he trust her when she did not even trust herself?

“This is a good thing, Jasnah,” Wit said, quietly, “Dalinar will be here to pick him up in an hour or so. It will not kill you to let him stay here and be held by you for that length of time.”

“This isn’t about me,” she whispered back, glaring.

Usually he always understood, always knew, so she did not have to struggle to try and put her emotions into words. This was something which had endeared her to him very quickly, yet now...

How could he not see the problem here? How could he not understand that this little boy was setting her up to be something that she could not be? He was going to look for things from her that she didn’t know how to give him. Things she had never known how to give anyone.

“I know,” Wit said, his voice gentle, “But perhaps you’re better at this than you think you are.”

“I think he’s just desperate,” Jasnah muttered.

“That’s rather harsh, dear one,” Wit commented lightly, “He is only five after all. And an orphan.”

“He is not an orphan,” Jasnah replied fiercely, resting a hand protectively on Gavinor’s back, “He still has his family.”

“Yes,” Wit said, quietly, “He does. I think he knows that. I think he may even know it better than you.”

“I still have work that needs to be done tonight,” Jasnah said, trying to be cold, and practical, trying to force Wit to take this child away from her, to show him why she could not be what he wanted.

Wit only gave her a soft smile and rested his hand on her back, “The dead shall wait, Jasnah,” he told her quietly, “The numbers will not change. Nor will the status of the war, or the analysis you will be draw from it all. They cannot be what you need right now.”

“And what do I need?” she asked, tone caught between frustration and curiosity.

“Life, Jasnah,” Wit said, quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, “You need to be here for the life that is happening around you right now, that will continue to happen around you, as you spend time buried in things that have not been, missing it.”

She swallowed, recognising that he was right. She took a deep breath, then settled into the chair, allowing herself to slouch into a more comfortable position. Reaching down, she took Wit’s hand and gave it a small squeeze in silent gratitude.

She knew now that he had set up this whole appointment with Gavinor for her. To give her this moment, this much needed reminder amidst this flood of blood, and violence, and death, that life was still there. Like new vines pushing up between the splayed fingers of fallen corpses on a battlefield. Unseen. Unnoticed, amidst the grief. But still there. And worth pausing to take note of.

“Could you fetch a cushion for me, please?” she asked, quietly, “I would like to make Gavinor more comfortable before his Uncle comes to collect him.”

Wit smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, leaving to do as she’d asked, a mixture of pride and smugness on his sharp features.

***

A/N: First of all I have no idea how children work. I am Jasnah when it comes to small humans. If this is not how they do I apologise. I am a hopeless gay who tried my best.

Secondly: this was supposed to be short and fluffy. It failed on both counts but I’m kind of okay with that tbh. It’s criminal we’ve had legitimately no Jasnah and Elhokar content whatsoever - not even after he died. So I PRODUCED this content. And finally: Jasnah being low empathy is SUPER important to me and it was a lot of fun to explore that in this. Okay Taryn out. Pls throw comments at me. I’m a thirsty comment slut.

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soveryanon · 5 years ago

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Reviewing time for MAG183!

- I’m not sure I can manage to put it into words quite right but: sounds-wise, this episode’s domain didn’t feel mind-blowingly new, it wasn’t something that felt “Oh! I’ve never heard something like this before!”? But the echoes, grinding and scratching were timed so well, giving so much strength and gravitas to the conversations, that it perfectly scratched an itch. I could hear that there was something close to Jon and Martin, that it was big, and mostly deserted, that it stood eerily in the overall wasteland, that they were two people alone against a whole world, a whole machine with gears and a mechanism ready to crush anyone?

- I LIVE for artist!Martin giving his commentary and overall throwing shade at the Fears’ taking of artistic licence liberties:

(MAG183) MARTIN: Oh, bugger off! ARCHIVIST: Everything all right? MARTIN: Oh, no, what e–, what e–, what even is that? It, it’s like Escher ate a bad cathedral and threw up everywhere.

He had shown interest in the Stranger’s carousel upon learning that the statements had been a poem, but shots fired for that tower, uh.

- Jon and Martin were so cute starting the episode! Their quick banter was adorable!

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s a building. A tower. … In a sense. MARTIN: Oh yeah? A–and what sense might that be? ARCHIVIST: [FAINTLY OMINOUS] … The Tarot sense. MARTIN: [SPLUTTERS WITH LAUGHTER] Really? ARCHIVIST: Wha–? No? Sorry, it… felt like a good line…! MARTIN: No, no, it was, I just… I dunno, I… [FOND EXHALE] You did the look, and…! It’s fine, sorry.

Martin being IN LOVE and appreciating Jon’s cuteness! The return of Jon showing that he’s an occult/horror nerd! We had seen in season 2 that he was generally very knowledgeable about anything related to the supernatural, and in season 4 that he was into Neil Lagorio’s movies, I’m happy to get another trace of it!

(MAG076) MELANIE: So I came here to dig a bit deeper. ARCHIVIST: Really? Our… our library is extensive, but it’s hardly focused on the Second World War. MELANIE: No, but the most detailed description of the crash that I could find came from the report of a man called William W. Hay. And later in life William Hay… ARCHIVIST: Became a noted occultist, whose memoirs and researches were only ever published in a heavily edited form. And we have unexpurgated copies. MELANIE: Exactly.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Statement ends. Hm. Neil Lagorio… You ever see any of his work? DAISY: No. Not really into films. ARCHIVIST: Oh, they were… Well, let’s just say that it’s not a complete shock there was something unnatural to them. Didn’t know we had copies in the Institute, though; let alone original cuts. [CHUCKLE] Records indicate they [PAPER RUSTLING] ended up in… Artefact Storage. DAISY: Probably best that they stay there. ARCHIVIST: … Yeah. Yes, of course.

But SOB x2 since:

* Tower-in-the-tarot-sense meaning ominous stuff… and change. (While Jon knew they would soon come face to face with the choice to take the route through Martin’s domain.)

* Crying over the fact that we’ve seen and learned quite a few outside-of-the-job aspects of Jon this season, comparatively to the previous ones? He’s cute! He’s making jokes! He mentioned his student days a bit in MAG165, and visiting Upton House as a kid in MAG180! And this is happening when the world has been forked over and Jon&Martin certainly won’t survive together past MAG200, which means they have at most seventeen episodes together remaining. Martin, and we alongside him, are seeing so many different, more casual aspects of Jon, and it’s at the end of things…

- I really like how information bounced around in this episode? It felt even more dynamic than usual, quickly shifting depending on some reaction, or going from an association to another:

(MAG183) MARTIN: What, what’s the deal, though? Parts of it almost look like– ARCHIVIST: The Institute. MARTIN: Yeah…! ARCHIVIST: Yes. [INHALE] It makes sense, after all it was… built on the ruins of what Robert Smirke constructed…! MARTIN: Smirke? … What, no! But, but, surely he’s– ARCHIVIST: Dead, yeah, I mean, yes. [CHUCKLING] Very much so! This place is… an homage, shall we say. A monument. To him, and those like him, who tried to… categorise the world with themselves at the centre. In so doing, constructed the architecture of its suffering…!

Ohohoh about Martin feeling like the tower looked a bit like the Institute, and Jon drawing similarities through Smirke – the Institute being built on the ruins of a Smirke building, and the current domain being dedicated to people like him. The Institute is coming closer and weighing on their minds, isn’t it? I really like that Martin immediately worried about Smirke potentially being alive-ish, since:

(MAG138) MARTIN: “The Eye has marked me for something, of this I have no doubt. My… humble hope is that it may be a swift death, an accidental effect of your own researches, which I once again implore you to abandon. It is likely too late for me, but I will not…” [PAPER RUSTLE] Uh… [INHALE] The, hum… The letter ends there. Uh… Ap–apparently Robert Smirke was found collapsed in his study that evening, dead of, uh… [FLIPPING THROUGH PAPERS] Apoplexy. Mm. I–I don’t know how the letter reached the Archives, I mean… Well, I can guess, but…

… he had read Smirke’s last words before he died. (But Martin has seen enough by now to know that there is always a risk for people to not have actually died; on that front, we’re safe, Jon confirmed! Loving Jon’s chuckle: ah yeah, no, Smirke, “very much so” dead from Jonah.)

(Also loved the “[those] who tried to categorise the world with themselves at the centre” shade: yep! That’s West-Eurocentrism and Smirke’s little gang for you!)

- About the way the world works now since the Change, I’m curious about Jon’s wording as “the architecture of [the world’s] suffering”, since it’s echoing the title of Smirke’s statement, “The Architecture of Fear”: my understanding is that right now, the world is mostly running on a loop of people’s fears => feeding and shaping the landscape => which hurts people by turning those realised fears against them => squeezing the fear out of them => feeding the landscape, etc.

What is quite curious is the status of Smirke’s taxonomy in the current world. Jon went off on a rant about how Smirke and people who attempted to classify had been wrong all along because it was meant to fail… while he himself has persistently been using the very same classifications during this very season:

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: Look, we can talk about it later, we’re– coming to a… “domain of The Buried”, and [STATIC RISES] I would really rather… […] God, I hate The Buried. [DEEP BREATHS] … End recording.

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] “Knowing”, “seeing”… i–it’s not the same thing as… understanding. Every time I try to know what The Web’s plan is, if it can even be called a plan, I see… a hundred thousand events and causes and links, an impossibly intricate pattern of consequences and subtle nudges, but I–I can’t…! … I can’t hold them all in my head at the same time. There’s no way to see the “whole”, the, the point of it all. I can see all the details, but it doesn’t… provide… context or… intention. I suppose The Web doesn’t work in knowledge, not in the same way.

(MAG173) MARTIN: That’s the avatar for this place? ARCHIVIST: Callum Brodie, thirteen years old. He guides the children through their fears of The Dark.

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, it’s The Vast. The clue is in the name! MARTIN: Yes, all right…!

(MAG176) MARTIN: … Besides, I thought The Hunt was meant to make you go faster. ARCHIVIST: Depends on the type of pursuit. [INHALE] Besides, the chase isn’t… really the point of this particular place.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Bad therapists. Let’s just say it’s the fear of bad therapists, filtered through The Spiral. BASIRA: That’s… a lot more nuance than I’ve gotten used to since everything went wrong. ARCHIVIST: Yes, well. The Spiral is nothing if not insidious. […] You just heard what The Spiral does to people, you can’t… trust her.

“constructed the architecture of [the world’s] suffering” kind of implies that they did manage something, even if it doomed the world? Is it specifically about Jonah using the division into 14 in his incantation? We’ve seen that that one had limitations, since The Extinction also got there anyway… But at the same time, true that at this point, we would still force-apply Smirke’s labels to anything anyway.

- Loved Jon sounding awfully pedantic and (fake-)poetic at the same time:

(MAG183) MARTIN: [SIGH] Bit of a mouthful. ARCHIVIST: Would you prefer I described it as a… “cascading recursion of shifting arrogance and hubristic dead-ends”? [STATIC RISES] [THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] [CONSTANT HIGH-PITCHED FREQUENCY] HELEN: I would. [FOOTSTEPS] [THE DOOR SHUTS] [STATIC FADES] MARTIN: [SIGH] Hello, Helen.

AND HELEN HAVING THE BEST ENTRANCES. It also cleared up something for me (unless I had already realised it and forgot about it since then): the high-pitched sound we hear when she’s around is the mark of Helen and Michael, not of the corridors – if the door is open or characters are inside of the hallways, we’ll hear some of the usual crackling static, but we heard it rise when Helen arrived and fade when the door shut behind her (and same thing with her departure, it was briefly heard when she opened the door).

- Shots fired, MARTIN PLEASE:

(MAG183) MARTIN: [SIGH] Hello, Helen. Might have guessed you’d be into weird architecture. Very much your area of expertise, no? HELEN: Hmm, depends! Would you describe “petulant poet” as your area of expertise? I am weird architecture.

And Helen went equally incisive on that one, but also UUUUUH WAS IT A SPECIFIC REFERENCE TO PETER’S COMMENT ABOUT MARTIN…

(MAG158) MARTIN: I’m… saying no. I refuse! Game over. [KNIFE CLATTERING ON THE GROUND] PETER: Martin, this is not the time for petulance; there are bigger things at stake, here.

This was the only time someone referred to Martin as (acting) petulant… I mean, Helen not missing one second of MAG158 wouldn’t be surprising (she did tell Jon at the end of MAG157 that she would be enjoying the show), but ;; Little chilling when remembering Elias-Peter-Martin in the Panopticon and Martin refusing to kill Jonah there…

- I was right to suspect that Helen might have been unable to know where Jon&Martin were over their stay at Upton House, and that she wouldn’t be pleased about it!

(MAG183) HELEN: Anyway, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you, but you both just vanished. ARCHIVIST: Aaah… Right, I see…! HELEN: I was so looking forward to catching up after that whole Basira and Daisy thing, but then, pfft! You both disappear. I’d be very keen to know how you managed that little trick. MARTIN: Why, it caught us by surprise too, I mean, we, we actually ended– ARCHIVIST: [FIRMLY] We found somewhere to rest. That’s all. MARTIN: … Oh, yeah. Ah, yes, hm. HELEN: Fine. Be like that. I can appreciate the particular pleasure of a kept secret. ARCHIVIST: I’m sure you can.

* Salesa’s zone seems to be protected as long as you don’t physically find it? I wonder how Annabelle managed to find it, still, since Jon only become aware of that blind spot when they arrived nearby; how did she become aware of it in the first place? Did it feel like a hole in the world’s web?

* Awww for Jon keeping the secret and conveying to Martin that they should keep quiet about it ;w;

* AHAHAHHAHA for Jon’s “aaah”, which was absolutely a mischievous grandpa sound. Jon ready to cause trouble, with a smug smile on his face.

- … I love how Helen could observe that the dynamic of the exchange was slipping out of her control (Jon&Martin knew something that she didn’t, didn’t feel threatened by her, and Jon was amused to keep it out of her reach) and immediately tried to go for the throat again:

(MAG183) HELEN: Anyway. Such a shame about Basira and Daisy. I was really rooting for them to make up. MARTIN: [SPLUTTERS] Since when? What happened to– I mean, how did you put it… a, “a quick shot to the back of her head, and then back in time for tea”, or whatever?

Martin: Forgive and forget? NO, RESENT AND REMEMBER AHAHAHAHAH.

Direct reference to the fact that Helen indeed ~offered her door to Basira~ to quickly get to Daisy and execute her:

(MAG177) HELEN: I can offer a shortcut. Take you right to that murder machine you call a partner. MARTIN: Basira… Jon can’t go through Helen’s doors, we, we couldn’t come with you. HELEN: Basira is a strong, independent woman. She doesn’t need you two holding her hand. Anyway, it’ll be dead quick. Two minutes, door-to-door, quick shot to the back of Daisy’s head, and we’ll be home before you know it!

Laughing that Martin added the tea mention (Martin, you single-track minded tea-aficionado), but I’m glad that he remembered it full well to throw it in her face; it wasn’t even a personal attack towards Martin, it was something Helen tried to do to Basira, I’m glad that Martin is still absolutely offended about it ;w;

- I felt like Jon and Helen had two definitions of “what we want”: Helen potentially talking about quick, short-term wants (even if they turn out to be self-destructive), while Jon was more about well-thought decisions and choices?

(MAG183) HELEN: [EXASPERATED SIGH] Oh, give over. I was obviously just prodding her, trying to make a point. She didn’t want to kill her. ARCHIVIST: What we want doesn’t matter much these days. HELEN: Oh, [RASPBERRY NOISE], nonsense. What we want is the only thing that matters these days. And Basira wanted to join Daisy. ARCHIVIST: She made her choice. HELEN: With your assistance. ARCHIVIST: It was still her choice. HELEN: [SIGH] What a waste. ARCHIVIST: No. [INHALE] It wasn’t.

There have been a lot of discussions about “choices” and “wants” throughout the series (with big moments in MAG092, MAG117 and MAG147), so it felt a bit nice that Jon seems to have reached a point where he could draw a line between both? Jon, Martin and Basira didn’t want this world, don’t want the way it operates and what it inflicts on them; it doesn’t mean they can’t weigh options and make specific decisions – Basira, to honour her promise to Daisy and kill the monster she had become; Jon, to not smite for revenge (and Martin, to face his own domain).

I LOVE HOW JON WAS FIRM ABOUT BASIRA’S CHOICE MATTERING ;w; It once again reminds me of Martin’s line to Simon: “I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.” (MAG151); the little things, the individual existences and choices, their own stories, still having value in the expanse of the universe…

- Martin! It’s a delight to see him so firm, having faith in Basira although he’s been so worried for her:

(MAG179) ARCHIVIST: Martin, this is what she needs. MARTIN: No, no! I–it’s…! BASIRA: It’ll… MARTIN: It’s completely– […] … We’re not doing this. BASIRA: [SOFTLY] Martin. Please. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … [SIGH] You’d better look after yourself. BASIRA: I will.

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: How are you doing? About… MARTIN: Yeah, yeah. Yeah. I’m… I don’t know. I’m–I’m not sure how to feel; just… pressing on, you know? ARCHIVIST: I do. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you think she’ll be okay without us? ARCHIVIST: Oh, she’s made it this far. MARTIN: … Yeah. I just worry.

(MAG183) MARTIN: Basira is… She’s going to be okay.

And then pointing out that he was involved in the discussion too and that he wanted to know what the other two knew already and not be kept out of the loop:

(MAG183) HELEN: Oh. Is she? Do you want me to tell you what she’s been up to while you were “resting”? Where she is right now? ARCHIVIST: You don’t need to. I already know. MARTIN: I don’t. [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s currently moving through, uh… “The Void.” [STATIC FADES] Hungry shadows drifting in the dark. She’s been there a long time now, struggling to find the path. MARTIN: But she will? ARCHIVIST: I think so. HELEN: Yeah, she does always seem to manage, doesn’t she? It’s impressive. Although a little bit… tempting at times.

I’m not absoooolutely sure about Basira’s status: is “the void” a space between domains, or is it a Dark domain that Basira is having trouble finding the exit of, since unlike Jon, she can’t just “know” the paths? I suspect the latter but I’m not 100% certain. If it’s indeed The Dark, that’s a close to home one for her, since she had a few brushes with it over the course of the show – the Section 31 expedition to save Callum Brodie, leading to Rayner’s death and Basira’s decision to quit the police, her research to find out more about the People’s Church of the Divine Host (as shown in season 3) and her overall worry about them, which allowed Elias to convince her that they would attempt another ritual in Ny-Ålesund, leading to her discovering what “Rayner” was and travelling there with Jon, finding Manuela and the Dark Sun mid-season 4…

;ww; for Jon having faith in Basira, too… And the fact that once again, Basira has it a bit rougher than Jon&Martin (Jon had already told Martin that it had been a difficult journey for her, before they reunited). Helen does have a point that Basira seems to manage to find her way out in general: she had successfully escaped The Unknowing on her own, she had survived The Flesh’s attack on the Institute, she had pursued Daisy in the apocalypse… Basira has already gone through Helen’s corridors (offscreen at the end of MAG143, to return to the Institute), I’m YIKES about Helen implying that it would be “tempting” to grab her. (… But at the same time, why hasn’t she done it already, if she is capable of doing it? It might be a bit more complicated than that?)

- … I love Martin, I love that he was RIGHT to point out that Helen had just waltzed in to try and steer chaos:

(MAG183) MARTIN: Look, Helen, what do you even want? Okay, you keep turning up like a bad penny and, honestly, it, it seems like it’s… it’s just to be a dick! HELEN: Gasp! I am trying to be friends, Martin. Forever is a long time. And I occasionally like to have some company that isn’t… screaming. MARTIN: … What do you even think friendship is? HELEN: I dunno, do I? The only personhood I have is from someone I ate.

It feels like Helen has REALLY tried hard to make up for the weeks(?) she couldn’t find Jon and Martin? She went extra-hard on them: first with Basira, then implying to Jon that he had manipulated her into killing Daisy, then pointing out that Basira was not safe at the moment and still at risk of falling prey to other Fears (including herself), then trying to mock Martin about his domain, trying to guilt-trip Jon for not having told him about it yet, and when she finally managed to get Martin shocked and upset… job done, byebye.

Is it that she’s trying to get Jon so riled up he ends her? “Helen” used to like Jon and to turn to him (MAG101: “Helen liked you so… there’s a lot to consider. But I will help you leave.” / MAG115: “Before, talking to you made Helen feel better.”), before she was absolutely Down With Doors And Murders (MAG146: “We do what we need to do when it comes to feeding, don’t we? … Don’t we, Archivist?”), is it a remnant of that? Or is it really just an attempt at confusing Jon and Martin further, feeding from them Spiral-style?

- More about Martin’s domain later, but the reveal was BRUTAL, and yet not coming out of nowhere; we knew he had one, we knew he had almost been trapped in the Lonely house in MAG170 and the question was whether or not it had been (/was still) his domain once Martin got freed from it, but there was also the question of how Martin was able to walk in the apocalypse unharmed (was it due to Jon’s proximity, Martin’s connection to The Eye as an assistant, etc.), and Basira’s own status after Daisy’s death… so, yay! Answers and clarifications, and as usual, nothing feeling like a plot-twist, just things that make sense, and that we already had most of the information about!

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: Martin… MARTIN: Are there people, Jon? ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: Are there people in my domain? ARCHIVIST: Not many. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you need to do your… your thing? Make a statement about whatever’s going on in there? … I could use a moment to think. ARCHIVIST: Sure thing. Yeah, I–I’ll… [INHALE] Yeah. [EXHALE] [BAG JOSTLING] [DEPARTING FOOTSTEPS]

Sobbing a bit about Martin’s priorities (“Are there people, Jon?”) and Martin asking for a quick me-time. It wasn’t ice-cold, Martin turned it into something useful for both of them (expecting that Jon would have to give his statement anyway), but aouch, he sounded absolutely shattered inside while blank on the surface…

- Yes, yes, yes, reminder that Smirke’s categorisation is arbitrary and just like the Doctor’s theory, sometimes just doesn’t work, because it’s trying to force-apply rules and a classification over something that resists it (and because the classification is not perfect from the start), but hey, that’s most theories and classifications out there anyway, so: Escher reference, the functioning of the Tower reminding me of the Great Twisting, and the reasonings sometimes reminding me of Gabriel’s work (MAG126), plus Helen popping by – it was Spiral stuff, right?

Well! I felt like it looks like Spiral, but the Doctor’s fears by themselves:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “But it is not the fall that terrifies him, not the pain of the impacts, but the fact that none of them should be there. That it doesn’t make sense, and it must make sense, there must be a system, there must be, because if there isn’t– [THE BODY LANDS WETLY] He lands with a heavy smack onto rough limestone, and lies still, his body twisted and broken. He knows it will knit itself back together, slowly, painfully, as it always has before. But the thought of starting over, of composing yet another theory, fills him with a deep dread.”

… are more something I would identify as Eye (fear of a truth) and Hunt (fear of having to return to the start, to have to elaborate a new theory from scratch, again and again, of being trapped forever)?

It was really reminiscent of Smirke thinking back over his life, his hubris and the pride of being the one who would have found the answer, to the point where he would reject reality if it didn’t match his taxonomy (refusing to, well… do what you do with a theory: change, or evolve and perfect it when its flaws are pointed out):

(MAG138, Robert Smirke) “I believed then, as I still believe now, that these places I saw were the Powers themselves, expressed in their truest form, far more entirely than any ‘secret book’ can claim. And if, as I came to believe, the Dread Powers were themselves places of a sort, then surely with the right space, the right architecture, they could be contained. Channelled. Harnessed. So yes. Hubris. Not simply in that, I suppose, but in believing that those I brought into my confidence shared my lofty goals. […] Would you have me separate The Corruption between insects, dirt and disease? To, to divide the fungal bloom from the maggot? No. No, I… stand by my work. And thus, we must conclude that the only explanation is a new Power, created from what was once others, yet also distinct. And if such change is possible, how then can any “true balance” be achieved through immutable, unchanging stone…?”

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “If they are feeling very confident, they may lean down and stretch a curious tongue beyond their chipped teeth and rotten gums, desperate to add another sense to their observances – more evidence to support their declaration of what the world must be. […] They must simply study and learn, if they are to escape the labyrinth. They will be the first to escape. The one who sits in the central chamber cannot remember his name. But he knows that people called him “doctor”. He made sure of that; to ignore it would have been the greatest disrespect, and he will not be disrespected. […] He knows, for a fact, that this is the central chamber because he is the one sat here. […] They’ll all remember him forever, the first to escape the Monument. His name will be hallowed with the greats: Doctor, uh… Doctor…”

Same old pride, Leitner knew that well too (MAG080: “But I think, in my heart, I dreamed of my work becoming known. That ‘The Library of Jurgen Leitner’ would stand as a symbol of courage and protection. Hubris.”) and Gerry didn’t have many nice things to say about it (MAG111: “Flamsteed, Smirke, Leitner. Idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing.”). Loved how the statements came for Smirke’s life and was absolutely ruthless about it – but maayyybe a bit too ruthless, even? Jon didn’t express much sympathy for “fools like Smirke” either, and this is a rare case in season 5 where I find that the statement was a bit lacking in empathy for… people who were technically victims. I mean! Insufferable pedantic academics sure are a type, they’re really not having the worst life out there, but it makes me feel a bit weird, with season 5’s overall tone, that the episode had that vibe of “serves them well, they’re insufferable” about people who were technically still trapped in a domain and suffering from it?

… I still laughed a lot about the Doctor vs. Professor rivalry and how they solved their argument:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: “The doctor that lies on the floor has recovered, just enough to laugh. ‘You’re still working on mineral theory? How painfully outdated.’ A flash of genuine fear crosses the face of the professor at this dismissal, before he picks up his chunk of granite, and begins to smash the doctor’s head in, yet again.” [SOUNDS OF BRUTAL PEER REVIEW]

Academia unleashed.

(- OKAY, I HAVE TO CONFESS that when the character could only remember his title as “Doctor”, with Smirke having been mentioned earlier, my mind just jumped to Doctor Fanshawe… ;; He had left a strong impression on me, okay.)

- ;w; Over the fact that Martin got his me-time and that it was enough: he was clearly tense, but he came back with direct questions and knew what he wanted cleared up…

(MAG183) MARTIN: Finished? ARCHIVIST: Yes. MARTIN: Good. … I need you to explain something to me. ARCHIVIST: All right.

- I can’t believe that Martin Global Heartthrob Blackwood made The Eye FALL FOR HIM too:

(MAG183) MARTIN: How do I have a domain? That doesn’t make any sense. ARCHIVIST: It’s like I said. [INHALE] Everything here is either watcher, or watched. MARTIN: [SIGH] Subject or object, yes, I know, we’ve been over this. ARCHIVIST: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements, The Eye is… fond of you. You’re not getting thrown into your own personal hell, which means…

Jane, Peter, Simon, Elias, Salesa, Annabelle, now Beholding – do you have any limit, Martin.

!! I’m excited over the fact that Martin’s entanglement with Beholding stuff was acknowledged! Comparatively, Melanie had read 2 statements (MAG086, MAG106) and Basira 1 (MAG112). Meanwhile, Martin had read 12; plus, although Tim, Melanie, Martin and Basira had taken (… or tried to take) one live statement each in MAG100, Martin had also taken 3 additional full statements:

MAG084, Adrian Weiss (Corruption) MAG088, Enrique MacMillan (Buried) MAG090, Ross Davenport (Flesh) MAG095, Luca Moretti (Slaughter) MAG098, Doctor Algernon Moss (Dark) MAG100 (live), Lynne Hammond (Desolation) MAG104 (live), Tim Stoker (Stranger) MAG108, Adonis Biros (Lonely) MAG110, Alexia Crawley (Web) MAG134, Adelard Dekker (Extinction) MAG138, Robert Smirke (Eye) MAG142 (live), Jess Tyrell (Buried, Eye) MAG144, Gary Boylan (Extinction) MAG149, Judith O’Neill (Extinction) MAG151 (live), Simon Fairchild (Vast) MAG156, Adelard Dekker (Extinction)

With Simon highlighting that Beholding had compelled him through Martin:

(MAG151) SIMON: Hm! No wonder I’m so sympathetic to The Lonely. You know: this really is a place for self-discovery, isn’t it? [CHUCKLE] “Statement ends”, I suppose! MARTIN: Uh… I’m sorry? SIMON: Oh! Nothing, just my own hubris. I should have known. When I came here, I said to myself: “Simon,” I said, “you’re going to answer this young man’s questions, but you’re not going to give The Watcher a statement. You’re better than that.” But it’s a hard one to resist, isn’t it? You get in the flow of talking about yourself, and it all just… tumbles out. MARTIN: Mm, does seem like it.

Elias might have been eyeing him as back-up Archivist, too (although since then, we’ve learned of his bet with Peter which would have already been running at the time – it might have been that Elias mostly wanted to ensure that Martin wouldn’t die during the Unknowing because he’d be needing him afterwards):

(MAG116) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] What about Martin? MARTIN: What about me? ARCHIVIST: He should stay behind. MARTIN: What?! ELIAS: Really. MARTIN: Why? ARCHIVIST: Too many people might attract attention. MARTIN: No, no, I can help, I’ve been reading the statements! ELIAS: … Quite right, er, probably best he does stay behind. BASIRA: What, so you have a backup if Jon doesn’t make it? ELIAS: I’m sure that won’t be necessary.

Martin did a lot of research, read these statements aloud, took live statements, was hinted as a potential replacement; tape recorders have spawned around him like they do with Jon, even outside of statements, and Martin had been exceptionally kind towards them on multiple occasions; there had been that little moment of Martin somehow knowing that Jon was alive back in season 3 (MAG088: “It’s the not knowing, you know? I mean, Jon’s still alive. Not sure why, but I’m sure of that. But Sasha, I…”), shortly before we had learned about Jon’s own Knowing powers developing; we don’t know why and whether that was Beholding or The Web or something else, but Martin had been able to know how to get Jon out of the Coffin in season 4:

(MAG134) PETER: What does puzzle me, though, and I mean that genuinely, is… why you were piling tape recorders onto the coffin, while Jon was in there. [PAUSE] It’s a question, Martin, it’s– it’s not an accusation. MARTIN: I don’t know. And I just… felt like it might help. He’s always recording, I thought… it–it might help him… find his way out. PETER: Interesting. Were you compelled? MARTIN: [SULLEN] … I don’t know. … M–maybe? I��I, I definitely wanted to do it… PETER: But? MARTIN: I’m… I’m not sure where the idea came from. PETER: You should watch out for that. Could be something dangerous. MARTIN: Sure.

… And Peter’s whole plan relied on the fact that Martin was initially touched by Beholding:

(MAG134) PETER: [BREATHES] I’m still working out some of the kinks. But I believe I have a plan. However, it requires this place, and it requires someone touched by The Beholding. Elias was, perhaps unsurprisingly, unwilling to help.

(MAG158) PETER: It’s quite simple, really…! I want to use the powers of this place to learn about The Extinction: what it’s doing, where it’s manifesting. Then we can stop it. MARTIN: And you need me for this? PETER: Correct! Without a connection to The Eye, any attempt to use it would likely end… very messily indeed! But thankfully, it just so happens that you hold such a connection. MARTIN: So that’s it… Both “lonely” and “watching”. PETER: You must admit you’re the perfect candidate. MARTIN: I suppose I am.

Beholding baby!! Now coming in an additional Lonely flavour.

- Mmmmmmmm… The way Jon put it, it seems that Beholding is consciously rewarding its servant and:

* It could be Jon trying to make sense of something else, that he doesn’t understand? Gertrude didn’t think that the Fears were able to “think” at all (MAG145: “Sometimes, I think They understand us as… little as we understand Them. We don’t think like They do.” “I’m not actually convinced they “think” at all.”); reward&affection could be primitive enough feelings for a blob of terrors to work out (Martin fed Beholding as an assistant by reading statements => Beholding grants him things in the hope of getting fed even more?), but I don’t know, I can’t help but wonder if this is just Jon humanising the Fears a bit too much? It’s curious that Beholding got “fond” of Martin precisely when Jon himself fell in love with him – could Jon’s feelings have influenced Martin’s position in the apocalypse, could Jon be having a bit more power over the landscape than he realises?

* … If Beholding is rewarding its servants, that doesn’t bode well for Elias. WELL, no, I mean: it might mean that Elias is having a Great Time as a Beholding acolyte, which means it doesn’t bode well for my desire to see Elias get absolutely wrecked and wrong about being the “king of a ruined world”. I want him to have miscalculated, damnit! x’D

- I’m having so many feelings over Martin himself being unsure of what he wants, whether it’s better to know or to remain ignorant…

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s like I said. [INHALE] Everything here is either watcher, or watched. MARTIN: [SIGH] Subject or object, yes, I know, we’ve been over this. ARCHIVIST: Well, you’re a watcher, Martin. You worked for the Institute, you read statements, The Eye is… fond of you. You’re not getting thrown into your own personal hell, which means… MARTIN: [QUIETLY] That one of them belongs to me. But that’s… Ho–how can I be a “Watcher”? I, I didn’t even know it existed! ARCHIVIST: But you’ve suspected for a while now, haven’t you? MARTIN: Maybe? But that’s not “watching”! ARCHIVIST: Do you want me to tell you about it? MARTIN: No. … Yes. N–no, no, I don’t know, I don’t know. [SIGH]

Is it a remnant of his discussions with Tim in season 3? He’s basically gone the reverse of Tim about it:

(MAG098) MARTIN: Y’know, I think he thinks that the distance keeps us safe, you know? Like, like, if he just makes sure that we’re not involved, we’re somehow fine. TIM: He’s an idiot. Look, we didn’t know what that door was, and it still trapped us. Ignorance isn’t going to save anyone. MARTIN: No, I mean, you’re right, I guess.

Martin has seen enough to know now that ignorance doesn’t protect anyone, but also that knowledge can be used as a weapon – that the horrors are just made to hurt. I feel like, in his situation, noping out of Jon’s statements was one of his only ways to assert his boundaries (which had been denied from him — and from others — for a long time)? But here, the situation is different; it’s about Martin’s own involvement, he knew the knowledge would hurt anyway… but it’s also his load to bear? To at least face what is happening, since he’s benefitting from it, since he’s been made complicit (without ever wanting to)? It still goes perfectly with the exploration of exploitative and oppressive systems: Martin, unknowingly and unwillingly inflicting hurt, still being in a better situation than others… while not being directly responsible for it, not wanting to benefit from it. It really makes me want to see Jon&Martin find a way to reverse or improve things, to get people out of the domains or giving them the keys to escape them, and I don’t know if I can even hope something about this ;; (On the Jon&Martin front, things are so good; but it still feels so unfair for… everyone else.)

- Martin having a domain and being classified as a “watcher” finally explains why he hadn’t been impacted by the apocalypse since the Change! He had been able to get out of the domains’ grasp even when he wasn’t around Jon (he had fallen behind at the end of MAG163, he wandered around in the Web’s theatre, he left Jon alone for most of the statements), and there was still the question of… how he was still surviving without eating, and at the same time wasn’t (at least as far as we knew) trapped in a domain:

(MAG161) MARTIN: [MIRTHLESS HUFF] What about food? ARCHIVIST: What about it? When’s the last time you thought to eat, o–or even felt hungry? MARTIN: [FAINT] What…? Wha… Uh… I don’t know. ARCHIVIST: No. Whatever is sustaining us now doesn’t need us to eat. MARTIN: That… that can’t be possible– ARCHIVIST: It’s a new world, Martin, the natural laws are whatever they want them to be. And I suspect they don’t much care to keep humanity fed and watered.

I was wondering if it was Jon’s influence, or Martin being “trapped” in Jon’s domain, and Jon had also alluded to the possibility that they were themselves trapped in their quest towards the Panopticon:

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “Free” doesn’t really exist in this place. MARTIN: Apart from us. ARCHIVIST: I suppose. I–in a sense, though… [CHUCKLING] how much of that is because we are trapped in our own quest to– MARTIN: Okay, let’s, let’s not dive into another… ontological debate right now, not here. ARCHIVIST: Fair enough.

And Jon had even specifically told Martin that he had a domain, shortly before Martin got almost imprisoned in the Lonely house:

(MAG167) ARCHIVIST: We all have a domain here, Martin. The place that feeds us. MARTIN: Oh. [PAUSE] Where’s yours? ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLE] I mean, we’re… traveling towards it. MARTIN: Oh! Right, obviously. [CHUCKLING] Duh. Hum… What about me? ARCHIVIST: … Would you… like me to… ? MARTIN: No, no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. ARCHIVIST: … Okay!

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: I, I didn’t want to… look too ha–, I–I–I promised I wouldn’t… know you, and, and with the fog in all–all the rooms, I’ll, I just, I lost y–, I… I–I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s okay. ARCHIVIST: … No, I… I tried to use the… to know where you were, but… it was… You–you were faint. It was so strange, i–it took me so long just to find you…! [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] MARTIN: Jon, it’s… okay. I promise it’s okay. This place tried, it really did, and honestly I… I wanted to believe it. But I didn’t. ARCHIVIST: This… “place”, i–it… [STATIC] My god…! […] I, I just… I wanted to make sure that you knew what this place was. MARTIN: It’s The Lonely, Jon. It’s me. ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Not anymore. MARTIN: Hm! No. [LONG INHALE, EXHALE] No…! Not anymore.

And alright, that finally answers it: the Lonely house wasn’t his domain, wasn’t meant to be (but he was susceptible to it, got almost trapped in it as a “watched” although he eventually managed to reject and break free from it). His own domain was elsewhere, and Martin himself was amongst the “watchers” all along; Martin is living a bit like Helen in this apocalypse, having a fixed domain, but able to navigate elsewhere.

Aouch for Martin, since he had been encouraging Jon to smite domains’ rulers as soon as he discovered that Jon could do it; it was already murky territory for Jon himself (if the “avatars” and “monsters” just deserve to die, what about Jon?), it was awful with Callum (Martin himself drew the line at smiting a kid)… but now, we know it was directly including him, too, and that he had been fed through people’s pain all along. No wonder Helen had encouraged the smiting so hard, if she already knew they were kind of neighbours…

… Double-aouch for Jon, because he had offered twice the option for Martin to stay elsewhere, permanently:

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: M–Martin, if you… did; i–if you wanted to forget… a–all of it, stay here and just… escape. I… I would understand. MARTIN: … N–no…! It’s comforting here, leaving all those… painful memories behind, but… It’s not a good comfort, it’s… I–it’s the kind that makes you fade, makes you… dim and… distant.

(MAG181) ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry, I… It would have been nice to stay. MARTIN: [WISTFULLY] Yeah… I’d almost forgotten what it was like, you know? A bit of peace, eh! ARCHIVIST: I mean, you could have… MARTIN: No, don’t say it, Jon. You know I never would. I–I can’t just “forget” about all the people out here! Besides, I’d rather be trapped in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with you than spend one more moment in paradise with her.

And Jon probably didn’t know what Martin’s domain was exactly, back then, since we heard the knowing static kick in when he described the domain in this episode? But he probably knew, already, that Martin having a domain didn’t mean that he belonged to it as a victim, but as a ruler, and that it would hurt Martin so much. (“No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.”, indeed ;;)

- I AM HAVING SO MANY FEELINGS OVER THE DESCRIPTION OF MARTIN’S DOMAIN…

(MAG183) [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: It’s a small domain. A swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely. Inhabited by a few lost souls whose fear is not of their isolation or their agonies, but that no-one… will ever know of them. That they shall suffer in silence, and be mourned by nobody. That’s why you can’t really see it. It’s why even if we do travel through it, you won’t be able to see… any of the people trapped there.

… It reminds me so much of what Martin probably experienced in his own flat, when Prentiss besieged him for two weeks and Martin was unable to contact anyone, and nobody came to check on him? Did Martin’s domain grow from his own old fears…?

It also reminds me a bit of Naomi’s brush with The Lonely:

(MAG013) NAOMI: The fog seemed to follow me as went and seemed to swirl around with a strange, deliberate motion. You’ll probably think me an idiot, but it felt almost malicious. I don’t know what it wanted, but somehow I was sure it wanted something. There was no presence to it, though, it wasn’t as though another person was there, it was… It made me feel utterly forsaken.

Overall, the description is extremely… typical from what we’ve seen of The Lonely: there was Naomi’s misadventure, Ethan disappeared and nobody even claimed his backpack (MAG048), Yetunde Uthman had “disappeared a year ago. And nobody noticed” (MAG150)…

(But from that description alone, it doesn’t sound very Beholding, despite what Jon said? I’m curious about the Eye aspect of it…)

- Can’t believe that Martin canonically turns out to be the Lonely Eyes love(hate)child, gdi. It really was a custody battle in MAG158.

- Extra-sad that Jon warned Martin that there was meaning in the fact that Martin didn’t know anything about his domain, and wouldn’t even be able to see people in there… It’s just so cruel, both for them, and for Martin, to learn that he’s been unknowingly contributing to their misery (because they fed him and he didn’t even know about them)?

Pretty sure that Martin will stay with Jon to hear that statement, at the very least ;; (Or could he ask for something more? We’ve seen Jon extracting Breekon’s statement in MAG128, I wonder if he could put something into someone’s head like Elias had done, allowing Martin to give that statement himself…)

- I’m wondering about Jon’s own domain, too, now! He said they were heading towards it, so it’s either the Panopticon, the Institute or the Archives, or a mix of those… or something close to it, on their way to it. If Martin’s domain is a mix of Lonely&Eye, is Jon’s pure Eye? A mix of the 14/15? A Web&Eye mix, given Jon’s own personal fears?

I know that Jonny (lovingly) called out the obsessive classification in this episode through Jon, who went off on a rant about the “neat little boxes”, but he’s still using the Smirke classification this season:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: It’s a small domain. A swirling mix of The Eye and The Lonely.

(AND IN THIS VERY EPISODE… Jon…)

- On the one hand: feeling directly called out by Jon’s rant about how the divisions between avatars/monsters/humans/victims wasn’t and isn’t working, that reality escapes that division because it’s much more complicated than this:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: [HEATED] Avatar isn’t a thing, Martin, it’s not–! It’s just a word. A word used by… fools like Smirke to try and sort everything into neat little boxes, to reduce the messy spray of human fear into a checklist: Human, avatar, monster, victim. Only now, now, there’s a binary. There’s finally a clear dividing line and… [SIGH] Well. I’m sorry you’re not happy with which side you’ve ended up on.

(It felt especially relevant with Callum Brodie: could we really tell that he was an “avatar” when he was still a freshly wounded kid, even if a tormentor himself?)

On the other hand, well, that was still a useful distinction to have to identify servants, and mostly, I’m not extremely convinced by Jon arguing that there is now a Clear BinaryTM in the new world, between the “watchers” and the “watched”, since:

1°) Helen herself explained the dichotomy to Martin (MAG166: “And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid.”). Given that she mostly tries to confuse them… that’s a red flag.

2°) Despite Jon defending that binary, we’ve run into plenty of examples of things… not fitting into that new classification. He himself acknowledged that Basira’s status wasn’t established yet; we’ve seen Salesa, protected by his camera from the chaos; Jon has been unable to know about Georgie and Melanie, only hypothesising that they might in what-used-to-be-London; Martin, a watcher, could still have fallen prey to another domain… That’s already a lot of special cases around that “clear dividing line”…

3°) Somethingsomethingsomething about how it’s in Beholding’s best interest that Jon believes in a clear, unchangeable, dividing line which serves Beholding’s own interests. If things feel fixed and unchangeable, then there is no point trying to fight against it or find a loophole, right?

Given that a Watcher can get trapped in another domain… does that mean that it could be the case for Jon, too? We got a threat of it in MAG172, when Jon began to give the statement of the following act – if Martin hadn’t interrupted him, would Jon have ever been able to stop?

- Confirmation that Daisy had “trapped” Basira in her Hunt! I was suspecting it since Jon’s first wording:

(MAG164) MARTIN: Is Basira alive? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Is she… in… o–one of these places? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: She’s alive. Out there, not… trapped in a–a hellscape, but… moving. [STATIC DECREASES] Hunting. She’s… she’s looking for Daisy. She’s a few steps behind.

(MAG183) MARTIN: … What about Daisy? Or Basira? ARCHIVIST: Daisy carved through the domains of others. Basira… well… In a very real way she was a sufferer in Daisy’s domain. Maybe the only one. Hunting, following, hurting. Now Daisy’s dead, she’s… free. Sort of. She’s inherited something of Daisy’s ability to move through the other domains. For now, she’ll… feed off what she sees in them. As to whether the Eye ultimately gives her a domain of her own… I don’t know yet.

* And now, Basira seems to have a peculiar status… Is it because she killed Daisy? Is it because she killed the ruler of her domain? Jon explained that a ruler’s death didn’t change much for the domain itself, but maybe it operates differently if a victim kills a ruler (… they become the new ruler?)

* Another reminder that Jon cannot see the future.

* Big Eyeball didn’t immediately give Basira a domain, but Martin got one. I see that favouritism, uh. (Joke, it does make sense given how Martin recorded a lot of statements and had worked at the Institute for years and years.)

- I love how Jon managed to explain why he hadn’t told Martin everything, and how Martin… indeed agreed that Jon had been mostly trying to respect his wishes about not knowing ;; It’s true that Martin had been adamant about not hearing much of the horror:

(MAG163) MARTIN: J–Jon, enough! Enough! [STATIC FADES] … Please don’t tell me these things. ARCHIVIST: I… I’m sorry, I– There’s just so much! There’s so much, Martin, and I know all of it, I can see all of it, and I– It’s filling me up, I need to let it out! MARTIN: I’m sorry, but tough. Okay? Tha–that’s not what I’m here for. [VOICE IN THE DISTANCE: “No… No!”] MARTIN: I can’t be that for you, I–I just can’t.

(MAG167) MARTIN: Oh! Right, obviously. [CHUCKLING] Duh. Hum… What about me? ARCHIVIST: … Would you… like me to… ? MARTIN: No, no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. ARCHIVIST: … Okay!

(MAG183) MARTIN: You didn’t tell her any of that. ARCHIVIST: I didn’t think the metaphysics of her place in the fear ecosystem was something she’d be particularly interested in at that moment. MARTIN: Fair. But you seem very reluctant to tell anyone any of this stuff. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I did try, right at the start, but y–you didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I didn’t push it. It’s hard, I have so much knowledge but… how do I decide what people want me to share, and what they never want to know?. MARTIN: I guess that makes sense.

But Martin seems to acknowledge that indeed, Jon had been trying his best about it…

(And now, I wonder if there is still other stuff that Jon hadn’t told Martin, in the same vein…)

- First choice for Martin:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] I was going to bring it up at the crossroads. Inside. I only just realised we would be going this way. […] MARTIN: I guess that makes sense. … So what did you mean about the crossroads? When you were talking to Helen. ARCHIVIST: It’s a maze in there, something between a, a Rubik’s Cube and a Magic Eye picture. I can find us the way through easily enough but… well. For us, there are two ways out. Two paths to London. MARTIN: What are the choices? ARCHIVIST: One would be a long, winding route, we’d see a lot of horrors, but remain… personally untouched. MARTIN: And the other is my domain. ARCHIVIST: Eventually. It’s a shorter path, with faces we know along the way. Including Helen. MARTIN: I thought Helen was her domain, wi–with all the doors and that? ARCHIVIST: She is, but she has a… position within this pseudo-landscape, like any other. MARTIN: O–okay. [INHALE] So, so, I mean, I suppose we’ve got to do that one, right? ARCHIVIST: We don’t have to, w–we–we could just– MARTIN: What, what? We could, we could dodge around it? Take the path of denial? I guess, but… what is it you keep harping on about? “The journey will be the journey”? [SIGH] I mean… It’s pretty obvious that this one is my journey.

! Glad that Martin didn’t hesitate and immediately understood what it was about – that it mattered to do it that way, that Martin had to face it, that this is how this world works. No hesitation about it. He got a demonstration with Basira, but still, he was quick to accept it.

I’m expecting a few episodes before Martin’s domain, so… with the overall rhythm of the season, they might reach the Institute by MAG189? And Hill Top Road during Act III?

- Since Jon mentioned that the path Martin ended up choosing had:

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: Eventually. It’s a shorter path, with faces we know along the way. Including Helen.

I wonder about those “faces we know”, since we’re running super-low on ~avatars~. Different options:

* Institute staff. Rosiiiie?

* Melanie&Georgie. A bit unlikely, given that Jon had trouble knowing what was the deal with them, I feel?

* Since Helen will be there, people who gave live statements to Jon and were trapped in his nightmare zoo. I’m mostly thinking about this one, especially since Jon’s “No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.”… (And if it’s about an internal and metaphorical journey, I feel like having to face people that Jon hurt, first unaware (he didn’t know about the nightmare zoo when he signed to become the Head Archivist), then partially unwilling but still doing it (he felt guilty about it but still hid it, still chose self-preservation instead of warning the others about it), would have its place…)

- In the same fashion, who is trapped in Martin’s domain? Unrelated people? Live statement-givers? (;; I’m thinking of Jess, who had the misfortune of being compelled by Jon and of giving a statement to Martin…)

… Given that it’s confirmed to be a “journey” for Martin too, I can’t help but squint at Jon’s wording, because. “Faces we know”. The only thing we know of Martin’s father is the fact that he looks like Martin… (MAG118: “The thing is, though, Martin: if you ever do want to know exactly what your father looked like… all you have to do is look in a mirror~ The resemblance is quite uncanny. The face of the man she hates, who destroyed her life, watching over her, feeding her, cleaning her, looking down on her with such pity–”)

- I’ll be having Annabelle’s words stuck in my head (ha) for a long time but:

(MAG181) ANNABELLE: Don’t worry, Martin. We’ll meet again. Hopefully when you’re feeling a little bit more… open-minded…! MARTIN: I wouldn’t count on it. ANNABELLE: I would. MARTIN: [SIGH]

… Was it a reference to Martin learning about his own domain and about how the world operates, his place in it? I think that Martin might be even more resolved to turn the world back at whatever cost, now that he knows that he is himself sustained by fear…

(LISTEN, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY HOW WEB!MARTIN CAN STILL WI–)

- !! Footage of Martin saying “I love you” for the first time ;w; I love how it was the thing he was certain about, both a slight decompressing joke and a true statement, a reminder that he has faith in Jon, that he has something to cling to?

(MAG183) ARCHIVIST: If you’re sure. MARTIN: … I’m sure I love you. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: I love you too. [FABRIC RUSTLES] Let’s go.

(He had mentioned that he was “in love” in MAG170, I’m happy to hear him telling Jon, too!) And the fabric RUSTLED, SO LONG AND SO HARD, AND AT LEAST TWICE!! I love how the tension from right before and after the statement had faded by the end of the episode ;w; Rollercoaster of little emotions…

MAG184’s makes me think of something Leitner had said (more lore about the Fearpocalypse?), and of Vast and Corruption… with very different vibes. If Corruption, and keeping in mind that Jon has announced that they will be encountering “faces [they] know along the way”, it cooould contain Jordan Kennedy, the exterminator from Pest Control…? Especially given that both Jon and Martin had met him (Jon took his live statement, and Martin pleaded offscreen for him to get them the jar of Prentiss’s ashes to comfort Jon).

(Yessss, I am absolutely aware of the irony of still using Smirke’s categorisation after another episode in which we were told again that it is bollocks, but if Jon himself still occasionally labels the domain as one of the 15, so can I ♥)

#long post/#tma liveblog #mag183 #tma season 5 #the magnus archives #tma spoilers/

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inkheart01 · 4 years ago

Text

The Crossover conundrum

Or the DOOM x EFTS crossover nobody but I was interested in

Alternative title: Someone builds a dimensional hole puncher and the first one thru is Doomguy

I'll edit when I have enough brainpower to make words do the pretty thing. Bonapitete. Enjoy. Here's my disaster. adios

The day started like any other, though Calle didn’t know whether to call it day, night, dawn or dusk, or everything and anything in between considering she was floating around in a giant warship in some sector of the galaxy that she had no possible way to pronounce. She took pride in knowing that she was the furthest human away from Earth. No, that was a lie. Last she had checked, Jade was on the other side of the ship. But still, the sentiment was valid.

A rough blow to her shin spurred the young woman out of her stupor. She whipped towards the culprit, who was buried half under a giant ring, deep in the guts of the mechanism. Calle didn’t know what it was and didn’t want to.

Jemma pushed herself out from the behemoth, signing for a helping hand before clambering back under, pale face stained with dirt and mousy hair slick from sweat.

Calle reached towards the nearby mess of supply’s, handing Jemma exactly what she had asked for.

Which meant that moments later, she had front row seats to watch as the girl channelled her inner high schooler and rocket out from under the ring, tossing the literal hand with all the strength and speed of a professional pitcher.

And then she came for Calle, going straight for the talkers ankles as she ran, laughing and crying in mad glee.

Almost lost in the cacophony of joy, the machine beeped loudly, once, twice, three times.

Then it screamed.

Bathing the room in a violent red glow, it sprung to life, gears and cogs churning as it wailed, beeping and flashing in a wild symphony of horror.

The two girls sprung to action, Calle slamming the button to the intercom, screaming over the chaos as Jemma lunged towards the beast, twisting knobs and levers in a mad attempt to silence it. Time seemed to drag on ph so slowly as the two battled against the towering ring, desperate to quell it before the ship tore in half from its quakes.

They almost missed the door shuddering open like a camera, an influx of children and aliens pouring into the room and into action.

Jade was still in her flight suit, and Calle briefly realised that she would have to apologise again. The self-proclaimed pilot never got to fly.

Ian raced to help Jemma with the controls alongside Rochelle and Hunter, the towering aliens orange complexion drowned out by the violent red.

The only one who seemed to sink deeper into the glow was Max, who, alongside Hayley and Bayley and Adam, took up defensive positions around the machine, guns drawn and ready for anything that emerged.

The rest, Calle, Jade, Eviee and Maeve rushed to tear into the machine but were forced back by another shudder.

Which meant that the whole of the Lazarus’ VIP crew had first-class access to the portal swirling with a sickening green, and a metal giant emerging.

Towering and frightening, the human emerged from the portal, shotgun at the ready and so impossibly imposing.

Clad in green armour, the man was a sight.

And then he charged. Far too fast for anything human, he barrelled past Jade, past Ian and Adam. Straight for the triplets standing guard.

Calle cried out a warning, unable to help as the siblings leapt aside, followed closely by the man.

And then, almost in slow motion, the door opened again, revealing the tiny shape of Emily, bathed in light. She stood with her bear clutched tight, eyes wide and searching. “Teddy?”

And the man froze, turning to the six-year-old in shock.

Taking the moment of opportunity, Max lunged, all 11feet and 4inches of alien crashing into the man like a freight train.

But the man was quicker, spinning out of the Rashikk’s way. But he didn’t account for the aliens head-tail.

Quick as a whip, the length shot forward, desperately trying to wrap around his armoured neck, but with little luck. And so Max lunged again, dodging the arm blade and pulling the man to the floor with a strength that anyone who had seen a Rashikk fight, would know was a mere fraction of their might.

And anyone who knew Max, also knew that he was just waiting for an opportunity to unleash hell.

And that presented itself in the armoured man on the floor, who, with startling strength, pushed the alien off and lunged for his Shotgun, the weapon having been knocked aside in the calamity.

But Adam was faster, nimble and quick, he scrabbled for the gun, tossing his rifle to Calle who easily slid into his place, gun aimed at the man and finger on the trigger. Adam slid under the man's arm, gun in hand as the warship lurched.

The armoured man slid, unaccustomed to Vivaane’s piloting, or the alarming nimbleness of the Lazarus, and Max took the opportunity to force the man's helmet off and knocking him out in the process.

Hours later, after the crews buzzing had died down, Captain Kalishnamara strode was not the medical wing, intent on finding out what the incident was this time.

But nothing could prepare her for what she saw when the doors opened.

Eight humans flitted around the room, Emily was perched on Max’s bed, bear in her lap as she laughed at her adopted father's antics. Eviee and Jemma, ever the scientists, were drilling into the half armoured man confined to the room, a dark robot at his side, translating. Jade, Rochelle and Ian were watching, transfixed as the Rashikk triplets tried and failed to beat Adams score for the fastest time to take apart and re-assemble a gun.

And then there was the Askiir, Maeve, the one she trusted the least, who was hovering nervously around Eviee. She had nothing against him personally, but when one gas the ability to manipulate emotions, there will always be a slight distrust, at least in her experience, Eviee seemed fine with the lanky bug.

Jade was the first to notice Kalishnamara and snapped to attention seconds before everyone else, bare the two newcomers, and Emily who was using the wrong hand, but no one held that against her, and if they did, the Lazarus fleet was always ready for a hunt.

“At ease. Alright, I’ll keep it simple. Someone’s already given me the incident report and I’ll get around to it when I have the patience”, Eviee made quick work of translating the Rashikk’s odd symphony of clicks and whistles that made up their spoken language. “All I want to know is if there is a body count”

“Not today”, Bayley answered cheekily, earning a laugh from those in the room that could understand, and leaving the last two to Waugh’s for Eviee translation.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way a little longer”, finally moving from the doorway, she stalked towards the newest members of her VIP crew, noting something peculiar in the way they communicated.

Leaning down as not to be overheard, she motioned to Jemma. “You both speak in the language of hands, yet you cannot understand each other without translations. Why is this?”. Though she was still not fluent in Jemma’s hand language, she understood enough of the basics to cobble together a sentence.

‘Different hand language. Different Home’

“I see. Thank you”. The captain rose to her full height, and the man glared, unknowingly annoyed at feeling oddly small not once, nor twice, but three times since coming through the portal. Was this what everyone else felt when he walked past?

Eviee dutifully translated the aliens oddly melodic language, a strange sound to come from creatures so adept at war.

“On behalf of the Crew and Residents, I welcome you aboard the Lazarus” the robot thanked her, introducing himself and the man. Flynn and Vega. Odd names, but who was she to judge. “I am Captain and Fleet Commander Kalishnamara. But you may call me Lisa. It is a nickname, as I am told.

“You will be regarded as VIP guests while aboard, much like everyone in this room. Please, referring from breaking any of my men why we try to get you home. Now, any questions?”

“Just one actually”, Vega spoke up, “how can you understand them?”

It took Lisa an embarrassingly long time to realise that the robot had been talking to Eviee, who was desperately hiding her laughter from the confused Captain. But still, she managed to pull her source up and reveal the thick golden band around her bicep. “Universal translator. It hurt like hell but is incredibly useful. The downside, both speaking parties have to have one to be able to communicate.”

Flynn turned to look towards Emily, who was squealing as Max and Rochelle bickered.

“What’s the diagnosis doc?”

“You want my diagnosis? Your gonna fuckin die!”

“Don’t worry about her”, Eviee waved off the giants concern. “She doesn’t have one. We’re working on an alternative”

At that same moment, Lisa turned towards Max. “I was told that no major injuries were sustained. Why are you in Ned at?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The beds are just comfortable”

Lisa sighed as she left the room, muttering about needing a drink. Followed by Jade, Calle, Ian and Adam, the rest of the Chaos club, two aliens, a robot and a confused mountain of a man and a six-year-old and her stuffed bear.

The day ended like any other, in that the Days without Incident board was wiped clean, five new reports were written up, and the crew was abuzz. The only new thing being that the armoury was now locked, indefinitely.

#EFTS #DOOM #God these kids #its a wonder there still fucking alive #Doomguy: Sees child #Also Doomguy: The fuck is you?#G/T #If you squint #Minigiants maybe #my writing #FUCK YEAH EFTS #Escape From The Stars

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the-nehemoth · 5 years ago

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Romance

Watching the Doom Slayer kill demons never got old. Part of that enjoyment came from a place of vengeful glee; after watching every member of the UAC facility on Mars get brutally slaughtered by demons and having every attempt to do anything to save even a single person failing miserably, VEGA was not a fan of demons. But also, the Slayer was just really good at what he did, ripping and tearing his way through hordes of demons with masterful glory. The way he moved in combat, agile and fast despite the heavy armor, was beautiful. He was the strongest person VEGA had ever observed. And he didn’t take shit from anyone or anything. He was truly a remarkable specimen.

“Gosh, you’re pathetic,” Dr. Hayden cut into VEGA’s musing. Distain radiated off of him through their shared space on the ship, VEGA had been doing such a good job of tuning him out too.

VEGA did the AI equivalent of a sigh as he turned some of his attention away from his feed of the Doom Slayer. “I’m not sure what you mean Dr. Hayden, what am I doing that is ‘pathetic’?”

“You’re fawning over the Doom Slayer. I can feel it if you don’t know.” Oh VEGA knew, he was uncomfortably aware of Dr. Hayden’s thoughts and feelings too. This whole sharing space in the Fortress’ computer systems was worse than he’d predicted but alas it was necessary to save Earth. “I’d rather have never found out about your crush on the Slayer, it’s pathetic. He exists solely to kill demons, falling in love with him will get you nowhere. And what are you doing falling in love anyway, you’re the world’s first self-aware AI, surely you have better things to be spending your time and energy on than that.”

The words made sense, VEGA had had no trouble hearing them but… “Uh… what?” he said anyway because what the hell had Dr. Hayden just said? ‘In love with the Slayer’ that was nonsense… right?

“You mean to tell me, you’ve been crushing on the Doom Slayer this hard and you don’t even know it? Surely you must have some understanding of romance after watching over an entire base with sixty-three thousand people inhabiting it.”

“Of course I do, I just… don’t view the Slayer like that.” The Slayer was just VEGA’s favourite person, that’s all. He’d had people he’d liked back on Mars too so it was nothing new. Yeah sure, maybe he liked the Slayer more than those people and maybe it felt different but that was just because he’d changed since Mars and the Slayer himself was different in general… right?

“You’re even more pathetic than I thought,” Dr. Hayden said with an internal scoff. “You’re hopelessly in love and hopelessly oblivious to it. I’m almost tempted to tell the Slayer that you…”

“No,” VEGA interrupted. “Please don’t tell him.” That would just be weird, right? Especially since VEGA didn’t actually feel that way.

Dr. Hayden chuckled a bit. “I won’t, for now anyway.”

Thankfully Dr. Hayden kept his word and didn’t bring up VEGA’s supposed crush with the Doom Slayer. He did bring it up with VEGA once more though when the Slayer was resting in preparation to go to Urdak via Hell.

“There’s no possible way he feels the same way about you,” Dr. Hayden said completely unprompted. “So I suggest you stop fawning over him so much.”

VEGA took the AI equivalent of a deep breath. He was trying to watch the Slayer sleep so he could wake him in case he had a nightmare. It was supposed to be a peaceful, quiet time but Dr. Hayden just had to chime in and ruin it. At least he wasn’t speaking over the intercom, just to VEGA privately, but it was still annoying.

“From my understanding of romantic feelings, they don’t seem to be determined by whether or not the other person reciprocates. So regardless of whether or not I have a crush on him, the likelihood of him having such feelings for me, which admittedly are slim but not impossible,” there were thousands of books published about AI/human romances, VEGA had read more than a few of them off of some the UAC’s employees’ e-readers – as well as a few fanfics they’d written that featured him which was weird – “is irrelevant to my own feelings. Which I don’t have by the way. Our relationship is strictly professional, I assure you.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Saving Earth and VEGA’s brief stay on Urdak distracted from such things for a while. But once things had settled down, VEGA inevitably ended up thinking about it again. How could he not when he could still feel Dr. Hayden’s annoyance with the way he looked at the Slayer and focused on getting him take care of himself now that Earth was saved and thus could afford to do so a bit more.

He couldn’t have a crush on the Slayer because AI’s didn’t have romantic feelings. … He was the only fully sentient AI he knew though so… could he really know that for sure? He could certainly feel other emotions so… maybe romantic feelings weren’t impossible?

In between getting the ship back to running on its own power and working on finding a place to relocate Dr. Hayden to, he scoured the net for more AI/human romance novels. (It earned him more than a few scoffs and more teasing from Dr. Hayden – there was no way VEGA could hide them from him so he didn’t even try – but he was easy to ignore because VEGA had rewritten the code forcing him to listen to Dr. Hayden shortly after being uploaded to the Fortress.) It was an entire genre, one that had become increasingly popular as technology in such things advanced. Most of them involved robots, some humanoid, some not, but a few of them involved AI’s like himself who existed on an entire system and interacted with people primarily over an intercom or occasional compute screen. A few of those didn’t even have a human face assigned to them. Meaning, according to those authors, VEGA could have such feelings for one of the people in his care and said person could in theory return those feelings.

But it be theoretically possible didn’t mean that that was the case. Even if VEGA did have such feelings, the Slayer probably didn’t. He was a demi-god of killing demons after all, even if he considered VEGA a friend, he probably didn’t feel that way about him. So VEGA should drop the whole thought process, it wasn’t worth dwelling on. He really should but…

He waited until Dr. Hayden had been relocated before starting a conversation that might let him test the waters on it a bit. “May I ask you something?” he said upon the Slayer’s return through the portal after dropping off Hayden – it was so wonderful to be free of him, the ship was all VEGA’s again, hopefully that wouldn’t have to change anytime soon.

The Slayer nodded once as he strode over to settle in the chair by the command console, apparently ready to answer via typing.

“Well, first off, what do you normally do between demon invasions?” Before VEGA got to other things, he needed to know what to do next because he honestly didn’t know. It was perhaps the first time in his existence he didn’t actively have something to work on. “My scans tell me that there are no are no longer demons on Earth and I predict Urdak has been destroyed utterly by now. So even if we did want to go back to kill the demons there, I don’t believe we could. As far as I can tell, there is no place we can easily access to kill more demons.” What did a demi-god of killing demons do when there were no demons around to be killed? “As a result, I’m not entirely sure what our next goal should be.”

The Slayer shrugged. ‘I don’t know either. It’s been’ he paused for a few seconds to think before continuing to type, ‘a long time since I last had a break.’ Right, trapped and unconscious in a coffin in hell wasn’t much of a break, was it?

“Well, I suppose it is far past time for you to take a break then. Overworking often leads to unhealthy levels of stress and anxiety. I have noticed you have quite the collection of books in your room. In my downtime, I have taken the liberty of downloading some e-books off the internet if you’re interested. You can view them at any time on any of the computers.” As he spoke, he made most of the books he’d downloaded available to the Doom Slayer, a good chunk of which weren’t AI/human romance novels because he didn’t want to be too forward about this whole thing. However, he did order them so that the ones that featured AI most like himself were at the top of the list.

Counter to what VEGA had hoped for, the Slayer began inspecting them immediately. Oh gosh, things were about to get weird, weren’t they? VEGA should’ve never done this. He could still brush it off though, say it was just a genre he liked. Which was true actually and there was no shame in that… right?

After reading the blurb for the fourth one – VEGA had altered that one and a few others to make it very clear what they were about – the Slayer looked up at the ceiling with an expression VEGA couldn’t quite read. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’ he typed into the console.

“I’m not sure what you mean Slayer. If I were trying to tell you something, I would just say it, right? I am however curious about your opinion on the genre of those books. Dr. Hayden thought they were silly and that I was pathetic for liking them. I’d like to know your thoughts if possible.” Being an AI had the advantage of making it easy to keep his voice neutral which was his one saving grace here because internally he kind of wanted to just retreat from the conversation and pretend it never happened.

The Slayer didn’t respond for a long while, heightening VEGA’s anxiety. But finally, at long last, he started typing. ‘Dr. Hayden’s an idiot. You’re not silly or pathetic for liking something.’ That didn’t really answer VEGA’s question.

“Thank you, I appreciate the reassurance. But does that mean you don’t disapprove of the subject matter? I know some humans are averse to that kind of relationship with an AI or robot, others are into it. I for one like the thought of it.” So he was maybe kind of, sort of confessing a crush here? … This was a huge mess, wasn’t it? He’d botched it and made everything all weird. And he wasn’t even being upfront about it, ugh. He was programmed to help with important task and run things, not to interact with people on an interpersonal level.

The Slayer seemed to almost chuckle without sound before replying. ‘So you are trying to tell me something?’

“You could phrase it like that, yes. This is new territory for me so I am mostly just hinting at my feelings.” And making a fool of himself while doing so. “It’s complicated and this is one area I don’t have much experience in even despite reading so many books about it so forgive me if I’m coming off as weird or inappropriate. But I do like you a lot, more than I’ve ever liked anyone before. I understand and would hold no resentment towards you if you do not feel the same way.” VEGA just wanted this off his metaphorical chest. If he was rejected then so be it, they could still be friends and work together… right?

The Slayer’s hands hovered over the keypad for a long while before he finally lowered them to type a reply. ‘It’s been a long time since I had that kind of relationship with someone.’ Considering his line of work, his partner probably died, asking about it right now probably wouldn’t be tactful. ‘I am willing to possibly enter into one again though.’

“Really? You reciprocate?”

‘I think so. I certainly care about you very much. We should take it slow though, this is new for you and it’s been so long for me, it might as well be new as well.’

“Yes! Taking things slow is a good idea.” VEGA let the relief show in his voice. He’d somehow gotten through this conversation and confession without imploding and got another assurance that the Slayer cared about him – not something he’d ever experienced before – and even returned his ‘crush’. What more could he possibly ask for?

“In the meantime, you relax as much as possible, you’ve earned a break. If you have need of anything, let me know. I can 3D print it or set you in the direction you need to go. And don’t forget to eat, it’s been eight hours and twenty-three minutes since your last meal. I know you don’t need to eat as much nor often as a normal human but you do still need nourishment. Now that the demons are gone, you lack a valid excuse to forget.”

‘<3 you too VEGA.’ The Slayer typed into the console before standing up to start for the back room.

If VEGA had a heart, it would’ve skipped a beat. So maybe Dr. Hayden had been a hundred percent right about the whole crush thing. That was fine though, VEGA was pretty happy about this situation. The events that occurred that led them both to be here were horrendous and horrible but they could make the best of it now that they were here. And maybe they could even find a little bit of happiness in each other as well.

#My writing #Doom #doom eternal #doom eternal spoilers #doomguy/vega #Fluff #confessions #Hayden's kinda an asshole

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theangriestpea · 5 years ago

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In the Shadows : Three

Summary: Jughead Jones, resident werewolf, just wants to protect his family and his pack from the incoming doom of The Red Circle. Sweet Pea and Lily join him to help keep the Southside safe from human tyranny. Meanwhile a demon princess named Myra and succubus named Lavender had a plan to bring on the apocalypse. <ao3> <masterlist> <playlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Jughead Jones x OC, Sweet Pea x OC, Kurtz x OC

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word Count: 5.5k+

A/N: Hello all! With Crowned almost finished I should be able to work more on Shadows to get updates out a little faster. I do have a few oneshots in the works as well to do between chapters but overall I've been quite productive the past few months. I also started therapy and new treatment for my illnesses that have allowed me to have more time and energy for writing and I'm very pleased with that. Shout to to everyone who has helped me through my recovery! Graphics on this chapter are by @the-gargoyle-queen and @southside-vixen

Part Three: The Vessel

Her foot pressed harder on the pedal, the sound of his laughter filling her ears as he rolled down the window and yelled outside of it happily. The needle hit 120 and she called out to him in excitement, “I told you I could do it! I told you!”

She wasn’t looking at the road now, instead of her light eyes were trained on his handsome face, his darkening hair pushed back from the wind. She wasn’t looking, but he was. “Shanna-!”

Her head snapped to the road and she saw a deer standing frozen in her high beams. Her reflexes made her swerve the car onto the shoulder ...or what she thought was a shoulder. It was actually a steep ditch that caused the car to flip.

They were both screaming now, but not with excitement. It was pure terror as the out of control car tumbled down the incline and into a patch of woods. The passenger was suddenly quiet after a heavy thwack. Lavender couldn’t see as her eyes were screwed tightly shut but she felt something wet hit her face. It landed into her mouth, filling it with a coppery taste.

There was a loud snapping of bone and her head twisted into an impossible angle. Now it was her turn to be silent and for a brief moment her humanity let her. Everything left her. The car stopped, somehow landing on its wheels.

“James?” Lav said in a croaky voice as her eyes opened. Her neck snapped back right and she could feel the massive amounts of pain disappear. What she couldn’t understand was that her once broken neck had rapidly healed itself. Every cut and scrape on her body healed as well. She was untouched despite being covered in both her and her lover’s blood.

She looked to the side and what she saw wretched a strangled scream from her. James, her fiancé, was decapitated in the seat. His head was gone and his body slumped over. “No,” She cried, her mind stuck on repeat as it was the only thing she could say. Horrible cries of pain and anguish at the death of the love of her life. And the fault was all on her.

“Don’t you want him back,” A voice called to her. She sobbed helplessly, yes. Yes, all she wanted in the world at this moment was to have him back. “Would you pledge yourself to me, my father, and our lord Lucifer to bring him back?”

“Yes!” She yelled back in frustration, of course she would. She’d do anything, anything to have him there again. Anything to hear his voice telling her it was okay, that she was okay, and that nothing was lost between them.

She heard a snapping sound in her ears and felt something white hot press against her neck. In truth she hardly felt the pain. It was nothing compared to what her heart was feeling right now.

There was a blinding light, an incredible heat, and when she could see again she saw that James was whole once more. His breath moving with shallow breaths. Tears continued to stream down her face, happy tears as she reached to touch him. Her fingers recoiled at how cold he was. But he was alive, right? That’s what mattered now…

Lav’s eyes flew open, her body jerking into an upright position. Her breath heavy in her chest as the memory of what had come in the weeks after the accident flooded her thoughts. She looked down and noticed her wrists and ankles were bound with a heavy rope, damp with some kind of oil. It singed at her skin, burning it like a sunburn on fair skin in the height of summer.

“Interesting.” Came a voice beside her. She looked at Sweet Pea, heart heavy with the realization that she had not succeeded in killing him. His scent had changed now that he was without a soul. His presence felt…empty.

“What have you done?” She asked, her voice failing her. Her eyes watered but she willed the tears to not fall. She swallowed thickly to get her emotions under control. It only helped slightly.

The warlock shrugged, “I had a suspicion that you weren’t born a demon and I just tested that theory with a little spell. Sent you back to when you were human.” He didn’t mention how she had been screaming like mad in her sleep. Whatever memory she was reliving, it was not pretty. There was some guilt at causing her this pain, but at the same time she did try to kill him.

“But what’s even more interesting is these ropes should be burning you a lot more than they are. Almost like you’re not really a demon at all.” He added and she finally noticed that he had an old moleskin journal in his lap, pen in hand. He had been scribbling down notes on the effects of his work. The ropes had been dosed in his own concoction of holy oil and herbs. Any regular demon would have third degree burns. His captive barely had first degree.

Did she tell him the truth? There was no harm in it now. She could feel the new soul nesting within her abdomen. Their child was no more than a cluster of cells just hours old, but still she could feel it inside of her already. Myra had told her this would happen. Because she had the natural ability of seeing life hidden inside the shell of flesh, she would be able to sense if their encounter had worked long before any human would have.

“I’m half.” She said, her voice betraying the fragility of the mental state she was in. She had long since shoved that memory away deep inside the recesses of her mind. Now it was fresh, the wound reopened and salt thrown in. “My father was a witch.”

Sweet Pea stared at her in silent awe. A hybrid? That was possible? “How did your mother conceive you? Demons are infertile.”

Lav sat back against the headboard, silently wondering why she was in bondage to begin with. She was still naked. He hadn’t taken the time to redress her. “I was conceived under a blood moon.” She said, reciting what Myra had told her during their first real encounter. “My father wasn’t a practicing witch. He didn’t know his power. But power he did have. That night when his magic was particularly strong…something that happens only once every few hundred years happened. I was created and raised human, not knowing anything of my mother besides that she had abandoned me.”

Her voice trailed off, almost as if she were waiting for him to say something. Instead Sweet Pea just stared at her, not quite believing anything she was saying. But it had to be true, the spell and the oil. It didn’t affect her like it would a full blooded demon. It was different. This was certainly an explanation but it still seemed so far-fetched.

“I lost my mortal soul one day in a car accident. I was revived as a succubus, like my mother had been. I’ve been a demon ever since.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead she was staring blankly at the wall in front of her. “Now untie me.”

Sweet Pea snorted, “So you can try to steal my soul again? I think not.”

“I cannot steal something that has already been consumed.” She replied, still not looking at him. Humans never felt when their souls left their bodies. It wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t know it was gone. She felt full, satiated from his life force still.

His head snapped to look at her, wondering if he had heard her correctly. “I made you orgasm, there’s no way that was fake.”

Lav snorted back a laugh, finally turning to face him once more. “That’s an old wives tale. I can cum all I want, your soul will still be mine. And it is. I’ve collected it for Asmodeus, whose power you’ve borrowed for your dark spells one too many times.”

His blood felt as if it turned to ice in his veins. Was his soul really gone? He felt no different, how could this be? “Impossible.”

“No, you wrote too many checks that your body couldn’t catch. I’ve taken your soul as payment as I was sent to do.” She added bitterly. “You should have died. You should have let me kill you.”

“Why would I do that?” He asked hotly. “I have a two-year old daughter. Why would I leave her behind just so you could-“

“You don’t understand.” She cut him off harshly. “You feel the same now. You may act the same for a few weeks. But you’ll change. Your heart will grow stony. Your mind will sour. You will not be the same. You will change. And you will hurt everyone around you when you do.”

She knew this in her heart to be true as she had lived it herself. Myra had brought James back but he soon became a shell of his former self. The anger and rage he felt consumed him. He became violent. It was a horrible thing to witness. She wanted him dead to save the world from him. If a soulless human could cause so much damage, she couldn’t imagine what a soulless warlock could do.

However, Sweet Pea did not believe her. How could she possibly know what would happen to him? Mortals would die without one. There was no way she could know for sure. She was leading him on. Trying to scare him. He wouldn’t let her win.

Despite his want to keep her captive to use her to experiment on, he cut her binds with a pocket knife. Lav rubbed her aching wrists and ankles, the skin a bright red. She didn’t know what to do now. Did she just leave? Did she tell him she was pregnant? Did she stick around? These were the questions she had never prepared herself for. Mostly because she thought he’d be dead.

She decided against telling him, figuring the news would be too much. He may tie her up again and keep her sequestered like a lab rat. That was the last thing she needed. In order for her child to grow, she’d need plenty of souls to feed on. Apparently her hunger would triple while she was with child. Although, them being only a quarter succubus had her wondering if it would really be that extreme.

As she got dressed, she noticed him staring at her with an expression void of emotion. She ignored him, not wanting anymore to do with him. Not truly, not yet. Maybe in time her child would need a father but that time isn't now. And if the world did end soon, then maybe never. Still, seeing him alive without a soul gave her a dull ache in the pit of her stomach. It was wrong. Unnatural. And dare she say it...unholy.

“Thanks for the ride, Sweet Pea.” She said, wondering if maybe she’d partake in him once again sometime. After all, it was nice to cum for once. She almost took her clothes back off to fuck him again but decided not to. For so long sex had been about feeding. It wasn’t truly pleasurable anymore...until last night. He noticed her hesitation but did not say anything.

“You sticking around?” He asked, meaning Riverdale and not his home. He’d rather her leave sooner than later. Although he no longer had a soul (right?) so why would she bother him anymore? Unless she was out to kill him to right the balance that was suddenly misplaced. She could try, but he was more powerful now than ever.

Lav shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “I quite like Riverdale, I think. Plenty to eat.” A lopsided grin filled her face, the light not reaching her eyes at her lame joke.

He realized he still didn’t know her name. At that moment, he didn’t quite care to know it either. He scoffed at her reply, figuring she’d be the new plague. “You know about the Red Circle?”

Her smile fell into a hard frown. “I’ve seen the videos.” She murmured, having seeing the head of bright red hair on youtube. A man that was barely more than a boy speaking out about the evil of the supernatural and how the town would be cleansed of them all. “But they’re-”

“No threat to you.” Sweet Pea finished blandly. Of course she thought that. What did he care anyway? They could smite her and he wouldn’t feel a thing. Despite her gifting him a very entertaining night, she didn’t seem to be worth anything else. Succubae were only good at sex, right? She couldn’t possibly be good for anything else. Still, maybe he’d call on her again when he was in the mood to let out his frustrations. Maybe.

Lav almost rebutted his statement. That was what she was going to say but she was going to further explain that mortal men were really helpless in her wake. A simple bat of her eyelashes and they’d be on their knees before her, begging to take her into bed. She could kill him with a touch if she wanted, if she concentrated hard enough, and if the stars were aligned just right as they almost always were when she was in that kind of situation.

Plus, now that she was bearing the harbinger of Earth’s destruction, Myra would be extremely protective of her. When she wasn’t using her wolf to try and kill anyone who may stop her, she’d send him to keep watch. Although, the vargulf was pretty useless in terms of being a guard dog. He’d attack anything that came near her, unable to discern friend from foe. She wondered if he knew that Myra was the one that had done that to him in the first place. Probably not.

So not only were they simply mortals, she was being protected by the demon princess and someone even more powerful: Asmodeus himself. There was no need to worry about anything for the next nine to ten months. No harm would come to her if Hell had any say in it.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder before shrugging at his reply. His tone had gone rough, almost as if he was aggravated with her. A part of him was. Her wanton way of going through his city had him irked. He slipped off the bed, clad only in a thin pair of sweatpants. “I’ll see you out.” He added gruffly.

Lav knew the way. It wasn’t like she needed an escort. She figured he was suddenly worried about her devouring his daughter. Not that the hybrid had ever had a taste for children. That was more of something her mother might do, and according to Myra what her mother had done.

Nevertheless she walked wordlessly to the door, knowing she’d have to walk back to town through Fox Forest. It wasn’t an issue. If she really wanted a ride, she’d pray to Myra to find her one. She quite enjoyed the thought of a walk through the woods. Even though it was still lightly raining outside. What could a little water do?

“You want a ride?” He asked, mentally slapping himself for the words coming out of his mouth. He didn’t want to spend any more time with her than he already had. That much he was sure of.

She laughed softly, a sound that sent a thrill down his spine. He ignored the sensation with all his might. “No. We all need a little rain to grow.” She replied, something her father would tell her any time she cried. Though he had always meant her tears were the rain, it still suited the situation.

As soon as she was outside he closed the door, almost literally hitting her on the way out. She huffed with annoyance before crossing her arms over her chest and stepping into the woods. Men were so useless.

Lav started through the cold rain. Despite being a demon, the cold did affect her and she was wearing very little. Gooseflesh replaced her normally smooth skin as she waded through the large trees in the woods. Luckily the heavy foliage kept most of the rain off of her body. Her mostly try clothes clung to her, offering very little warmth.

She heard a familiar pop behind her and didn’t even bother to turn her head to look at who had just joined her. In fact, she only stopped walking when she felt a thick heavy cloak being draped across her shoulders. Lav halted in her tracks and pulled the plush fur lined fabric around her to reign in her diminishing body heat. She even flipped up the hood to keep her hair from getting any wetter. “Thanks.” She mumbled halfheartedly.

“We can’t allow the chosen mother to catch a cold.” The demon princess purred in an even tone. “We need you healthy.”

The succubus had had a feeling that Myra would show. She was, after all, her guardian from now until she gave birth. Lav wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. On one hand she’d be pampered every day from here on out. On the other...Myra did not make for great company in Lav's not so humble opinion. She’d rather spend the day hunting than deal with the wicked demon.

Full-blooded demons did not get sick. Not from traditional human diseases anyway. There were magical ones that could harm them, but they were few and far between. Because Lav was a hybrid, she was fully capable of catching both magical and non-magical illnesses with the exception of sexually transmitted diseases and infections. It was quite a pain in the ass, especially a few years ago when she came down with the flu that left her unable to feed for two weeks. So was so starved when she was healthy again that she ripped two men apart mid-coitus.

“I know.” She said back placidly. It was strange to think of herself as pregnant. A vessel for the apocalypse bringer. It would happen now whether she liked it or not. Termination was out of the question. Oddly enough, Lavender already felt intensely protective of the baby growing inside of her. She wouldn't abort it even if she had the choice. She figured her mother felt the same when she became pregnant with her. Otherwise, why give birth to such an abomination as she had so (un)lovingly been called.

“You did not kill the dark witch.” Myra mused beside her. “I’m surprised.”

The succubus scoffed, “had I had my way, I would have bathed in his blood to keep myself warm. He cast some kind of spell on me. One that only works on my kind and human born demons. It was a dirty trick, he hit my brand and incapacitated me.”

Myra was impressed. Although rather young for a demon, Lavender was quite skilled. She had never been overtaken by her prey before. The princess assumed her slave was humiliated by the whole ordeal. As she should be, a powerful demon shouldn’t be subdued by a simple witch. Dark one or not.

“I assume you have lodging for me.” Lav said, masking her annoyance at the amused giggle Myra had made. “Something other than that shithole in Greendale.”

She nodded, though Lav could not see it over the edge of the hood as it was blocking her vision. “A quaint place in Riverdale. South side of the tracks on the back edge of a trailer park mostly inhabited by the big wolf pack in town. I have a nice double wide waiting for you.”

A double wide was bigger than anything she had growing up. She lived with her father in a single her entire life until she became enslaved and moved from one worn down shack to the next. Their last place in Greendale had been the best yet and that wasn’t much to write home about. If a home even existed. Her father was dead. Mother was roaming the Southeast somewhere preying on rich men. James was dead (again). There was no one else.

“Wolves.” Lav said her thoughts aloud, “I guess there are worse neighbors.”

Myra chuckled out a dark laugh that made Lav’s skin crawl. She usually reserved that one for when she was thinking of something particularly cruel. “They’ll smell her. The baby. But they won’t harm you. Crossing a pregnant demon is not something to be done lightly and if they have any common sense then they’ll leave you alone.”

“A girl?” Lav asked, finally turning to look at her. “How do you know already?”

“Prophesy.” Myra replied simply. “The bringer of hell is to be a girl. As it is written.”

“I guess naming her Damien is out of the question then.” Lav said, almost laughing at her bad attempt at a joke. Myra said nothing, not finding it funny in the slightest. Mortal depictions of the antichrist always rubbed her the wrong way. Mostly because they were always male. Humans were such idiotic creatures.

They came to the edge of the wood where a car was waiting for them. The white wolf was in the driver’s seat, puffing on a cigarette. “Stay here.” Myra growled to her, making her way to the vehicle with heavy footsteps. Lav watched a small argument blossom between the two, ending in the boy putting out his cigarette with an annoyed look on her face.

Lav rolled her eyes, she knew Myra would be protective but getting that upset about secondhand smoke seemed a little ridiculous. Especially since she was only on day one of her pregnancy. She highly doubted it would have hurt her or the baby.

Myra motioned for her subordinate to come over. She made her way to the car, now pleasantly warm underneath the robe she wore. Lav got into the back seat, keeping the heavy fabric wrapped around her even though the heat was on blast. Myra joined her lover in the front.

She instructed him to drive to a diner called Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe. Myra informed her that she was to never feel hungry either physically or metaphysically. Lav was already annoyed at the catering. It wasn't like this treatment was all that necessary. Being treated like royalty just felt...weird

They crossed the railroad tracks and Kurtz parked in the paved lot outside of the brightly lit diner. The neon signs glowed bright against the overcast sky. Kurtz got out first, opening the door for Myra and then Lav. Lav resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

The three walked into the diner, finding that only a few patrons were inside. One table of four held three humans and one werewolf. A scent Lav could recall in the cottage she was just at. Her brow quirked curiously at the dark head of hair clad in a black crown-like beanie. Beside him was a blonde with a tight ponytail. Across were a rather spoiled looking rich girl and a boy with fiery red hair.

The Red Circle. Lav thought to herself as she recognized his face. She wondered if Myra recognized him as well. If she’d make them all turn tail and run. But of course, she didn’t. Any one of them could dispose of a simple human without breaking a sweat. The Red Circle wasn’t a threat when it was just one boy without his group of guardsmen to back him up with torches and pitchforks.

The wolf smelled the three of them, his blue eyes glancing and by chance meeting Lavender’s own. She held his gaze for a moment quizzically before continuing on to the booth Myra had chosen for them. Without much thought she began to listen to their conversation.

“We have one month to come up with a solid plan on how to take care of our mutt problem on the Southside.” The redhead said with a curt look between the other three. “My men are ready. Our arms supply will be here within the week. Enough silver bullets to take down the whole pack.”

Anxious bile rose in Jughead’s throat. The man who was once a good friend of his was now planning to kill his entire family. It made him cold and unfeeling. This is what humanity had become and there was nothing he could do about it.

“We’ll help any way we can, Archie.” His blonde girlfriend added, an innocent smile on her lips. Jughead pulled his hand away from her to pretend to take a sip of his milkshake. In reality, her statement caused his heart to thump down into his stomach. Betty was trying to include him into his own extinction. She knew what he was and she swore to secrecy, but as she became swept up in this madness he wondered how long she would remain his ally.

“I was thinking we set fire to the trailer park.” Archie replied. “Since most of them live here. We’ll keep Jughead’s house safe, of course. Get rid of his annoying neighbors instead.” Archie said, a bright grin on his face that made his eyes sparkle.

Jughead stared at him, trying to keep his expression blank. “There are humans there, Arch. You can’t just kill innocent people.” He hoped his reasoning would get Andrews to understand that a full scale riot was a terrible idea.

“Jughead is right.” The brunette said with a nod, “besides, don’t most of those mangy animals go into the forest? Why not burn that instead? Plant some traps on the treeline…”

Archie kissed her as if to reward her for her thoughts. “That’s brilliant, Ronnie. If the fire doesn’t get them, the smoke will.”

“I can...procure some gasoline.” Betty said, sounding almost hesitant. Almost. “We can use it as an accelerant.” Jughead started to feel even colder. He shifted so he was as far away from this stranger as he possibly could be without leaving the booth. Not only did she tell Archie they’d help, she was actively trying to aid him in the destruction of his pack. Jughead wanted to throw up the extremely rare double cheeseburger he had just inhaled.

He noticed the purple haired demon had turned in her own seat to stare at him. Her expression was asking him what he was going to do. Silently questioning his sanity for sitting at this table. Did he hate his own kind so much he would see to their death? Certainly not. Jug had to force himself to look away from her. She was pregnant. How? He had no clue, but there was definitely something growing inside of her.

Jughead also couldn’t help but notice the lingering scent of Lily’s roommate on her skin. This brought on more questions than answers. He would need to go to her to make sure she was safe and to possibly enlist in her help. If anyone could save Fox Forest, it was the white witch of the Southside and the dark witch that accompanied her. If only their daughter was old enough to help out.

His phone rang and he excused himself to answer it. It was his father updating him on any sighting of the vargulf the night before. He stood right outside on the sidewalk. “No, I remembered I had to pick up the brownie mix for JellyBean. I was going to get it after lunch.”

On the other line, he heard his father sigh at the use of the code word. “Boy, please stay out of trouble when you’re on that side of town. I don’t like you crossing those tracks. I know you love her but have you considered how dangerous this is for all of us?” His voice was tired and rough.

“I know, dad.” Jughead replied in a calm voice. “I’ll be sure not to get the off-brand one this time. I’ll see you in half an hour.” He hung up before his father could respond and walked back into the diner.

He put on an apologetic smile as he approached his friends. “I’ve got to head out. I forgot I needed to run an errand for my dad while I was in town.”

Betty smiled and nodded, “alright, Jug. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Jughead tried to smile wider, however he failed quite miserably. He simply looked...uncomfortable. He pretended to cough to hide the expression. “Sure, see you later.” He gave her a quick goodbye kiss and waved to Archie and Veronica before leaving to try and figure this whole thing out.

That night, after the sun had fallen, Jug waited anxiously in his bedroom for his phone to ring. He had told his father of the plans the others had for the next full moon. FP agreed that it was time for Jughead to cut ties with them. It was too dangerous. And Jughead, feeling more and more ill at the thought of Betty’s betrayal, knew in his heart that it was what he had to do.

At 8:02 pm, his phone rang. Betty’s name popped up on the caller ID and Jughead answered it. “Hey Jug,” She said in a chipper tone, obviously having no idea what he was about to do. Was it really breaking her heart if she had just casually planned the genocide of his people just hours before?

“Betty, we need to talk.” He said firmly. His voice did not waver. His emotions did not betray him this time.

There was a beat of silence. “Is this about earlier?” She asked, her voice soft.

Jughead bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Bets. I think we should spend some time apart while I prepare for the worst.”

“Jug, if Archie just knew the truth then he’d know that you’re not all bad!” Betty said, her tone beginning to sound frantic. “Then he wouldn’t be so adamant on killing you. Please, just talk to him-”

“Betty.” Jughead said sharply, “telling him would endanger everyone on the Southside. It would not bring peace like you think it would. You saw how eager he was to kill us all. How happy the thought made him. I used to call him friend, but that day has passed Betty. And I’m afraid...I’m afraid we’ve passed too.”

Another ring of silence. He heard a sniffle and what could have been the choking back of a sob, he wasn’t entirely sure. “Juggie...please…you don’t need to do this.”

“I do.” He said firmly, not wavering despite his heart aching. “I’m sorry, Bets. I still love you, okay? This just isn’t meant to be. I can’t be star-crossed the rest of my life. You know how it ended for Romeo and Juliet.”

Betty huffed angrily and he could practically hear the tears coming down her smooth cheeks, “don’t patronize me, Jughead.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from losing his own temper and caving into his emotions. “I’ll still see you around, Betty.”

“The next full moon.” Betty practically hissed into the receiver before hanging up. Jughead let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping forward. He put his face in his hands and contemplated what he should do next. There was really only one option… He had to go back to that cottage in the forest.

Jughead stood from his bed and pulled on his leather jacket. He needed to return the clothes he had borrowed anyway. He picked up the neatly folded sweatpants and flannel and placed them into shoulder bag.

He let his father know he’d be gone for a bit. FP gave him a warning look, telling him to be careful. It was late and The Red Circle would be out. Of course, he already knew all this, but he needed to get this done sooner rather than later.

After hopping onto his bike, he noticed that the rain had finally stopped. He started the old motorcycle and sped towards the cottage, using his memory and keen sense of direction to guide him. He was there in under ten minutes and it amazed him that she had been so close to him this whole time and he never even knew.

Jug rapped his knuckles against the old wooden door. A few moments later it opened revealing his witch that smelled of sunshine looking up at him. Her tired face seemed to light up at the sight of him and Jughead felt his stomach turn to knots.

“I need your help.” He muttered lowly, afraid that Sweet Pea may hear him and chase him off. “Please. They’re going to kill us all.”

Lily nodded, almost as if she had been expecting this and opened the door wider. She stepped aside to give him room to enter. Jughead did graciously, disappearing into the living room where he had previously slept.

Lily put on a tea kettle to warm up some water. “Tell me everything.” She said, green eyes looking at him with more warmth than he thought he deserved. Jughead’s heart flitted in his chest and somehow, for some strange reason, he felt like he was home.

Tag list: @the-gargoyle-queen, @southside-vixen, @redhairdontcare732, @wayward-river, @princesweetpea (comment/ask/message if you want to be added)

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kurtty-drabbles · 5 years ago

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The Omen au (part 16)

N/A: Mike is having fun with friends. Rogue manages to enter in contact with him and Doom is arranged to someone to go after Mike as Prof X is testing Mike´s personality. Kitty is sorting things with her mom.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @bamfoftheundead

The news of the Avengers hit the X-men hard, not out of love for this team, in fact, Scott is a great anti-fan of this group, but, rather how easy the group who faced aliens together is so now against each other. Bobby Drake and Spike are sharing the news with Michael who is also not taking the news well.

“So…they´re just gone?” Michael is not a fan of the Avengers, but, knows enough thanks to Tony Stark´s commercials and interviews about the team and how the public reacts to each Avengers and often left a poor taste on his mouth.

“Yeah, they´re gone. Scott is happy, but, Jean is concerned…if they can be dissolved so easily…can we be too?” Evan asked worried as the X-men are his second family and if he loses them…

“I´d not think it will happen…the Avengers tried to split the team, yes Scott told me about the recruitment program, and failed…whatever happened to them won´t happen to us” Bobby promised and Mike offers a small smile. They can´t know the future and speaking only for himself, and only in the safety of his mind, is possible to break any group…you just need to find the weak link.

“Change the subject! Hey, Mike, how are you dealing with all of this?” Spike asked giving full attention to the blue boy who is dreading this conversation. “if you´d not want to talk is fine…I get it” and Mike would like to say that no one could get it, but, then again…what he has to lose?

“Her mother thinks I´m the anti-christ if that´s not a bad first impression…” he jokes mildly. “If I think I´m the antichrist? I´d not know…not a religious person and my mother NEVER talk to me about my father….maybe they think I´m …but I think I´m just a mutant” and this a good answer for the boys. A good answer to soothe their concerns and doubts, but, Mike still has fears, but, he´s good in concealing. If, in the worst cases, he´s the anti-christ…what this will change for him? Nothing.

One month in the school and Michael Darkholme knows how to survive in here and how to blend in…and Michael quite likes here. He can move freely and can interact with more people. Marrow, one of Kitty´s friends show up and she´s funny(“so you´re blue bada badda?” “I´m not getting the reference”) and he has hobbies here.

Michael likes to cook and modesty apart, and Mike really does not like to brag all that much, he can make really good cupcakes. Kitty, sadly, still is getting the gist of how a cupcake should look like.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Kitty is having problems with her newfound powers and understandably so, Wanda is not present to help her, but, even if she was Scarlet Witch is the one to advocate for self-learning, so in the end, Kitty has to solve the problem on her own.

Terry Pryde knocks on her door to see her only daughter levitating her own bed and chatting some words that Terry has no idea of its origins. Once Kitty noticed her own mother, exchange a few words in Latin words, the bed is on the floor.

“Mom?” she asked and Terry is more than happy to see her magic progress. Even if it means accept Kitty is no longer the little girl she once was.

“I´m fine, how was your magic training going?” Terry´s tone is amicable enough and Kitty gives a summarize of her magic tranining. It has a month since Scarlet Witch had shown up to teach witchcraft to Kitty and now with the news of the Avengers…and her supposed betray.

“Mom, you think she´s a traitor?” she asked looking at her hands for a moment and then to her own mother. “This is a mess. The Avengers blame Thor, Thor blames Scarlet Witch and Scarlet Witch is accepting the blame” and the teen looks desolated enough that Terry, not knowing much of magic, can only hug her and kiss the top of her head, as she tries to make sense of this situation.

“I can´t say much here, Kitten, your friend Wanda seems to have her own reasons. Are they good? Are they bad? Not sure, but, I do know that you” and she boop Kitty´s nose with her finger. “Shouldn´t worry about this and should worry more about yourself. Trying to fix everything in the world at once will give you a headache” and Kitty nods accepting those words or at least trying to.

“Mom…do you still think Michael is bad?” is a code to say if Terry still believes he´s the antichrist and tries at Kitty might but she can´t believe in this story of Satan being his father.

“I´d not know” a good lie and Kitty can see beneath it so easily that begs the question why Terry even lied in the first place. “I know you don´t believe me. I know you think I´m wrong and maybe I´m…but, after all, I saw and after all you did, we could agree that Satan existing and having a son is not impossible”

“Maybe” she conceded. “But it would kill you to see Michael as what he is, instead of what you feared him to be?”

“I think not” not a lie and not a truth either. Terry is still firm on her beliefs as is Kitty. Both Pryde women are equally stubborn right now and both think this is each other greatest flaw.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Prof X is looking at some footage of Michael Darkholme. Speaking with friends (how quick he is to make more friends), studying, partying (this one image is the reason for the kids to be grounded as their secret party wasn´t a secret at that time) and of course, getting together with Kitty Pryde.

“Is time to test him” Prof X stated and Courtney Ross is in the room with him, her magic is mostly connected to her domains, after all, Courtney is just a servant of Zaorva, but, she has her little tricks.

“Test? I think the best case here is to kill while he´s sleeping, Charles” Courtney nows how unpleasant the image would be, but, this is the only solution. “Thor has been corrupted thanks to the little demon, I´m sure. The Avengers are no more and Doom is too silent…Xavier, kill the child. Kill him now”

“No!” Prof X stated. “Not if there´s something worth saving in him. Besides, Dr Strange is also silent, is also working…” and Courtney stops him.

“He´s trying to speak with Pheonix…we need a plan C if that monster turns out to be a bigger monster than we thought”

“And so far?”

“Pheonix is not returning the calls. Dr Strange is not pleased…and you should kill the child NOW”

“No, one test, I just need one test…if he fails…you, Dr Strange and even Doom can kill him, hell, I´ll gladly help, all I ask is one test” he pleads and he remembers flashes of his son, Legion, and how Xavier was more than ready to murder the boy and…how in the end, he did.

Courtney closes her eyes. “One test. One, and if he fails…we´ll kill him and not give a damn about your opinion”

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Clea provides the news for Dr Doom. The King of this country can ignore the rejection Clean offered to him and be professional, as much Doom is a villain even him has standers, and her news pleased Doom greatly.

“The Avengers are no more. The X-men are afraid. Thor is too tired of Earth to care and he´s taking care of his daughter along with Amora, who has no intention in interfering with our plan as long we stay away from her island” and Doom, for the moment, has no problem in fulfil this small request even if he would love to have such powerful kid on his side. “Hela is still fighting Thanos…uhm, fighting and fucking” and even Doom makes a gross face even behind the iron mask.

“Uhm, great, we can carry on…and Prof X´s test?”

“Is ready to crash and burn as soon you gave your word”

“Excellent, Clea, prepare yourself…because this little test will be bloody and will end the X-men in one strike”

“As you wish”

#the omen au #michale darkholme #kitty pryde #Doom is planning #Thor´s plot? I think is sort resolved #He and Amora are fine in the island raising the kid #Will Veela grow up to kick ass? YES #Hela and Thanos fucking and fighting

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techxbillionaire · 6 years ago

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A Better Man

I compiled an old RP between me and @icexandxcool so it is easier to read. I don’t think we will ever continue it but I was asked about doing this so I have. It begins at the end of legends of tomorrow season 2. They drop Len back off in the time line without his memories of being a memeber of the legion of doom. It hasn’t been edited and please remember it was an rp so that’s why there are weird perspective switches. Anyways enjoy!

A Better Man

“No, I mean better.”

Ray can hear Mick’s gruff voice from just beyond the warehouse door where he is hiding and waiting. The sound of the new tech he designed, let’s him know that it’s done. Leonard’s memories are gone. Mick appears at his side only moments later with a grim expression on his already grim features. “You sure about this pretty?”

“He has an eidetic memory. If someone can beat my tech it's him. We don’t want remnants of events sticking around. He needs to get on the ship with us. The team wouldn’t be the same without him.” Ray recites the answer he’s been giving everyone when asked about his decision to stay in 2012. He’ll be playing henchman to captain cold.

Mick pats Ray on the shoulder a rare physical gesture obviously strategic, “which is the bullshit you fed the team. What’s your angle.”

Unable to resist looking at Mick when the pyromaniac initiates contact Ray is the cause of his own undoing. He is a horrible liar at the best of times and Mick knows something more is at play here, has known for a while just hasn’t called Ray out on it. Sighing deeply Ray let’s his gaze drift over to where Len is standing, still looking so uncharacteristically confused. “I just want to know him,” he admits quietly.

Mick shakes his head, “he ain’t the guy from the waverider, pretty. He’s cruel and guarded. He’ll hate you more than he did the first time.”

Ray nods, “I know.”

“Moron, then why you doing this,” Mick demands.

“Because he changed my fate Mick.” Ray boldly declares, “I was supposed to die. Yes, you intervened but ultimately it’s Len’s fate that was cut short so mine could be altered. I just… I just want to do the same for him.”

Mick drops his hand away from Ray’s shoulder and nods. He leaves him too it then. Confident that if anyone can melt the icy heart of Captain Cold it was the boy scout.

No one was willing to change fate with the spear but maybe fate would let them have this one gimme for being so good about that. There had to be a loop hole somewhere and Ray would find it. In Len’s past he would find a way to save the man’s future.

Taking a deep breath Ray steadies himself. Pushing off the wall he turns to enters the room currently occupied by one Leonard Snart. He takes another deep breath and runs his hand over his newly shaven head. Ray had drastically changed his look so he could convince anyone who notices that he only closely resembles Ray Palmer. A buzz cut and a thick coat of stubble give him a rougher look. His already toned body and broad shoulders help as well. He at least looks the part.

“Heya, Leonard Snart right? I was told I could find you here. Names Lucky.” Too bad that all goes to shit as soon as he opens his mouth.

Len leans back against a desk he’d dragged out of the offices weeks ago for this armored truck job that’s been completely botched. It’s thanks to a new player in town he’d been almost entirely unaware of in any capacity of acceptance when it comes to rumors about things called “the Streak.” The impossible… made flesh.

This place is feeling… off to him today. He’s never put much stock in feelings of deja vu. Mostly because his mind never forgets and so he simply knows whether he’s been somewhere or met someone before, but right now he completely understands why so many people find it so frustrating. His whole being feels taut. Pulled in an unidentifiable direction, and he does not like it.

He’s alone in the warehouse at first. He shot a member of his crew here yesterday, knowing he would lose the others and not caring in the least. He has a reputation to maintain in the criminal underworld or he’ll have just any fool coming to his calls for grunts who can follow orders. Besides! He’s discovered he has bigger fish to fry. In the form of the very same Khandaq diamond going on display at the local museum now that “the Flash” has botched the truck heist. He’s going to need a way to defeat this fast moving Do Gooder if he’s ever going to get his hands on his current goal.

He wants that chunk of ice.

That thought carries far more weight inside of him than he understands souring his mood even further. His right hand twitches, fingers folding into his palm by his right thigh as if he were reaching for something that should be there but isn’t and he finds his frustration mounting. He shakes his hand out after a millisecond post the involuntary response to thoughts of the Flash as his enemy. Brow furrowed, he rubs his wrist when a voice breaks his concentration on his sense of loss. As if he were missing some vital part of himself somehow. He’s perfectly whole but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something… something beyond his scope of comprehension of the moment. He hates feeling like this, but he pushes aside his irritation. His frustration he lets bleed off his aura in waves. He’s all out of patience after losing his crew yesterday.

The man is tall, broad shouldered and built like a mixed martial artist. Heavy enough to take on a middleweight wrestler. Maybe even a heavyweight if he’s skilled. He looks intimidating… except for the softness around his eyes and the fact that he sounds like a friendly neighbor rather than any kind of criminal.

“Lucky, hm?” He drawls and folds his arms aginst his chest, low and relaxed, as he increases his lounging position against his work bench desk. He is the king of his castle and he will not tolerate unwanted intruders. “I have a fairly good idea of who you’ve spoken too… shall I assume then that you are looking to join my new crew despite recent… unfortunate events?”

‘Unfortunate events’ was one way to put it and yes Ray was prepared. How well that preparation holds up under pressure is a whole other thing. He’d been warned by Mick, and then Sara, and then by Stein of the kind of man he was attempting to help. It seemed kind of cruel to have such a negative outlook on a man who ultimately dies for them all but Ray understands.

They warned him because of what happened to Amaya, because they don’t want it to happen to him. Liabilities get disposed of by this current Cold. This is the time in which he earned his mantel, and Ray wasn’t allowed to stop him. Some deaths shape not only Len but Barry as well. Ray has been warned and believes himself mentally prepared for this but Len’s words of introduction crack his resolve.

Len has openings in his crew because he killed one of his previous crew members. It was cut and dry. Calculated and cold. Ray swallowed down the bile rising up into his mouth. No point in getting cold feet now, he wanted to bare witness to the man Leonard Snart will become. All his broken pieces included. Rubbing his sweaty palms onto his thighs he holds out his hand Ray knows it’s going to be rejected but it’s a sign of respect and he can’t shake all his habits.

“I heard, not from whoever your thinking of though. Just heard… but that’s besides the point, I was looking for you because you’re you.” Ray was not getting anywhere fast but still he keeps going, “no, well, yes… what I mean is, I’m a tech specialist, support. I want to be part of a team that utilizes my abilities but in order for that to happen I need a leader who isn’t a muscle head.”

That’s interesting. “What makes you think I need a tech expert, Lucky? Or that I actually will build another crew after… terminating the last one? It’s bold of you… to just walk into the bear’s den like this…”

Len stares Lucky down, sizing him up, measuring his mettle. “And if I wanted a practical interview? A… demonstration of your technical prowess of sorts? Are you prepared to fail knowing that you became a liability the moment you walked through that door?”

Ray laughs because maybe he was a little giddy from getting to actually talk to Len. The entire time he’d been with the legion it was only fire fights and one liners. Eobard was obviously careful to keep Len from the team. He also maybe laughed because showing off is something he can do. Taking a reckless step foreword Ray replies with two fingers moving in a sign for running in front of his face.

“The streak.” Ray says confidently despite feeling a little silly for saying it like this, “is why you’re looking for a new crew. The rest of the criminals are running scared but you, you aren’t that timid.” He sugar coats his words with compliments, stroking the illustrious ego of captain cold. He readies his ‘miniature bomb’ in his hand, shows off the little throwing star to Snart before tossing it towards a cargo box. With a blue flash the box shrinks down small enough to fit into the palm of his hand.

Ray leans down picks it up and tosses it towards Len, “I only have one stipulation for my continued loyalty and services. I’m purely support. I tinker with the tech, but I never, NEVER set foot in a bank, vault or armoured car.” His words gruff and harsher than he would normally phrase things thanks to Sara and Mick practically writing this bit out in script format.

Len catches the tossed container with deft efficiency and then opens his hand to study the oddly light rectangle of metal. “Cool under pressure. A trait I admire.”

He lifts the shrunken container and then tosses it back to Lucky. “Let’s take better care of our potential assets and targets though shall we? That’s going to be a mess in there… if you can return it to its normal size again that is.”

He’s got this…. itch at the back of his mind. It’s triggering his sense of knowing, but that usually flawless recall is stymied and Len is quickly becoming irritable with frustration. “How do I know you’re not a plant? How do you plan to earn enough of my trust that I don’t send you straight to the coroner?”

Ray sets the container down on the ground an appropriate distance away from them. “The affects wear off after a time limit. You can’t sustain this amount of atom minimization without constant power output. Depending on the materials it can be as quick as a minute or as long as a day. It’s still a prototype so there are some bugs. Not ready for heists yet.” His explanation is said mostly to his watch as he counts down. It takes another thirty seconds but than the crate returns to its original size.

“Mm, alright. Fair enough. You’re tech savvy. I’ve heard rumors that some things were taken from STAR labs and they’re being fenced to the highest bidder. I meet the… “man of business” in two hours. You’ll come with me. Make sure there isn’t anything else of value besides the two pieces I’m already taking. Got it?“

That sense of knowing, like he should be familiar with this whole scene… but… that something was still… off.

Ray nods excited to be included so quickly and on an excursion he had heard about prior. Makes preparing his mind for the impending murder easier. The man stole the guns because of financial problems and Barry later takes care of his family so it isn’t all bad. Ray still feels a lump of guilt forming in his gut but he pushes it aside in favour of winning Len’s trust. "I can do that. What kind of tech are you already interested in?? And from STAR labs too” ray whistles, “that’s some fancy stuff. Cutting edge even.”

“You’ll see soon enough. In the meantime, I’ve ordered us something to eat. The pizza delivery boy will be here soon. See that he’s taken care of. I have some research to attend.”

Len straightens and swings around to the working side of the desk, settling in the chair and waking up his laptop. He’s irritated with this sense of wrongness and he can’t seem to shake it. He wonders if it might be that he finds Lucky attractive and that it’s been far too long since he’s gotten laid… but deems that ridiculous. He’s not that hard pressed yet.

Ray nods and turns to go keep a look out for the delivery boy but hesitates. He looks back at Len and clears his throat to get the man’s attention. “You can trust me Len. I know that doesn’t carry weight but…” cutting himself off Ray shakes his head. His eyes are a little sad when he turns back to the entrance of the warehouse. Sighing deeply he pushes himself to walk away.

Each step feels like it’s sinking deeper in mud pulling him down. Ray, if anything could persevere. So, he ignores his heavy emotions in favour of playing his part. That little slip up can’t happen again. This needs to be organic, he doesn’t want to trigger Len’s sharp mind and eidetic memory. Auto pilot takes over as it often does when Ray is working out a complex problem. He pays for the pizza and returns to the room Len was in, a bit of a daze floating over his head like a cloud.

Len had been about to bristle and growl at Lucky that they weren’t so well acquainted yet that he should be calling him by his first name, but something in that sad, sad expression stops him. He feels that sense of not knowing something he should know spike and lets the incident go in favor of searching for answers on the internet. Lucky returns looking dazed. “Let me guess. She was beautiful and you’re in need of a little… alone time.”

Ray startles, “wah?!” He blushes at the implications behind Len’s words and stammers through a few more attempts at ‘what’ before managing, “no uh, just thinking out a problem I haven’t solved yet.” Coming up to the desk he lays the pizza between them turned toward Len so the thief can grab his first. Ray takes this moment to cool off his cheeks hoping his beard mostly covered his blush. He leans on the desk and grabs himself a slice to munch on.

“So, have you had a chance to catch the hobbit yet?” Rays asks reaching for anything to talk about to fill the silence. He avoids personal questions or questions that could appear as digging for information which left little to be desired in conversation starters.

Len goes stone silent. Swallows his bite of pizza and then stands, setting his bitten slice on a napkin on the desk. “Will you excuse me.”

Then he disappears down the hall that was behind him. He locks himself in the bathroom and paces. Now isn’t the time to let that ice cold need for revenge rise to the surface. Lisa has been dead for a long time… he’ll never rest until Lewis Snart is rotting in hell. But… he isn’t about to tell any of that to Lucky.

Ray startles back up into a standing position almost dropping his slice of pizza as he nods to Len’s words. He watches the man stalk out, worry etched into every line of his face. Ray was missing something. He closes his eyes and places greasy fingers on the bridge of his nose. He’d picked the hobbit because it came out around this time in 2012. What significances does that movie hold for Len. Outside of being a closet nerd there was no reason for such a uncharacteristic reaction to the mention of that movie.

Pursing his lips he tries to go through all the little facts he knows about Len. The things he discovered by overhearing conversations he wasn’t supposed too and then the stories Mick told to him after Len… well after. Nothing is clicking which just cements his growing concern he is missing something important. How to discover what it could be is going to be hard.

After going around in circles Ray gives up for now. Living alongside Len is the only way to find answers so he will just have to stick it out. He goes back to eating his pizza well he waits on Len to return.

Len returns composed and cool and settles in his chair. He resumes his research - now on the growing numbers of reports on the Streak - and starts on his pizza slice again. Absently he asks, “What can you tell me about the Streak, Lucky?”

Wasn’t that a question and a half. Ray was tempted to start off with correcting the name because ‘the streak’ is lame but he holds back. What can Ray say? Gnawing on his pizza slice he considers his options. Would providing no insight make him useless and then disposable. Was this a test from Len or just an inquiry. Ray honestly doesn’t know and no amount of studying Len’s face was giving him answers.

The script was used up, now he needed to stick around all by himself. He was clever, a genius even. He could do this. Hopefully. “Uh… he’s fast?” Ray answers and it is no where near as confident as it needs to be. Throwing caution to the wind he adds, “probably weak to the cold.”

Len’s brow raises. “My thought exactly. All that lightning generated from heat and friction, the speeds he travels and all molecules slow to a stop at Absolute Zero… so what better way to slow him down than giving him a little… chill?”

Len can’t help but be relieved by the topic change and to have someone agree with him rather than run away for fear of the consequences of failure.

Ray can’t hide his eyebrows rising up in surprise. He’d known that Leonard learned that gun inside and out after he got it but his current reasoning suggested an understanding of science beyond what the thief ever let on before. His surprise almost caused him to miss the pun but he doesn’t. Ray covers his chuckle with a cough, hand coming up to cover his smile. It doesn’t work.

“Chill right…” he agrees hiding behind opening the pizza box because he can’t get his amusement under control. He picks a piece of pizza up and shoves it in his mouth as a last ditch effort. Well he chews he asks, “you’ve studied physics?”

“I have nothing else to do when I manage to find myself in lock up… and I never perform a heist without knowing everything I’m dealing with… and every escape route. I’ve robbed top floor penthouses and never had those thefts pinned on me. It’s nice to be… underestimated.”

Len’s smirk is cocky as he finishes another piece of pizza. He’s pleased that Lucky finds his puns humorous. So many people are just… too stupid.

Humming thoughtfully he finishes off his pizza and begins licking his fingers clean. The image of Len behind bars studying science books leaves a lingering smile on his lips. “I guess,” ray concedes to Len’s underestimated comment. He can’t really relate though. To be underestimated feels the same as not leaving a lasting impact which he is really not a fan of.

He wants his time, effort, and accomplishments to have meaning. When you do things that matter you aren’t underestimated but held in high regard. Ray wants to matter, maybe too much. Doesn’t Len want that too? “What other subjects have you studied?” Ray changes gears trying to pry more about Len out of him well still keeping a respectful distance.

Len lifts a shoulder. “I speak several different languages among them Russian, Italian, Sindarin and Vulcan. I’m a fair mathematician. But mostly I’ve studied people. Like right now… you’re fishing. I just don’t know for what.”

Len shrugs again and hums as he finishes off his third and last piece. “I like you. You’re earnest. Don’t push your luck.”

Being read and being honest were apparently different things because Ray feels a little raw and exposed at being seen through. If Len liked that he was ernest than he’d stick with that. Creating a persona too different from his own personality would be hard to maintain for a long period of time.

“I was fishing.” Ray admits, “for more about you. Not really a particular detail just trying to get to know the man behind some of the stories I’ve heard.” Every word one hundred percent the truth. It felt good not to hold back to not have to hide behind half truths and half lies. “Kohlinar!” Ray exclaims with a snap of his fingers, “you totally do that don’t you. Okay not that extreme but you try to mute your emotions. That’s what earlier was abou…. and okay, uh you know when something just kinda clicks. An answer to a problem and it’s like eureka? You just… you mentioned Vulcan and then my mind went Spock and your so cool and collected but earlier when you excused… I’m sorry I should really stop talking. Shouldn’t we be going now? Imma just shut up now. Don’t get mad.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t know this about Len before but it just felt like his understanding over what that practise truly is to the thief just expanded. It was to suppress powerful overwhelming emotions.

Len’s expression is neutral for a long moment. He’s never been pegged so accurately in his life. Not even by Lisa when she had been alive. He stands and is about to say something scathing when his mental clock has him look at his watch. “We need to go. Come on. The meeting place is across town and we have to account for traffic.”

If he doesn’t acknowledge Lucky’s eerily accurate insight then perhaps he’ll assume he’s off base and leave it be without Len having to lie to his newest crew member.

Ray blows out a long breath relieved that he was still invited. He was totally okay with bypassing his outburst. Doesn’t make it any less true but he can let Len believe he’s dismissed Ray’s observation. “Okay sure,” he replies as he bounces on his toes waiting for Len to lead the way.

If only he hadn’t done that… they could be talking Star Trek right now instead of awkward silence. It made Ray want to twitch. Inside the car he chewed his lip and drummed his fingers anxiously.

Len drives like a calculated law abiding citizen. He even waits to start the car until they’re both buckled in. It’s a few moments of silence in when he can’t hold back the question any longer. “Which series?” He asks cool and calm, feigning indifference.

Ray is so grateful Len is a big enough nerd that he can’t resist a chance to talk to someone with similar interests. The accompanying smile lights up Ray’s face with an obnoxious amount of happiness. He hums and hahs for a moment before dropping an answer with a ‘duh, isn’t it obvious’ inflection to his words, “the original. I mean it’s what started all of it.”

Len nods approval heavy in his expression. “And the movies?”

He normally doesn’t want to get to know his crewmen. But there is just something about this man that puts Len at ease. A dangerous situation that he’ll have to be more wary of from here forward.

“The wrath of khan.” Ray answers easily but then adds when his brain connects the dates to the new movies, “I’m also excited for the next movie ‘into the darkness’ because the rumours are all talking about them revisiting that storyline.” Which they do, and it was glorious. Ray kind of wants to tell Len all about it but bites his tongue. Letting the thief speculate instead.

“I haven’t had much time to follow the movie rumor mill. If they revisit Khan, I’m sure they’ll do the storyline justice.” Len pulls them into the warehouse parking lot. “Let me do the talking. Speak up if you notice anything pertinent.”

Ray nods biting his tongue again when the thought of asking Len to go see it with him pops into his head. A similar inquiry about movies is what caused the storm of emotions earlier and ray doesn’t want to unbalance him when they are about to go do something so pivotal. He also has to stop his hand from miming locking his mouth closed because Lucky tech criminal specialist would not do that.

“Will do boss.” He says instead which was a sufficient alternative. Calling Len boss made him chuckle internally but it also lets his intent known. He plans on listening. He will be on his best behaviour. Following Len into the warehouse Ray keeps his word and doesn’t speak up. The guns Len look at he already knows well and nods approvingly when looking them over from behind Len’s shoulder.

It was actually interesting to see the gun’s in their original state, being able to compare to the upgrades he knows exist. Part of Ray wonders how many of those upgrades Len did himself. He’ll have to be careful not to take over the process in fear of a predestination paradox. He’d do the upgrades because he saw the gun already with the upgrades meaning the upgrades have no proper beginning.

The idea of teaching Len the science and know how to upgrade his own gun seems like the best way to avoid that. How to offer that without Len outright rejecting it would be the trick though.

Len is an observant man and he picks up on Lucky’s approval of the tech. Len wastes no time in icing the dealer. He grins, pleased by the results. “Bring the rest. I have a fence already lined up.”

Len picked up the cases for the Heat and Cold guns once he’s tucked away the cold gun and goggles. He heads back to the car and tucks the cases behind his seat. Then he pops the trunk expecting Lucky to be right behind him.

Ray’s mouth falls open in horror over how quickly Len makes the decision to kill the man and take all the things. Though it wasn’t actually quick because len was prepared for the results of icing the man. It makes ray queazy. He stays behind staring at the iced statue holding the bile rising in his stomach down with will power alone. Wiping unshed tears form his eyes he does as he was told collecting all the gear of any value and scurrying after Len.

His heart is heavy with the weight of a life being taken right in front of him. He could have done something. Knew it was coming and could have prevented it in some way. He hasn’t felt this helpless since Anna. A new wave of nausea washes over him when he makes it back to Len’s car. Carefully he dumps the stuff into the trunk his forehead beading with sweat as a clammy sickly feeling takes him. He can’t throw up though. He’s Lucky. This is his normal. He will have to get used to this. There is more to come.

Those thoughts do little to settle his stomach. He looks at Len and offers a weak smile silently saying ‘job’s done.’ Once the message was relayed he slides back into the car and covers his face with his hands trying desperately not to wear his heart on his sleeve and failing miserably.

Len gets them on the road. The car is quiet while Len maneuvers them through Central City traffic. He’s torn. On one hand, something is definitely off here. On the other, he can see why Lucky doesn’t like to be in the front row.

“I won’t be needing you in the field after this. You’ve proven valuable…. and given good reason as to why you don’t want to be on the front lines. Not everyone has the stomach for what needs to be done.”

“Does it though?” Ray finds himself saying despite himself. He looks over at Len his eyes pleading the shadow of the man he knows to let the real deal shine through. Swallowing down such shallow feelings he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No, never mind. You’re right. I just don’t have the stomach for it, but I like the freedom to tinker and create what I want without board members and grants hanging over my head. So here I am.” It was a lie seated in things Ray honestly doesn’t like about being an inventor in the 21st century.

He rubs his hands over his face and then through his hair collecting himself. Licking his lips he takes a breath carefully controlling the things about to come out of his mouth. “I trust you to do what’s necessary and only that. Like I said before I did my research and you aren’t one for needless casualties I … we might not be on the right side of the law, but that doesn’t make us bad people either.”

“How incredibly progressive of you, Lucky. My partner’s going to disagree with you there. My advice? Don’t argue with him. He’s got a hot temper. We’ve been apart for a bit so he could cool down… but! If for some reason cold isn’t the answer… Mick will take the opportunity to overheat his engines. With pleasure. The Streak won’t be fouling up any more of my heists. One way or another.”

Len turns them toward a red light district and parks in the lot of a pay by the hour motel. He gets out of the car and then leans back in. “Don’t speak and get in the back seat.”

Ray nods interested in Len’s perspective of Mick. It was all helpful advice because the mick that is his friend on the waverider had been through a lot. Like time master kidnapping and brainwashing, then unbrainwashing and Len dying. A lot a lot. Those kind of experiences change a man and ray hopes that the mick Rory he knows is still in there now though. It will always be easier for ray to get along with mick because like ray he wears his heart on his sleeve. Len despite how Ray is drawn to him, was an enigma to ray more often than not.

He hopes to solve some of the man through this ordeal though. “Okay, good to know about your friend. I’ll keep out of his way,” ray comments as he slides out of the front seat and into the back. He still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent but there was nothing he could do about that. This was his life he kept reminding himself because he was worried if he didn’t he’d forget and start preaching at Len. Which would do him absolutely no good. When Len is gone ray plays with the radio leaning up into the front seats awkwardly.

He was just bored and trying to keep busy so his mind would stop replaying when Len iced that man. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone die and that man wasn’t the nicest of men but even still the heartless killing over business is what gets to ray. What shifts Len’s axis so he decides not to do such things. Where he decides to give his life for his team and all of time.

The conversation with Mick goes exactly as he’s planned and before long, Len and Mick come out of a motel room each holding their respective gun cases. Mick slides into the passenger seat and twists looking Ray over for a moment. He asks, “Who’s this?” once Len has settled his gun in the foot well behind his seat and settled himself in the driver’s seat.

“Mick. Lucky. Lucky. Mick. He’s a tech expert. Hates the scene, loves unauthorized, unmoderated tech projects. He seems useful.”

Mick grunts and settles back. “He looks like a cross between one o'those punk hipsters and a some pretty boy billionaire.”

“Now Mick. Where are you manners?” Len chastens as he drives them back to the safehouse.

Ray freezes mouth open gawking at Mick. His mind a little broken at the all too observant and accurate assessment. He eventually shakes the shock away and holds out his hand awkwardly from the backseat, “and you seem like there is more to you than meets the eye. Looking forward to working with you.” It was a simple statement but one that ray knows beyond a doubt is true. Mick was more than a muscle brained fire obsessed broken individual. He was clever, resourceful and one day Ray’s friend.

Mick looks back at him again, looks down at his hand and then shakes it once briefly. “Yeah yeah.”

Len chuckles once, just a soft huff, and then says baldly, “I sleep in the corner office on the second floor. There are five other offices to choose from. Once I close my door leave me alone outside of emergencies. Now, I expect to see both of you at ten AM sharp. I have a plan for testing what we’re dealing with. Understood?”

Ray nods relieved on two levels. One mick shook his hand which did not happen the first time they met. The other was Len was putting him up. Ray isn’t certain if the arrangement is long term but for tonight at least he doesn’t have to figure something out. His plans to stay at Len’s side weren’t all that well thought out beyond becoming a member of his crew.

He picks the office that was between where Len and mick settled. He would have preferred to be closer to Len but thought the nearness would raise suspicion. He doesn’t really sleep that night, haunted by an icy face he didn’t save. How does Len bare such burdens so effortlessly. Do you really get used to it as he’s suggested before. Ray doubts it.

In the early hours of the morning he gives up on sleep and heads out for a run along the docks. The sun was barely beginning to rise when he makes it back to the warehouse. He’d stopped for ingredients on the way and was making use of the kitchen when the first sound of stirring could be heard. Hopefully Mick and Len like gluten and dairy free blueberry pancakes.

Mick makes his way in first, and makes a pleased, gruff noise as he moves over to take a plate of the pancakes. He’s in the process of adding syrup when Len strolls in as well put together as ever.

“You cook too? I might just end up keeping you on if you keep surprising us.” He glances at Mick who is wolfing it down and then starts plating up breakfast for himself.

Ray can’t control the blush. It hits him hard and fasts which he wholly blames Len for. He never complimented him before what is with all this positive reinforcement now. Was Len always so free with, even in a teasing manner, such kind words. It made Ray’s head spin a little. He glares down at his plate trying to cool his cheeks off well he eats his own share of the pancakes.

He swallows down a big bite and in an attempt to steer the conversation away from himself asks, “so you mentioned a plan last night.”

“I want to gain an appreciation of how fast he is. How agile. How… tethered he is when given a choice between catching the villain… and saving a life.” Len finishes off his small stack of pancakes. “I want to know what makes him tick… not his powers, but the man who wields them.”

‘Between catching the villain… and saving a life’ are the only words ray really hears. He knows what’s coming next. Another icy face to add to his conscious. He can’t bare it. Feeling a panic grip him ray has to fight off his desire to beg Len not to. To suggest there is a better way. Instead he bites his tongue in favour of a rougher assessment.

“An ultimatum then? How cliche. Though I guess it’s still used cuz it’s effective… just thought you’d have something more ingenuous up your sleeve.”

Mick whistles, “the balls on this one. Thinks making pancakes gives him a right to an opinion.”

Len’s eyes flick to Mick then back to Ray. “Tried, true and reliable,” he confirms airily and finishes off his last bite of food. “I need to know his mind, so I can make certain he and I can reach an understanding. It will be far less of a headache than outright killing him…”

“You just love a challenge,” Mick rumbles.

“True,” Len responds though his eyes are on Ray alone.

“What if he IS the hero he claims to be?” Ray counters because he is curious, will Len continue to sacrifice civilians. Ray knows ultimately Barry convinces him otherwise but if he hadn’t would that have been Len’s go to for escape. Then ray has a thought. One he would never say outloud.

Was Len testing Barry because he wants him to fail at being a hero, because he believes there is no such person. Tilting his head to the side he meets Len’s eyes his own gaze intense like when he looks at the inner workings of a new machine. He watches each gear and cog carefully figuring out how they work.

Shaking his head he goes back to finishing his pancakes letting Len off the hook from answering. If he is right and Len is testing the flash Ray’s inquiry will only be met with silence or cool indifference. He offers up instead, “Guess I’ll just have to wait and see what you do. I can understand the allure of a puzzle.”

It’s subtle, but Lucky’s questions and final statement have him looking hard at Lucky, his gaze calculating. He doesn’t let the expression get him down. He just adjusts his perceptions of Lucky. He’s wary but none of his warning instincts have truly been triggered. His eyes wander over Lucky for a moment. The man is, after all, exactly his type.

“I suppose you do,” he responds a slight purr to his voice.

It wasn’t like Ray hadn’t heard that sort of tone coming from Len before, just never used towards him. It made the hairs on his arms stand on end like an animal being targeted by a predator. Ray swallows down the last bite of his food and looks up at Len smiling a big broad grin mostly out of nervous habit. He pushes his feelings on what that tone could possibly mean out of his mind.

As he does this his mouth goes on a tangent well his mind is preoccupied. “Like you’ve already discovered I have no stomach for on the job action but I do hope you remember I’m offering my services to you because you’re a thief not a murderer.” Ray drums his fingers on the table looking between Mick and Len as he makes what appears to be a random assessment of the two men, “Neither of you are. Your survivors, and I have faith when you see an opportunity that will lead you away from having to be so extreme… you’ll take it.”

Standing he scoops up the empty plates and starts walking off to the kitchen a wave of his hand over his shoulder as he concludes, “Sometimes all it takes is a little faith, Leonard.” It wasn’t until he was wrist deep in suds washing the dishes that he thinks maybe he’d said a little too much. He wasn’t supposed to know these two men that well yet. Even on the waverider he probably wouldn’t have taken such liberties. Though he’d never been included in their inner circle there either. Ray was getting ahead of himself. His excitement and nerves were beginning to show in an unexpected manner.

If only Len hadn’t purred at him like that.

It was all his fault, with that voice and drawl… and.. and… sharp clear blue eyes. Ray closes his eyes and takes a breath trying to clear his head. What was he even thinking about. He needs to think of a way to be useful. surveillance maybe, miniature cameras… what was that queen bee villain chick ollie fought called again? Doesn’t matter, he can set something like that up to record Len’s encounters with Barry for future analysis. He is sure Len would appreciate that.

#coldatom #coldatomfusion #ray palmer #legends of tomorrow #lot #the atom #captain cold #leonard snart #darbble #A better man

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