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viperbarnes · 3 years

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The Tie That Binds – [One of Eight]

[B. Barnes, Soulmate AU]

Summary: HYDRA took everything from you, your life, your future, they even burned off your soulmark to make sure nobody would go looking for you. Now the man they forced you to fix reappears in your life, to make amends and to be ‘of service’.

You know that they made him do all those things, that James 'Bucky’ Barnes is not The Winter Soldier, that he’s innocent. You don’t blame him. But that doesn’t make seeing him again any easier.

Warnings: Panic attacks, language, talk and depiction of home invasion and abduction, canon level violence, HYDRA levels of torture, angst, fluff, slow-ish burn, friends to lovers.

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Nothing felt real until you saw him again.

It was as if ever since 2015, you’d been living your life in some kind of limbo, nothing mattered, the same old routine day in and day out. The world seems to move in slow motion around you, everything slightly lagging behind.

Like you can only see in black and white.

Like you were numb.

And then all of a sudden, in one brilliant flash of light everything speeds up, colour blinds you and the numbness disappears, replaced instead by pure, unadulterated fear.

He walks slowly down the hallway of doors, his eyes locked on yours like he knew you’d be here, knew exactly when to catch you. That in itself sets off a million other fears in your brain, and no matter how many times you’d gone through this scenario in your head, how many times you’d stayed up formulating a plan for escape, you can’t seem to move. Your body is frozen in place, the only movement available to you is the shake in your hands as he gets closer and closer.

You can’t even seem to cry.

He stops several feet away, looking for all the world like he wanted to be anywhere but here, but he squares his shoulders anyway and takes a deep breath.

“Hi.” He greets grimly, voice more nervous than you’d imagined, though deep and distinctly tainted by a Brooklyn accent you might’ve found endearing if not for everything else.

You realise suddenly that you’ve never heard him speak before.

You only stare, unblinking. He takes another deep breath and continues.

“My name is James Bucky Barnes. I am no longer the Winter Soldier–”

The mention of him, the name itself, makes you drop the thick set of keys and the small stack of letters you hold, sending them clattering to the floor. He stops speaking and blinks down at them, then back at you, before he crouches down to collect them.

“… And I’m here to make amends.” He stands slowly and holds out your keys and letters, lips pursed tightly as he waits for you to say something, or react at all. But you’re still staring at him, still unable to tear your eyes away until he waves the items, making your keys jingle a bit, and you snap out of it.

“I’m sorry.” He says, seemingly sincerely, but your voice is gone, and you can only nod as you carefully, hesitantly, take your things back from him, thankful when he steps back again. He stares at you with a sad frown, and you want so desperately to open your mouth and to say something, anything, but you just can’t.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes another step back.

“I’m… I’m going to go home now.” He tells you pointedly, and you can only nod once more. He turns his back and begins to walk.

You take that moment to shakily shove your key into the lock, quickly heaping yourself inside and slamming closed the door.

Making sure you lock your door once again, you can’t stop the sobs that wrack your body, sliding down the heavy wood and curling yourself into a ball.

You don’t hear him stop at the end of the hallway, you don’t hear the way he curses under his breath.

You laugh wildly and wave off your friends, shaking your head as you enter your apartment building. Even as the doors shut you can still hear them talking and laughing loudly as they return to their own buildings, but let the first peaceful sounds of quiet hit you as you jab the button for the elevator and make your way up to your place.

The alcohol buzzing through your veins amplifies reality and you ponder what an odd sensation it is to be so cognisant of yourself when you’re finally alone after a night of being surrounded by others. You lean heavily against the elevator wall and pull your graduation cap from your head when you realise you’re still wearing it.

It wasn’t the first time you’d graduated, but it was the last.

Excitement bubbles in you once again as you exit the lift onto your floor, all the possibilities and futures that lay before you making you feel unstoppable. You were going to be big, the things you were going to do were going to be big and now that you were fully and properly accredited, you couldn’t wait to prove to the world what you could do.

You unlock your apartment door on the third try, and stumble as you throw your cap and purse on the counter. Tomorrow you would call back Stark Industries and formally accept their offer, but for now, you needed water, a shower and bed. In that order.

You don’t bother turning on the lights in your apartment as you stumble through it, moving for your bathroom, however, when you reach the main hallways that lead to your bedroom, you pause and frown, switching the light next to you on as you stare down the passage.

You could have sworn you’d shut your bedroom door… In fact, you’d made a point of it before you’d left that morning… but here it was, wide open, and even swinging slightly like it were caught in a breeze.

In your drunken haze, you only frown deeper and move further down the hall, tiptoeing as quietly as you could, as if you were going to catch a ghost or an intruder off guard, but when you reach the doorway and switch the light on, you’re greeted by nothing.

A breath of anxiety leaves your lungs. It had been a busy morning, you could have easily forgotten that you’d gone back in after you’d shut it.

You relax, and kick it open further, shuffling forward before closing it behind you, but it stalls, refusing to click into place. A little frustrated now, you push on it harder, looking down at your floor to make sure there was nothing stopping it from shutting, but everything was clear. With an annoyed growl, you tear the door open again, intending to inspect the door frame itself, but you’re stunned frozen.

A man stands before you, completed shadowed in black, all but his eyes covered. You don’t even have time to react, you open your mouth to scream, but his hand shoots out, grabbing your jaw, the noise dying out before you can even make it.

Your body trembles, tries to back away, tries to run but he already has you, a grip stronger than what seemed real pulling you by where he holds you.

“Pack only essentials.” His voice is monotone and dark, and from his free hand, he throws a black duffle bag at your feet between you. His words left no room for argument, no terms for negotiation and yet your inebriated mind throws this out the window. You manage to latch onto the nearest item, a small lamp on the cupboard next to you, and with strength you didn’t know you had, you smash the thing into the side of the man’s head.

He releases you, hissing, and you run, somehow past him, your sloppy, drunken movements tamed somewhat by the adrenaline coursing through you.

You make it to your kitchen, to your purse and your phone, but then he’s there, hand grabbing yours and squeezing so hard your phone breaks under his grip. Intense and unrivalled pain lances through your fingers and palm, joined by a strange burning sensation. You become acutely aware of the snapping sound of bones until he lets go.

“Do not run.” He warns, though it sounds more like a threat, and with his body now bearing down over yours, and the pain in your hand, you lash out with your other, trying to push him away, maybe injure his eyes. Your fingers catch on something hard though, and you only manage to dislodge his mask, revealing his full face to you.

You don’t know or recognise him, and there was something so cold and unfeeling about his expression despite the situation you were in that makes your skin crawl. It was like the lights were on but nobody was home, like his brain was completely disconnected from his body and actions, right up until his eyes narrow, and he lifts a fist.

You can’t help but glance at the appendage before it crashes into your face, something catching your eye about it as the moonlight pouring in from your living room window hits it, and you realise, it was silver.

The last thing you remember before he knocks you out is the strange, but all-too-familiar whirring of a mechanical arm.

You wake up with a start, air trying to claw its way out of your lungs desperately. Your wide eyes search the room, and momentarily you see nothing but four grey walls, slowly closing in on you, before your senses begin to return, and your familiar bedroom fades through the nightmarish vision.

Sounds of the city waking up outside serve to ground you, and you slump back against your pillows for a few seconds, allowing your breathing and heart rate to calm down before you peel yourself out of bed slowly, cringing at the way your hair sticks to your clammy, sweaty skin.

The cold Brooklyn morning is comforting to you, and although you’d usually sleep longer than this on a work night, you know you won’t be going back to bed any time soon. You make your way to your small, cramped bathroom and switch the lights on, quickly discarding your clothes.

When you reach for the tap, you pause, eyes fixated on your hand, the one you hand remember clear as day being all but crushed in his grip. It had healed, but the broken bones weren’t the worst of it.

They’d taken your soulmark.

You don’t know why they did, you guess it had something to do with making sure there were no loose ends as far as your abduction went. They’d cut the mark from your hand, burned the wound, until it healed into just a lump of scarred, white skin.

Out of all the things they’d taken from you, it was this that hurt the most. They’d taken everything and left you with nothing, not even that which you were fated for. Knowing that somewhere out there, your soulmate would be waiting, wondering where you were, but you’d never be able to find them, never be able to know for sure if they were the one...

The first blasts of cold water shock the thoughts from your mind, and you immerse yourself, basking in the feeling against your hot skin, before the water finally begins heating, fogging up the room.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to close your eyes, leaning your forehead against the white tile.

“They’re gone. You’re free, and they’re gone…” You begin repeating softly, the familiar mantra only just audible over the running water.

You hadn’t had a nightmare in months, not one so vivid anyway, not one that made sense, that was more a memory playing itself back than a dream. You didn’t sleep well as a rule, but normally your bad dreams consisted of other things.

You know it’s not a coincidence, not when he’d shown up at your door a week ago.

You knew he was innocent. You knew that. He’d been brainwashed and tortured and he was innocent… But that didn’t make everything you’d experienced less real. Coming to terms with the fact he wasn’t some monster was hard when all you wanted was someone to hate.

You suppose you just never thought you’d ever see him again in the flesh.

It was easier to fear the memory of something, but when it showed up at your door, apologising and wishing to make amends…

Despite your best efforts, you can’t stop thinking about him. What had he meant about making amends? Why had he sought you out after so long? What did he want?

Maybe that’s why when he shows up at your door again, you aren’t so terrified.

He definitely gives you a fright, but no more than anyone would seeing as you’d opened your front door just as he’d raised a fist to knock on it. A momentary flash of fear makes your eyes widen, but you’re rather surprised when it seems to pass over you, settling down into something more like unease.

For his part, Barnes looks a little bewildered, like he’d been caught out, and you wonder briefly, with no small amount of discomfort, how long he’d been standing there.

You both stare at each other, until he finally forces open his mouth and speaks.

“I can go, if you want,” He blurts, eyes darting over your features quickly, but always returning to your eyes.

“But I just came to ask if there’s anything I can do for you?” He nods slightly after speaking, as if he’d been practising the words and had delivered them just as intended.

You blink at him, completely taken aback, but somehow managing to find your voice this time. Is this what he’d meant by ‘making amends’?.

“I… I don’t know…?” You shuffle from one foot to the other.

“My… My friend told me that I should seek out people I hurt… to be ‘of service’.” He tells you quickly, as if he suddenly felt the need to explain himself. Honestly, it’s helpful, helping you put together more pieces of whatever the hell this puzzle was.

“You didn’t hurt me.” You say carefully, trying not to sound like you’d been practicing. You see his brow furrow, and his lips pull into a thin line.

“HYD– They were the ones who did it…” You take a deep breath, adjusting your hold on your reusable shopping bags. His eyes flicker to them briefly, but are back on your face in a blink.

“I read about you… after, I mean… I know you weren’t…” You lift a hand and tap your temple, though immediately cringe.

Barnes lips quirk, but any semblance of a smile disappears soon after, his eyes turning strangely soulful. With his haircut and altogether more well-kept look, it was hard to see why you’d been so scared of him the other day… he didn’t even look like the same person anymore.

“Sure. But I still did those things… I still owe you.”

You stare at each other again for a long while, almost like you were both just reacquainting yourselves with what you looked like. You weren’t exactly put-together yourself right now, but you can’t imagine you look any worse than when you were a literally prisoner of HYDRA.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asks again a moment later, and you suddenly remember that you were standing in your doorway, disrupted in your task.

“I– I don’t know, I’m sorry, I have to go,” You shake your head, and attempt to dismiss him for now. The store was only open for another hour before your shift started.

“I need to get my groceries before the shop closes.”

Barnes steps back, gives you plenty of room as you pull your door shut behind you, locking it securely. But when you turn back to him, his face seems to have perked up. It’s odd to see on him, honestly.

“I can carry them for you.”

You stare at one another again, and you find for some reason you can’t say no.

Perhaps you just wanted to see the former Winter Soldier carry your groceries.

The thought almost makes you laugh.

Not as much as seeing him trail behind you in the aisles does. You wonder if your sudden ease at his presence is similar to the ease you have when there’s a spider in your bathroom… You don’t want it around exactly, but if you’ve got your eyes on it, at least you know where it is.

You keep to your short list of needs, mostly trying to ignore the fact that this was very, very strange all things considered, and when you’ve finished and gone through the checkout, he grabs all six of your bags and waits for you to lead the way.

“Do you… do you live in the city?” You can’t help but ask him on the walk back. He looks at you, almost surprised, but nods, and averts his gaze again.

“In Bed-Stuy.”

It’s your turn to be surprised.

“That’s only a couple of blocks. I’ve never seen you around before.” You marvel. He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes trained to the pavement.

“I know.”

Silence falls between you again, and prevails until you reach your building.

“Thanks. This has been… weird.” You tell him truthfully, watching how his lips quirk in that almost-smile again. He hands you your bags of groceries and then looks about.

“You do this every Thursday?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“No, I just forgot all week, and I really needed milk.”

He hums under his breath, frowning slightly again as he digs into his pocket and pulls out a small notepad. You watch him scribble something on a page, before he rips it out and holds it out to you.

“That’s my number… if you ever need anything, call me. I’ll come.” Barnes says seriously. Nodding, you reach out to gingerly pluck the paper from his fingers, but he keeps a hold of it for a moment longer, locking eyes with you.

“Anything.” He reiterates. Swallowing, you nod again, and he releases the page.

“Thanks, uh–”

“–Bucky… Please just call me Bucky.”

You watch him with a strange feeling filling your chest as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets and steps away from you. It takes you a few seconds to build up the courage to actually say his name.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

---

Bucky waits until you’ve disappeared inside your apartment building before he quickly pulls his hands from his pockets, hissing in discomfort as he finally attends to the searing, itching burn that had suddenly begun attacking his soulmark.

A few good scratches does the trick, but it leaves him with an entirely different sensation.

Bucky stares up at your apartment building, despair and dread settling deep in his belly. Realisation spurns on a hundred memories, a hundred memories now with a new context, a worse context, and Bucky feels completely nauseous.

You were his soulmate.

And HYDRA had made you afraid of him.

If you enjoyed, a comment or reblog would be greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you #Story: TTTB #soulmate au

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spitpr1ncess · 3 years

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BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 1 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

(not my image)

“You’re too pretty for this, little girl” remarks your current company. You roll your eyes and have to hold in the audible sigh that almost escapes you. How many times you have heard the same drivel? If you were too pretty, they wouldn’t continue the silent abuse on your body, would they?

You’ve been a working girl since you barely had the ability to think for yourself. You were plucked from your poverty-stricken family with the promise of their debts being written off.

You aren’t special and your family don’t care about you, a lie you’d been telling yourself for twenty two long years. You are a slab of meat and a source of income, that’s all, and believing yourself to be more was a stupid mistake you’d learned not to make, assuming people actually cared about you had caused you more pain than any physical abuse you’d ever endured.

You’re snapped back to reality as a pair of hands paw clumsily at your breasts, you inhale and remind yourself that this is only a temporary situation, but until you figure out how, you must continue to appease the men that Jools sends your way.

Jools is like your older brother, if your older brother worked in a brothel and openly encouraged men to fuck his slightly younger sister. The two of you share an intimate relationship built on a strong foundation of sharing trauma, you know he means well.

Jools was taken around the same time you were, only, as he managed to flourish into a promising young man, he was favoured by boss, and thus, promoted. You and Jools have always seen eye to eye, his depressing background is in servicing men, just like yours and it’s how you built your relationship, why you share such a deep understanding of each other, such mutual respect. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girls, and as a mean result, ensures that you are on the less favourable end of their antics, often being the brunt of their absolute frustrations and jokes.

As head of appointments and bookings, alongside other things, he always tries to send you the easy ones, if Boss knew he favoured you, you’re sure Jools would be sacked, or worse, effective immediately. You’re eternally thankful that he chooses to throw you a bone, even if it doesn’t seem much to him, it means the world to you.

Your mindless wandering halts once again, as you make unfavourable eye contact with your unwelcome company, you notice he is grunting as he roughly palms his own erection with his bear-like hands, staring holes through you as he directs his dirty glare at your breasts. Without thinking you grasp his knees and push your elbows to meet, forcing your breasts to squash together in that specific way that the male gaze loves so much, accentuating their plumpness. You are the first to admit that although sex is something that is daily to you, you are a very sexual soul by nature. You love the affect you have on men, and how you can practically melt them down to nothingness in the palm of your soft hand. You’re certain it comes from the trauma that is deep rooted in your hunger for male validation

The man sat in front of you isn’t the smallest you’ve seen but he isn’t particularly well endowed either, weighing up your current circumstances, you decide to make the most of it. Standing up, you lick your lips and undo the tie to your virginal white skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground quietly. It crumples in a small pile and feverishly you step out of it, feigning nervousness. You take your willing participants bear-paw off his own erection and place is gently on the arm of his chair, straddling him, you centre yourself and gently lower down to allow your warmth to press against him. Instinctually, he grunts and pushes back, his actions clumsy and annoying yet you allow it, not wanting to anger him, the men you service are big businessmen and you know better than to piss one off. You have seen first-hand the damage they can and do cause. You let him believe he has control, you grind back and nuzzle into his neck, playing him like a game, inhaling, you pick up on cigarette smoke and some notable cologne brand, nothing out of the ordinary.

You kiss his neck, breathing over his ear, begging him to enter you, you are not stupid, the way you make men feel, like you are infatuated, like there is nothing else you need at that moment than them, always gets you tipped. And tips go straight to your pocket, and any tips that go straight to your pocket, go straight to your running-away-savings. As he clumsily lines up his erection, you lift yourself onto your elbow to assist him in his feeble attempt at entering you, you feel his tip pressed right up against you, simultaneously, you kiss him and sheath yourself entirely. It isn’t anything notable and is in fact somewhat disappointing, nevertheless, you continue to finish the job.

You inhale sharply to sell the fantasy. He grunts again, like some half dead animal, you cringe trying your hardest to not let on as you know that his tips will make the effort worth it. Like a wet dream he was having, you bounce yourself up and down, in and out, in and out, in and out. It isn’t long before you see his head fall back and he stiffens below you, he opens his mouth and grabs your ass, hard. You squeal as you feel his hot seed lacing your insides, you feign your own orgasm, making your legs shake as if you had to convince him like your life depended on it. He buys it; dirty talking you and asking various lewd and cringey questions that make you shudder, if it weren’t for you writhing on top of him, he might have picked up on it. You kiss him before finding your feet, passing him a napkin as he sheepishly cleans himself off, only now feeling shy and vulnerable. He stands and pulls his trousers up; buckling his belt quickly, he then reaches into his breast pocket, he pulls out a stack of fifties, he throws a couple on the floor by your feet. He is trying to regain his masculinity, uncomfortable about looking into your eyes, you used to let it upset you, only you are used to it, each man having the same reaction.

He leaves and you lock the door tight behind him, you tidy up, wiping the chair and cleaning away any fluid that may have made its way to places it doesn’t belong. You wander towards your bathroom; the wooden floor feels cold but welcome on your ever tired feet. You stare into the mirror; a few tears had escaped your eyes without your noticing, it was a pretty normal occurrence for you now.

You glance in the mirror and notice that she is foreign, the girl staring back. Her long brown hair pulled over one shoulder, bruises lacing her frail body, you gently trace a finger over her body and look down to see your body. It is like you are disconnected, her body has not been your body for a long time. You wipe your eyes and turn your shower on, you hop in as it is still running cold.

You inhale sharply. It hurts, and the excruciating pain is welcome, you allow your bare back to fall silently against the wall and slowly lower yourself. You protect your knees with your arms as you grasp them toward you and lay your head between the makeshift protection you have created. Loud sobs escape your lungs as if they'd been brewing for a century.

A long while passes and you don’t hear the door unlocking.

Jools lets himself in, he hears your measly sobs coming from the bathroom and heads toward them, he slides open the shower door, startled, you jump up and let out an ugly shriek, Jools looks at you, pathetic, slim, bruised and sobbing. His head falls to one side as you try to somewhat protect your modesty. Jools has seen everything you have, and you, him, yet it still feels embarrassing and intimate.

“Olive.”, his voice is cool, patient, and laced with a little sympathy, “What am I going to do with you?”, he steps into the shower, allowing his clothes to get sprayed with water, you turn to him and press your forehead to his.

“I am sorry Jools; my emotions are all over the place. I will be ready in ten minutes, just allow me to clean up”, your voice sounds tired and you let out a little sigh. Jools places a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You have been each other’s comfort in such a long life of trauma and you know what is coming next, he picks up your shampoo and lathers some between his hands, he rubs his fingertips into your scalp, scrubbing the dirt of the day out of your hair.

His touch is welcome, if not a little alien. It is rare these days that a pair of hands aren’t grabbing, pulling, pinching or pushing you around, you let out a long sigh, letting go of the anxiety and slowing your heart rate, you close your eyes and allow yourself to be cared for. By the time Jools finishes showering you he is soaked, you both step out into your bedroom. You pull on your skirt and replace your corset, a “uniform” as far as Boss is concerned. You hate it, making you feel vulnerable and cheap, you would rather slip on a t-shirt and shorts, or a loose dress.

Jools discarded all his clothes sans boxers and made himself comfortable on your bed as you were stood contemplating. You stare at him, with his light brown, almost ashy blonde hair. He is handsome, you have always thought this, you just never placed you two together, with him acting the “older brother” for all intents and purposes.

Jools breaks the silence, “Your four o’clock has cancelled, it’s what I came here to tell you” he pats the bed next to him and smiles “come and sit, unless you’re going somewhere”.

You pause momentarily before undoing your skirt again, you let it fall to the ground before reaching for a pair of linen shorts sat on your vanity, pulling them on, you take a few steps before collapsing on the bed next to Jools in complete exhaustion. “I’m tired of fucking the same men Jools” you remark.

“The same men, with the same predictable sex routines, the same sized cocks, the same moves. I’m bored. I’m climbing up the walls, Jools. Throw me a bigger bone, I’m begging you.”, You feel Jools eyes on your face, you let your head fall and meet his gaze. He snorts and pulls himself closer to you. You slide your body next to his and he drapes and arm over your waist.

Your foreheads touching, you lay in comfortable silence for a while. You close your eyes miss him protectively watching over you.

“I’m not sure what I can do for you Ol, unless you want me to fuck you myself. We don’t have much new clientele and any we do have seem like the abusive type, so I deliberately don’t send them your way.” he laughs. You ponder his first sentence, unable to tell if he was joking. You try your luck and shift your weight so you’re straddling him.

“Wh.. what the fuck are you doing Ol?”, You decide that he didn’t mean it, judging by his response. You begin to tickle his sides and he goes bright red before kicking you off, you land on the wooden floor with a loud bang.

“OW. That fucking hurt you fuck.” You stand up and cross your arms like a grumpy child. Jools looks at you and sticks out his tongue, you both pause, waiting for the other to break. It is you who laughs first, shortly followed by Jools who snorts, like a little pig. You can’t stay mad at him, he is so sweet, and you started it, after all.

“I was thinking Jools. If you have some time this afternoon, maybe we could go for a walk?” Your schedule was usually so full you don’t have time to visit outside. It was the beginning of the spring too, so everything was just starting bloom, it was one of the things that gave you a little peace and hope.

“I can’t Ol, I can’t leave the others unattended, in case anything happens, you know the rules” his voice holds a little sadness and disappointment, you can tell he’d like nothing more.

“Maybe I can open up a space for you this weekend? Then we can go out together?” Jools doesn’t work weekends; part of his promotion demands of course, but you did.

“Weekend rates are higher and I rea..” Jools cuts you off.

“I will charge one of your regulars more in the week; I’ll make it up for you, pleaaase?” he draws out.

You look at his face and the little boisterous glint in his eyes. You ruffle his hair like a little boy and laugh.

“Sure thing.”, You reply.

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sugarushsuga · 3 years

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In Your Own Words Ch. 4

Genre: Rom-Com, fluff with bits of angst - Coworkers!AU; enemies to lovers; Journalist!AU

Paring: RM x Reader

Words count: 6.109

Warnings: Cursing; Drinking; Mentions of sex; Romani culture; Namjoon's ass; Namjoon's dimples; Namjoon's broad chest; Namjoon;

Synopsis: After graduating your dream was to become a journalist and work to one of the biggest magazines in the country. But that pretty dream does not translate perfectly to reality. The magazine is on verge of bankruptcy, great journalists are moving the rival magazines and not being replaced, your boss is a jerk who doesn't even know your name. Fate seems to be toying you around to its own pleasure, can you take control of your life and achieve your dreams, or you are going to be carried away by fate's plans?

Author note: This fanfic follows the world of the Brazilian production Procura-se um marido series. I do not own the series or original content.

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Your head throbs against the soft sheet. You take a deep breath and don't recognize the smell of the sheets. You force your eyes open and... Fuck!

Where does all this light come from? You bury your head in the pillow, covering your eyes with your arm as something pokes at your brain. You try again, looking around to get your surroundings. Where the hell are you?

The room decorated in shades of brown and cream is unfamiliar to you. Then, you turn slowly and comes face to face with a wall. For a moment you get lost in the muscles on that broad back, Defined and flexed in a way that you ever thought only photoshop could do, God, who is this man?

You try to get up on your elbows to get a peek at his face, but your head feels full of water, heavy and shaking, to the point where it can burst at minimum pressure. You collapse back on the mattress, your mouth dry, your stomach churning like a centrifuge. The throbs to the head making you want to throw up, and sure there is something wrong with your ears. It's like an amplifier two hundred of thousand watts was connected to the eardrum.

The man besides, you take a deep breath and shifts to his back, stomach up and giving you the chance to see his profile.

Your mouth drops open.

Oh. My. God. What did you do?

He opens his eyes, sees you and smiles sleepily. You are paralyzed with horror, trying to wake up from that nightmare or wishing you are someone else. His arm crawls under the sheets, snuggling into you like a sly cat. You still can't move, just breath and blink and you are very impressed that your brain is still able to send precise commands to the body. For a moment you think that it is disconnected from the rest of you, as you aren't even able to close your mouth.

A strong, toned arm wraps around your waist. There is nothing between his warm skin and yours. The tip of something hard, big, thick, and smooth like velvet nudge your hip. That's when you jump out of bed.

"What's it?" Namjoon asks, lifting his torso and leaning on an elbow. He scrutinizes you closely, his eyes sliding down your naked body.

"Don't look at me!" You pull the sheets off the bed, feeling all the blood rise to your face. You wrap yourself in the fabric, a little clumsy from the embarrassment and haste.

However, by covering yourself, you end up exposing Namjoon.

Holy crap!

You can't take your eyes off him no matter how hard you try and... Ah, like you are even trying. But how can you look away after seeing, completely dumbfounded—and very, very angry—his naked body on the bed. How did he hide all that? Okay, not Namjoon is not ugly, the shirts don't fit him well, they only suggested broad shoulders still you thought he was a little thin. But the body right in front of you is nothing thin and is definitely much more than a good physique. Broad shoulders and shapely, sculpted chest, flat and defined abs to perfection, and, going down a little more, you come across the... Wow!

He has the decency, little too late, to cover with the pillow what had so caught your attention. You finally understand what Alexia has seen in him.

“What did we do?" You ask in a thin voice, holding the sheets tighter around your body.

He scratches his head and shoots you a startled look. “Hmm… It seems kind of obvious, Y/n."

At least this time he got your name right, you console yourself. "No! We can't have done... it!"

"Why not?" He is still looking at you in that weird way.

"Because... because... Because we work together! You just got out of a relationship, and I'm interested in a guy and... You're my boss, by the way. By the love of God! Also, I would remember if we had... if we had done it. And I don't remember!"

"Anything?" His eyebrows rise.

The lack of those horrible glasses is unsettling to you. Why doesn't he put that mask on his face so you can feel safe again? Namjoon is a lot more handsome than you'd realized. It is as if there are two of him. One normal and annoying, and the other hot as hell. Like the Doctor and the Monster. Or Superman and Clark Kent. hmmm... funny, you always liked the reporter better.

Shaking your head in an attempt to unscramble your thoughts. “I remember some things, but not this." You point at his body and then yours.

“What do you remember?'

He sits on the bed but keeps the pillow over his lap. Closing your eyes, you try to think so you don't get distracted by the muscles flexed in his abdomen.

"Hmm... We came here after you paid the bar bill." you start.

"Right."

"And we drank more here. Then we started dancing. But I think that we didn't even have music."

“We didn't."

"Then someone suggested that we should dance naked..."

“You suggested it,” he points out.

You open your eyes. He is smiling. Oh my God! It is whole smile, with teeth and eyes and that made that almost perpetual frown disappears between his eyebrows and two adorable dimples appear on his cheeks.

“Whatever,” you concede. “I suggested we dance naked. I started taking off my clothes while balancing the tequila bottle on my forehead. Ew, I don't even like tequila!" You grimace.

“Oh yes, I remember that too. It was funny.” He laughs lightly but stops as soon as he sees your face. “Maybe it wasn't all that funny."

“After that…” You drop your shoulders, defeated. "Nothing more."

He frowns, seeming to concentrate. "I think we jumped in bed like two kids, just in our underwear..."

"Oh, yeah..." You are vaguely remembering what he is saying. "Thank God, there is still hope! So that was it!" You say, clinging to the only lifesaving line you find. "Maybe we're exhausted after so much dancing and jumping and passed out in bed without anything else happening. Seriously speaking Namjoon, we were too drunk to have done anything else besides passing out."

"It could be that..."

"Nothing happened between us," You decide, interrupting him and letting your body fall on the mattress, exhaling heavily, even though you don't quite understand how your lingerie is gone. "It would have been terrible if we had... hmm... Have you ever thought how embarrassing it would be? Casual sex for definition, happens with someone you won't see again, not with someone who works with you. Especially if he's your boss."

"Glad nothing happened," he agrees, a little embarrassed.

"It's a relief!" Still wrapped in the sheets, you start to gather your clothes that are scattered through the room. Your bra hangs like a flag on the doorknob to what you expect to be the bathroom.

And it is so you lock yourself in there and hurry to get decent. Damn it! Where's your panties? You pull the dress over your head and tie the belt in a whatever way. You rest your hands on the sink and takes few deep breaths, trying to calm your pulse. you wash your face and take the opportunity to swallow a good amount of water, anxious to get rid of the desert feeling in your mouth. Drying your face on the soft towel and staring in the mirror, hoping to find some type of green zombie with huge dark circles. You don't miss by much. Your hair is a mess, and you try to untangle it with your fingers, but it is full of knots and, the more you try, the worse they get. You pull the threads back with the intention of tying it up, but then you stop, astonished. An almost round and purple mark, right at the junction of the neck and collarbone, it seemed to glow neon in the mirror.

"Oh no!"

Suddenly an image, a flash of something you don't want to remember, fills your throbbing head. Namjoon was saying something into your neck, you laughed, and he teased you, biting the delicious shape on the base of your neck, pressing his body even more against yours, going deeper, making you moan and pull his bare ass with more strength against your core, wanting to receive everything he...

"Shit!" You mutter, letting go of your hair and hiding the hickey with it.

You walk out of the bathroom having no idea how to tell Namjoon that you not only had fucked, apparently you really enjoyed it a lot.

He is crouched beside the bed, his ass round and fitted inside his jeans facing you.

"Namjoon..."

He straightens up in a flash, immediately bringing his left hand to his back pocket, but before he can hide it, you can see the small black foil packaging with the golden dragon stamped, torn in the middle. He already knows.

"What's it?" he asks, looking worried. The glasses are back. You suppress relief sigh.

"It's just that... I... What did you find there?" It will be easier if he begins. No, it won't be easier. It will be less embarrassing.

"Nothing important," he replies. “Just a business card that fell out of my pocket yesterday while we... danced."

You stare at him for what feels like an entire century. He does not intend to pretend that you hadn't had sex? He knows what you have done and won't tell you anything? Even though you already know, he doesn't know it. How can this bastard not tell you such a thing? How does he dare?!

"Are you sure it is some kind of business card?" You press.

“It's the phone number of a possible sponsor."

Ah yes. Maybe Jointex is interested in placing an ad in a women's magazine...

Straightening your shoulders and willing to not continue being humiliated by him, you say: "I need to go."

"Don't you want to eat something first?" he offers, rather awkwardly, but seeming to want to play the gentle lover. As if that is possible... The guy fucked you and doesn't have the decency to tell you! "Can I ask for room service."

"You don't need to." You bent down and pick up your bag, which is inside an open drawer. "So, just to be clear, last night never existed."

"Never existed." He nods briefly, staring at you.

You wait for him to change his mind and own up to what had happened between you both, but the bastard remains silent, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Furious, you march towards the door and walks out, not slamming it once you go through. It is enough to give him reasons to mock you. It will be hell to have to look at his face on Monday, but you will survive. Who knows, he might have indigestion from the hotel's coffee and need to stay hospitalized for a year or two?

Yeah, and who knows, you might as well find Santa on the sidewalk handing out Easter eggs.

You slam the door hard as you walk into your apartment. You are so angry that you could set your own shoes on fire—with you in them! - if that can make Namjoon suffer in some way. you throw your bag on the couch and collapses on it. Sabrina appears wrapped in her bath towel, her hair still dripping, and her mouth covered in white foam.

"Someone got lucky last night..." she grumbles, stopping to brush her teeth for a second.

"You have no idea what happened!" Restless, you get on your feet and goes straight to the tiny kitchen. You open the old blue fridge and takes out a can of soda in an attempt to get rid of the nausea caused by the hangover.

Sabrina follows you, spitting white foam into the kitchen sink and rinsing her mouth right there.

"It wasn't good?"

"Good?" You take a sip of your soda before answering. The gas making your eyes water. "It was horrible! My boss doesn't want me to know that I had sex with him."

She frowns. "Why would your boss have any interest in your personal life? Jungkook is a freelancer, not an employee of the magazine. This is not about Namjoon."

“Sabrina.” You stare at her. "My boss doesn't want me to know that I had sex with him!"

"I already heard it. And it's comical to say the least! How could he want you to not know you had sex with Jungkook? This is the kind of thing girls always know..."

"Not always. But you still don't understand. I didn't have sex with Jungkook, Sa. It was with Namjoon!" You explain in a cry. "My boss doesn't want me to know that I had sex with him, my boss, Namjoon Kim."

She widens her eyes. "What?"

"I know!"

You go back to the living room and throw yourself on the couch again. Soda splashing on the dress, but neither Sabrina nor you care.

“Eeeeeee… look.” She sits down next to you. "I don't understand anything, but it's kind of ridiculous that Namjoon doesn't want you to know he's had sex with you. You were there, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but I was really drunk and didn't remember much when I woke up. Then that son of a bitch took advantage of it."

"From your drinking?" she wants to know, horrified.

"Oh no. He was drunk too. I think even more than I was. he took advantage of my lapse of memory because of the hangover. Then I remembered everything. Or almost everything. The parts that matter, at least."

“Okay, breathe and start again." She grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. “You went out to meet Jungkook."

"I did, but he had a last-minute work call the kitchen of the government palace exploded and he had to run there."

“Okay, he stood you up. And how did Namjoon get into this story?"

“Namjoon happens to be staying at the hotel where I was going to have dinner with Jungkook. He found me a little pissed off at the bar, because Jimin showed up there with his fiancée,” you say.

"Jimin is getting married?!"

"Yes. The woman must have about two meters of legs and straight hair like an Indian. She said they met last month. Last month, Sa! He came after me at that time. He's an asshole!"

“I never thought he was anything else.” She shakes her head. "But, going back to the story, Jimin showed up there with his fiancée and..."

"And then I got bad, and a little later Namjoon showed up, and he's also enjoying a heart break, because his girlfriend kicked him out. We started drinking vodka..."

“Two broken hearts and vodka." She clicks her tongue. "A terrible combination!"

"It is. I woke up this morning in his room. Both of us naked. And then the bastard pretended he didn't have sex with me!"

"Maybe he doesn't remember." She tries to comfort you. "You said he was very drunk, and you didn't remember right away."

You shake your head, and it isn't a good idea. You brain seems to have the consistency of jello.

“He found the condom wrapper,” you tell her. "Oh, he remembers. He knows!"

"What a jerk!"

"That's what I'm saying! I can't believe I had sex with him. He is my boss, damn it!" And you throw yourself against the back of the couch, covering your face with your forearm.

"Hard one! so? What's he like?"

You snort. "Oh, Sabrina, do I know?"

“So, it was bad. If it had been good, you would remember."

You drop your arm into your lap and look at her. “I'm not sure about that. I was drunk. And you know what's worse?" You straighten up a little, facing her. "He's a fraud! A complete fraud! You look at him and what you see is a pair of nerd glasses, disheveled hair, and ridiculous ties. But it's all facade! Suddenly the guy takes off his clothes and glasses and transforms, he has a body of a god and the biggest... I've ever seen."

"Oh, yes?" She shifts on the couch, holding the towel wrapped around her body, curiosity stamps her delicate face. "And what else?"

"He's has a six pack! Really, one full of buds, like a pile of mini hamburger buns that make you want to lick. How does Namjoon, Namjoon! Has a six pack like that?"

That is what pisses you off the most. Namjoon was a complete geek and didn't even try to hide it. Nerds, geeks, or any other species of the genre do not have a six pack is completely against the rules. It is the same as buttering your shoes and putting it on.

Unthinkable. Inconceivable. Revolting!

“He must work out,” you friend argues. "Surely he must spend hours at the gym pumping iron."

"And the ass? You needed to see the dimples that... Argh!" You sink to your head in your hands. "Look at me! It's about my boss's ass that I'm talking, damn it! I hate Namjoon even more for making me think about his ass."

Sabrina laughs. “To tell you the truth, I always thought Namjoon was really hot."

You roll your eyes. “He's the biggest jerk that ever walked this planet."

“A really hot jerk,” she insists.

"A jerk who doesn't want me to know he fucked me!"

"Again, you realize how ridiculous that sounds, don't you?"

“This whole situation is ridiculous!" you admit. "But if he wants to pretend that nothing happened, so it's ok. I will do the same. Actually, I would really like to fulfill his wish and not know that I went to bed with him."

"What about Jungkook?"

You groan again, lifting your head.

"He'll think I'm the biggest hoe when he finds out what I've done." you grumble.

Sabrina hugs you. "And what right does he have to think anything? He is not your boyfriend nor your date. You don't owe him any satisfaction about your life. And he stood you up anyway."

"He had to cover a story!"

"Stood up!" she insists seriously.

"Fine!" You roll your eyes. “He stood me up. Happy now?"

"Not really. I wanted you to be happy, or that at least you had had fun." She clicks her tongue, grimacing. "I knew that I couldn't let you go alone. You always do everything wrong! Casual sex is supposed to fun and crazy, shouldn't cause you trouble. You won't go out alone to drink anymore. Who knows what you might do next time? Marry a madman?"

“I don't doubt it. So, what are you going to do today?" She stands up, adjusting the towel around her body.

"I'm going to the mall to see how the work is going. I still can't believe I got this account! It's a hell of a job, and they trusted my work. You're really good at fortune telling."

"It's a zodiac," you correct. “And I'm not good at all. You are a fantastic professional. It was merit, not magic."

“Maybe so, but you got it right again."

You go to the shower, then take two aspirins, but I don’t feel any better. Too restless and irritated. It doesn’t help much that memories of the previous night began to become clearer. You wonder happened to your common sense when you agreed to go to Namjoon's room. With all the man in the planet, he is the last one you could imagine sharing a crazy night of sex.

You end up dozing off on the couch most of the afternoon, and around six o'clock you cross the hallway to say goodbye to Taehyung and Beatriz. The apartment is all organized, and Tae, hidden under a pile of suitcases.

"How long are you going to stay out? Ten years?" You ask in same moment Yeotan jumps on your leg. You caress his head, and he rolls onto his back.

"I told her," Taehyung laughs. "But Beatriz doesn't believe there are stores of clothes there."

Bea rolled her eyes. "You never know what I'm going to need, I have to be prepared. I was just on my way to your apartment. There is a small change of plans. I won't have to bother you... too much," she adds apprehensive. "My brother and his wife fought. He's going to stay here for a while, and he offered to take care of Yeotan. But I wanted to ask you a favor. Jonnie is closed up, you know? Not much of a talker, keeps his feelings to himself. He looks fine, he swore he is fine, but I don't know. I am worried about him. It would it be too much if I asked you to take a look on it from time to time?"

"I don't think he's going to like being babysat, Bea."

“I know, that's why I thought you'd use Yeotan as an excuse. You can come see if he's ok and stuff. Can you do that, Y/n? He knows I don't trust him enough to leave Yeotan unsupervised. I warned him that you are going to come by to make sure he doesn't let my baby stave to death."

You have no intention of babysitting anyone, but you know what it is like to have a brother who doesn't talk much. One that never says how he really feels. Although a bit reluctant, you end up accepting the mission.

"Fine. I'll pop in every now and then to see how he and Yeotan are doing."

Perfect! My brother will meet us at the airport to pick up the keys and then go pack his things to come here tomorrow. Can Yeotan sleep with you today, right?"

“Of course, Bea."

"Oh, Y/n, you're the best! And, you know, I'll tell you that, despite being worried, I'm a little relieved about Jonnie’s breakup. Looks like he'll finally have a chance to be happy."

“He must be devastated, Bea,” you say.

“It doesn't look like it, but that's the problem with my brother. He never shows what he feels. I spoke to him almost now. He went on a drinking spree yesterday woke up with the biggest hangover. Looks like he went out with a friend threw everything up in the air. You will like him. Jonnie is fun and a very nice person. Thinking about..." She looks at you from head to toe, smiling in a mischievous way that you don't like at all. “You two really match. You're still single, right? Was yesterday's date just... a random date?"

“I was stood up.” You shrug.

"Wonderful!" She claps her hands.

"Bea!" Taehyung calls her out, adjusting the handles of the suitcases in a way he could carry them all.

"Oh, sorry, Y/n," she hurries. "But you just got dumped, didn't you?"

“Actually, I kicked him—”

“Whatever,” she cut you off, excited. "The important thing is that my brother also ended a story and..."

"And in two broken hearts the flame of love can bloom" Taehyung jokes.

"That!" she agrees. "Just wait until you meet Jonnie. You'll love my brother as soon as you set your eyes on him."

Sabrina is still asleep when someone rings the doorbell. Yeotan jumps on you, barking hysterically, then jumps out of bed and continues with his morning tantrum to your closed bedroom door. You understand him. Who knocks on someone's door before noon on a Sunday? it is probably Jonnie who came to get the puppy. You get out of bed muttering, you toss the egg-yellow bathrobe with black stripes on the sleeves your brother had given it to you last month—Hoseok got it at the gym where he works—and opens the bedroom door. Yeotan bolts into the room, his barking so high that it echoes through the whole apartment. It doesn’t help much that Bea's brother keeps ringing the bell.

"I'm coming!" You yell in a bad mood, even so the person continues pressing the button, causing Yeotan to throw a fit fit of a pop star. "God dammit! I already heard!"

You open the door angrily. Your eyes widen.

"I'm not pressing, I think the button is stuck..."

You slam the door closed. Yeotan keeps barking and the damn bell keeps on screaming.

“Shut up,” you plead the little dog, while trying to breathe slowly. What is Namjoon doing here?

"Y/n?" comes the muffled voice.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit!

You run your hands through your hair trying to tame it, rubs your eyes and ties the robe belt. This is not how you want him to see you after what had happened. Not that you care about what he thinks of you...so no problems. All you want to know is what the hell he is doing here.

"Namjoon." you flash a cold smile as you open the door again.

"I thought it was you." He lifts his glasses with his index finger, looking embarrassed. "How are you?"

"It depends. What are you doing here?" You give a few punches on the doorbell switch. With a strange groan, the screaming ceases. Yeotan continues his show.

“I'm going to live here for a while." He pointed to the open door of Beatriz's apartment.

"You're Bea's brother!" It isn't a question. It is a sentence of announcement of your death.

“And you're the neighbor who's going to babysit me,” he jokes.

"I guess so."

You bent down to pick up Yeotan and try to get him to stop barking. It works for about eight seconds. As Namjoon studies the little dog, his eyes get bigger and bigger behind the lens.

“For God's sake, tell me this isn't Yeotan."

“No. Not this. Is Yeotan. Say hi to Uncle Jonnie,” you scoff, picking up the dog's paw and shaking it lightly.

Namjoon's cheeks redden at the nickname.

"I'm going to kill Beatriz," he mutters. "And I'm not going to take care of it this!"

"Oh, yes you will. You promised your sister. she left me in charge to check that Yeotan is being treated well. I'll have to tell on you if you don't take good care of him."

"But he's a Pomeranian! How am I going to go walk on the street with that?"

“The same way you would go out with your dog. He's just furry, Namjoon."

"It's a Pomeranian!" he repeats, as if that explained everything.

"I'm pretty sure it's still not possible to do race swaps in laboratory. I think it's best to accept is as soon as possible he's a Pomeranian." It makes him laugh, and those tiny crescents appears on his cheeks.

"So, you're not funny just when you're drunk." He sticks his hands in jeans pockets.

You blush. Friday night is the last thing you expect him to mention. You lower your eyes to his chest, staring at the shirt with the print of a fat ghost wedged into a red forbidden symbol.

"I don't think so," you mutter, handing Yeotan to him.

He holds it with only one hand and tucks it under his arm, like a pack of beer. "So, we'll be neighbors," he comments.

You are sure you have been a bad, very, very bad person in another life. Only then you would be able to accept that Namjoon, your arrogant rude, disheveled boss, who took you to bed and didn't tell you, is going to live in apartment opposite of yours.

"Is what it seems."

"Well... we'll see you around."

"See you."

You close the door and leans against it. Despicable asshole! Not one word about what happened on Friday. Men really are worthless. And that includes Jungkook, who stood you up. The one to blame for what happened between you and Namjoon.

"What scandal was that?" Sabrina appears, yawning, her blond hair pointing in different directions.

"Bea's brother came to get Yeotan."

"And why do you have that face? You can see Yeotan whenever you want." She goes into the kitchen to make breakfast.

"Because Bea's brother, that Jonnie, is Namjoon," you follow.

"Which Namjoon?"

"Sabrina! How many Namjoon’s do I know?"

"Oh my God!" She drops a spoonful of dark powder on the sink. "What did you do in your past life, Y/n?"

“I was wondering the same thing. I don't want to have to see Namjoon every day after work. I don't even want to see him during working hours!"

"How come you never knew that Namjoon was Bea's brother?"

"I don’t know. She always says my brother this, Jonnie that…” you take the sponge on the sink and starts to clean up the mess. "The guy never comes here. And she never mentioned that her brother worked at a magazine."

"And does she know you work at a magazine?"

"I'm not sure. I mentioned it once or twice but I'm not sure if she really listened. Beatriz is a wonderful person, but she and Taehyung match much more than it seems. She's got her head in the Stock Exchange cloud, and don't really listen to what people say."

“Then I will call it an unfortunate coincidence.” Sabrina laughs.

“And I will call it karma."

You make some toast to settle your stomach, which is sated by the monster hangover from previous day, while Sabrina tells you about her thing with Seokjin. You hear part but ends up getting distracted by the barking dog across the hall. For a moment you hate Alexia kicking Namjoon out and with that forcing you to see him more than your sanity allows.

You shake your head and returns your attention to your friend. She is a little sulked this morning. Seokjin, also known as Prince Charming, won't be able to see her on Sunday. You are a little surprised to find out that she has that kind of expectation with someone she'd known for two weeks.

“I'm going to visit my grandmother later,” you tell her. "If you want, you can come with me."

"You just saved my Sunday!" She hugs you tightly. "You know I love visiting your grandmother."

"But you'll have to promise not to ask her to tell your fortunes."

"Promise. But if she wants to read it, I can't say no, right? Would be very impolite to refuse."

You roll your eyes. You grandmother always managed to tell everyone's fortunes. She can't resist taking a look at the fates of others, likes to know what the letters, coffee grounds, or the palm of someone's hand has to say. It is like a cosmic Facebook for her.

After Sabrina and you have cleaned up the house, you hit the road and in less than an hour, you are already parking at your grandmother's place. Like every Sunday, all your uncles, aunts and cousins are there. It takes at least twenty minutes for you to get inside the house, because it is necessary to kiss and hug each one of the relatives, and not only a few. You find Grandma in the kitchen, with half a dozen of other aunts and cousins, finishing lunch.

“You're late,” she says, not turning to look at you. "It would have been useful to have more hands to help prepare food."

"Your blessing, grandma. And I didn't say I was coming,” you object.

“God bless you, darling. I knew you would. Hi Sabrina."

"Good morning, Grandma Cecilia. Want some help?" your friend asks.

"Help is always welcome. Can you give a hand to Sarah and take the dishes, dear?"

"Of course."

“And you, Y/n, come help me with the food." it isn't a request.

You help grandma carry the food out to the yard. Two long tables of wood have already been laid. Sabrina seems very comfortable among your romani relatives. Much more than you feel, actually. Not that you don't like your roots, you just don't understand or agree with some things. Like an arranged marriage, no pants or short hair for women, separate a couple if they don't conceive a child soon. All very archaic for you.

As soon as the food is served, everyone organizes themselves around the tables. Men take the longest. All the women huddle around each other. Every time you question grandma about why men and women never sit together at the table, she rolls her eyes and says, “This is why I hate your father!”

Grandma Cecilia’s food is very spicy and delicious, and you end up repeating the rice with lamb and walnuts. Then grandma thinks it is fair that you wash all the dishes, since you weren't there to prepare lunch. And there are too many! But it's alright. You go wash the dishes without complaining, because lately grandma and you can't talk without arguing.

However, while you are washing and Sabrina is drying the dishes, Grandma sit back by the doorframe, crossing her arms, which make her bracelets jingle like bells.

“You look different,” she says.

"I am? How different?"

"You are tense."

Sometimes your grandmother really seems to know things. She remains there, watching you silently until you finish the job. When you get rid of the apron, she takes you by the hand.

“Oh, grandma, no. I don't want you to." But it is too late. Is it over she studies your palm with a frown. Her thin finger run along one of the lines.

“He's here,” she announces, still looking at your hand.

"Who?"

“Your man. The one who will make you happy. You already met him."

"Really?" Not that you believe your palm knows what's going to happen in the future. But one thing you are sure: Grandma is always right. Whether by magic, instinct, or anything else, she always gets the predictions right.

"Yes, and you can ruin everything," she adds.

"That's news!" Sabrina moans.

Your grandma looks up quickly and looks at you. At that moment she's no longer Grandma Cecilia talking. It is the Romani Sapphire. "You should stop doing what you're doing. It's dangerous, Y/n."

You swallow hard. you know what she is talking about. “I got a freelance job,” you hear yourself saying in a snatch of voice. “Maybe I'll stop soon."

"It's good." She nods and then looks at Sabrina, who's smiles anxiously, like a younger daughter greedy for her mother's attention. Grandma takes her hand and is direct: “You met the right man at the wrong time."

"Oh my God! Why is it the wrong time?" the anguish stamps her beautiful face.

“I don't know, honey, but you'll find out soon enough."

Your friend is devastated after it, and even when you try to cheer her up telling her not to believe everything your grandmother said, she doesn’t give you attention.

“Your grandmother is the most powerful fortune teller I know. If she says it's the wrong time, so it's the wrong time.” She points at Grandma once you are left alone.

"And if you listen to that, you'll end up doing something stupid and turn what she said into reality. That's how this “prediction of the future,” works Sa."

"I can't believe you're saying your grandmother is a charlatan!”

“It's not that. But seriously! Now you're going to be thinking that something will go wrong with Seokjin, and you're going to do everything to make sure that doesn't happen, right?"

"Obviously!" she replies as if she is talking to a child.

"So, you're going to get so obsessed with what my grandma said you're going to forget to enjoy what is happening now, it will end up changing and screwing everything with the guy you like."

"But your grandmother said it's not the right time!" she insists.

“That's for you to decide, not my grandmother or the palm of your hand."

"Can you believe you've already met the man of your life?"

You hesitate. “I think there's a good chance Jungkook is someone special, but then to be the man of my life has a big difference. I barely know him. Although I'm very attracted to him, I can't say whether or not he's the one I will love. The lid to my pan."

"So, you're not worried about what Grandma Cecilia said?" About you screwing it all?

"Not even a little."

Sabrina is right on one point: even if Jungkook finds out you went to bed with Namjoon, he can't say anything, because you haven't gone out yet. You have everything under control.

That's it, it everything will be all right.

#RM #Kim Namjoon #Namjoon #btswritingcafe #bts #bts writing #namjoon fanfiction #kim namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #bts rm fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpopwriter sky #25/03/2022 #kpopwriter-sky #Sugarushsuga

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oigimi · 3 years

Text

. on my own .

. arthur x mc . 1.4k words . first person, angst .

. this is definitely a sadder piece i’ve written but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i might make a part 2 to this depending on how my feelings about it grow so please tell me if i should make one! .

After Arthur and I had a silent walk home one evening, hand in hand, I couldn’t help but experience some thoughts and emotions that I’d never thought I would experience before. Something was starting to form within me, born of the sweet smiles he gave me and the security he provided when he held my hand. A part of me wished that he didn’t wear those leather gloves so that I could have felt his warmth in its entirety when we walked home, and that was never a wish I would ever think I’d make. I said goodbye to Arthur and went back up into my room to change, and found myself completely hollow in the chest when I realized he wasn’t there next to me.

How badly can a human want to be with another? Aren’t there limits to the emotions we can feel? Surely if someone felt too much love or sorrow they’d burst on the spot. There’s a reason we’re so good at controlling ourselves most of the time, but tonight was just different. I wanted to stare out the windowsill. I wanted to bawl without reason. I wanted to fall asleep and wake up again in a world where no one belonged in Arthur’s arms but me.

But in my mind… that was the world I was in. It was true. No one should be in his arms but me. I knew he was going back to the pub the next night, and I probably wouldn’t see him until the following morning, and it just made my body lose its self-control when I thought of Arthur with other women in his arms. It was miserable, and made me want to run to wherever he was and demand that I be a permanent part of life, if only he’d let me. Such thoughts were foreign to me, until that evening we’d come home from our walk.

I looked down at the music box he’d so kindly gifted to me. It played a beautiful melody to accompany its careful craftsmanship, and turning it on was like activating a machine that made all of my woes vanish. Oh, how I wanted to give him something that made his heart spin the way his gift had made mine. But truthfully, I didn’t even know if his heart was capable of spinning. Someone as wonderful and charming as Arthur had to have met someone that could make him dizzy with wonder by now. And if he hadn’t, was there really any hope? And did I even deserve to have fantasies like these?

I had to step out. I had to get some fresh air else the scent of the candle in my room would put me to sleep. It was almost midnight, so I suppose I really should have been sleeping. But I just couldn’t bring myself to. I had to do some thinking before I closed the book. I changed back into my standard clothes and tried to make a run for the outside. It wasn’t too cold out and the moonlight was rather clear, perfect conditions for a nice long session of thought.

To my surprise, the gate opened without issue. I snuck out, only alerting Sebastian’s little lamb, Lotte, in her pen. She gave a weak bleat or two, as if warning me not to go, but I shook my head and kept going. What do lambs know about love? And what did Lotte know about pain? Next to nothing, I presumed, so I banished all thoughts of the lamb as I made my way down the streets. As I got further from the mansion, I felt myself almost becoming disconnected from the rest of the world. Arthur was getting further and further behind me, and my sense of being seemed to be going with him.

How fun it is to be on your own and play in the sandbox that is reality. Like an astronaut disconnected from his ship, you’re completely above the world laid out for you. The world is as magical and fantastical as you make it. And boy, was I an expert at making believe.

As I marched forward, I felt a hand in my own. A warm, ungloved hand that ignited the flame in my heart that didn’t need any fuel. Not even looking up, I broke out into a smile. “Arthur… You came along with me.”

“Of course I did.” He raised my hand to his lips and planted a sweet, gentle kiss that shook my core. Oh, the way his beautiful eyes sparkled until the full silver moon. He lowered my hand, keeping them linked to each other, and led me forward. Walking with Arthur was not like any other experience you could ever have. He lifted me up and took me for a twirl or two without even touching me. He made me laugh, he made me cry. He took away my sins and replaced them with joy. And the best part, was that he was just like me. I would never be good enough for him, but the remnants of humanity in his soul reminded me that he was not without flaws. I don’t think I could ever love a man without flaws, and I could really never love a man who knew it. Arthur was frivolous and flirty and never seemed to be on anyone’s radar, but he knew he was flawed. What broke me was the fact that I knew he thought his flaws made him unlovable. It’s so funny how he’s so sharp, so brilliant, but doesn’t know how I really feel about him. I knew he was the most lovable man in history, but he didn’t. Heh. I guess there’s one thing I have over him.

As we walked, I contemplated if I should tell him. I squeezed his hand tighter, trying to rejuvenate the warmth that he gave on an increasingly colder night. What would Arthur say? The streets would have been completely empty and cold had it not been for the two of us, and the love that radiated from our hearts. Would my confession brighten the light or dim it? Or even worse… dim it completely? Why had Arthur been so silent the whole walk? God, so many questions plagued my mind, but everything came to a halt when we approached the beautiful, flowing River Seine.

I peered into the water, and before I knew it, I was adding a single droplet to her flowing waters. There was one person in the reflection, and one reflection only. The lights went out. The warmth completely vanished. And before I knew it, I was sitting on the riverbank, my face buried into my hands.

Oh, that’s the tradeoff to make believe. You live in your own magical little world where anything is yours, but like the astronaut detached from his ship, you find yourself hopeless and lost when all is done. How we all desire to live in the worlds we create for ourselves, and float in space forever. But that just can’t happen. I should’ve listened to Lotte. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have let my imagination wander, because I just found myself more lost than before. I let my feet soak in the river, thinking about the coin I’d tossed in with Arthur a few weeks ago. The coin I’d thrown in with the wish to leave with a smile on my face. I couldn’t bring myself to leave now, nor could I bring myself to smile.

Goddamn wishful thinking, and the pain it causes. I loved Arthur so much that I was answering my own question. I was about to burst. I was about to feel my heart jump right out of my chest and let me down yet again. It was time to resign for the night, I’d decided, so I stood up and looked next to me where I’d imagined Arthur to be on the walk there. “I love you,” I whispered. The tears kept flowing and my heart kept breaking. Despite all of this, I turned around and made my return trip home. But this time, only on my own.

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp arthur x reader #ikevamp arthur x mc #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp scenarios

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headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne · 3 years

Text

Lautrec Chain

Original Prompt: How Lautrec landed in that cell in the Undead Parish. We did it! Another chain is complete! A big thanks goes to all the amazing artists and writers who participated in this chain. Please check out their content and blogs.

@acebladespades

“A knight of Carim is nothing without his lady.”

He looked at the man behind the metal bars.

“You knew well what was expected from you.”

He took one step closer to the cell’s door.

“So why are you still alive?”

‐---‐-----------------------------

“I love you.”

His entire world came to a stop.

Fina’s voice echoed softly in his ear.

At first, Lautrec believed it was only a trick of his wishful mind. It wasn’t until he felt Fina’s arms resting on his chest, pulling him closer in a tender embrace, that he realized everything was true.

He closed his eyes and gently put his hands on top the golden arms of his cuirass.

“I love you too, my lady.”

“Then, when the time comes, you won’t hesitate?”

Lautrec couldn’t answer. He knew his silence angered his goddess, but the question had caught him off guard.

“I see.” Fina lifted her ethereal arms, leaving Lautrec alone with the metallic replicas of his armor. “Your ridiculous honor still means more to you than I, doesn’t it? How foolish I was to think that your love and devotion for me were real.”

“They are real.” Lautrec replied. “You know well you are my everything.”

“Lies. Your claims are nothing but honeyed and vacuous words. They are so typical of you mortals. If you truly loved me, you would have answered me instantly, without any trace of doubt in your voice; yet, all you gave me was silence. That’s not the way a knight should treat his lady, is it?”

“Of course not.” Lautrec smiled in a faint attempt to appease Fina’s temper.

Fina answered by resting her hands on his belly. At first, he mistook the gesture as a sign of forgiveness. His naïve perception changed when Fina dug her nails deep into his flesh and began clawing her way up to his shoulders.

The pain left Lautrec breathless. He fell to his knees, swallowing his screams and forcing himself to endure the punishment in silence.

Even if Fina’s nails did not make him bleed nor they left visible injuries on his skin, the agony they caused him was real.

Lautrec only dared to breathe again once Fina was done. The skin where she had touched him felt burning and tender, as if her ethereal nails had been covered in fire.

“If you wouldn’t treat a vulgar wench so rudely, what makes you can act with so much disdain toward your goddess?”

Lautrec didn’t answer. Fina didn’t gave him the chance, for as soon as she was done speaking, she embraced him again from behind.

The melted together, trapped in a blissful moment that Lautrec wished would never end.

“I love you.”

Lautrec could feel the brush of her breath against his ear even through his helmet.

“It pains me to hurt you like this, but you left me no choice. Please, my knight, do not make me do this ever again. All I ask from you is an answer.”

Guilt and regret kept Lautrec glued to the floor.

“So, I’ll ask you again.”

The ring on his finger throbbed with an invigorating energy that swiftly got Lautrec back on his feet. He remained still, with only the weight of his armor and the voice of his goddess keeping him grounded in reality.

“When the time comes, will you hesitate?”

“I won’t.” His answer came so promptly that his voice clashed with Fina’s. “Never forget that I am yours.”

“Oh, my knight.” Fina whispered so lowly that Lautrec could barely hear her. “My Lautrec.”

Though she couldn’t see her, Lautrec knew she was smiling.

Underneath his golden helmet, he smiled too.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“I must say I expected a more courageous performance from you.”

“My lady, it is one thing to fight a horde of Hollows.” Lautrec said once he was done rubbing of the filth off his helmet. “But to confront a ferocious drake, with nothing but a narrow bridge as our battlefield, wouldn’t have been brave, it would have been suicidal.”

“I suppose you are right. At the very least, I’m satisfied you didn’t end up becoming that beast’s dinner. You should be glad that its fire only brushed the surface of your helmet. Had it touched your skin, you’d be cursed with a burn that would never heal nor stop hurting.”

Lautrec had never believed such claims. He had always dismissed them as the exaggerated and baseless statements of antique books and scrolls.

But he believed Fina.

The memory of the drake and the closeness of its fire formed a hole in his stomach.

If there hadn’t been a secret passage underneath the bridge, the drake’s fire would have engulfed him whole, either reducing his body to ashes or leaving him covered in agonizing blisters.

It was seldom that Lautrec felt fear, but there was something dreadful in imagining himself at the absolute mercy of a beast.

Forcedly, he dismissed his panic from his mind. The least he wanted was for Fina to notice how scared he was.

His lady, while gracious and merciful, did not take kindly to displays of weakness of any sort, and she took great pleasure in mocking Lautrec every time he failed to keep his mental barriers up and left his most hidden insecurities exposed.

Though her derision was always heartless and poignant, Lautrec did not resent his goddess for it. He knew Fina didn’t do it out of malice, and had he been in her place, Lautrec would have done the same thing.

After all, he was a knight of Carim. To be always strong and resilient, especially when in the presence of his lady, was both his duty and his pride. If a lady mocked his knight, it was not to discourage or humiliate him, it was simply to remind him to keep the weakness of his heart in check.

Indomitable, stoic, dutiful, strong and steadfast.

Those were the true qualities of knighthood.

How Lautrec pitied the sentimental Astorans and the savage Catarinians for their deplorable and bastardized perceptions of what a knight was. They were pathetic, weak-minded and pretentious fools without a purpose.

None of them could ever understand what an honor it was for a knight to dedicate his entire existence to a lady. They couldn’t fathom the satisfaction a knight gained from being the eternal protector and the pillar of strength for his fated woman.

And if said woman was none other than Fina—

“Why are you laughing?”

“It’s nothing.” Lautrec said. “I was just thinking of how blessed I am to have you as my lady.”

Fina remained quiet.

After a small moment, she chuckled.

“You are adorable.”

She sounded amused.

Lautrec waited for her to continue.

When she did, it was only to order him to proceed with his journey. Far from being disappointed, Lautrec was pleased. Though his confession hadn’t given him the answer he’d wanted, he had succeeded in making Fina laugh.

He had made her happy.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After getting rid of some meddlesome Hollows and infected rats, Lautrec managed to infiltrate the parish the drake had guarded so fiercely. He felt tempted to rest for a moment in a nearby bonfire, but Fina did not approve.

“I know you are tired.” She told him, so tenderly and motherly that Lautrec felt ashamed for having even thought about taking a rest at all. “But you cannot stop now. We are close to our destination. Once we are in Firelink Shrine, you will rest there for as long as you need. I want you strong and refreshed when your time comes to fulfill your duty.”

The reminder shattered all sense of peace and comfort Lautrec harbored. He raised his mental walls before Fina could sense his distress. This time, his weakness passed unnoticed by his goddess, but Lautrec still felt a boiling hatred for himself and his own feebleness.

Even if he could fool Fina, he couldn’t fool himself.

His rage and frustration fueled his attacks.

Every Hollow and any other abomination that crossed his way met their ends at the touch of his swords.

Lautrec fought his way through the chapel, but his streak of invincible prowess was cut short when the armored boar proved to be an enemy he couldn’t defeat.

The beast charged at him and sent him flying towards a wall of stone. If it hadn’t been for his armor, the violent crash would have broken his spine in half.

“Don’t even think about dying now.” Fina told him as he struggled to get back on his feet. “If you die, do you know how long it would take you to arrive to this place again? Seriously, if I had known you were so frail and easily defeated, I would have allowed you to rest at the bonfire. No wonder that harlot you used to look after is long dead. She was cursed to an early demise the moment you were made her guardian.”

Lautrec couldn’t move.

He felt as if Fina had dug a dagger into his chest and had ripped out his still beating heart. He would have remained there, rotting in his own bafflement for all time, if the loud trotting of the boar hadn’t snapped him out of his trance.

This time, Lautrec avoided the charging attack of the armored animal. He lunged himself forwards and landed on his chest.

Then, his instincts took over. His former bloodlust was replaced by an urgent need to survive.

He ran.

He did not look back at the enemies he left behind. He continued running, making use of his blades only if he had no other choice. Many of the Hollows he was escaping from tried to follow him, but they were slow and clumsy creatures.

The few that managed to keep up with Lautrec had their heads severed from their shoulders.

To him, his escape was little more than a blurry vision. It was as if his mind had become disconnected from his body and dull to its surroundings. At first, Lautrec tried to convince himself that his numbness was the result of his exhaustion and stress.

Like always, he failed to believe his own lies.

He couldn’t think of anything else. He continued pondering on his weakness long after he was safe again, inside the confines of an abandoned church.

How he had gotten there was only a hazy memory, as was his fight with the Hollow knights that lay dead at his feet.

His ring finger itched as if maggots were devouring it whole.

“See, my knight?” Fina told him. She caressed his chin, tracing a soft line along the bone of his jaw. “See how effective and lethal you are when properly motivated? Be thankful, Lautrec... for it is I who gave you the strength you needed to overcome your weakness. Go on, say it. Say that you are grateful to me for unleashing your best self.”

Fina rested her other hand on his chest, right above his heart.

“Say that you are grateful to me for being the only reason you are still alive.”

Lautrec’s mouth was bitter and parched. For the first time since he had become his loyal knight, he wished Fina would keep quiet and go away, if only for a moment.

All that Lautrec wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, but he was a knight of Carim. His time was not his to employ as he wished, it belonged only to his lady.

“I’m grateful.”

“Grateful for what?”

Lautrec clenched his jaw; he almost committed the offense of pulling away from Fina’s touch.

“I’m grateful to you for unleashing my best self.”

Then, he felt it. He felt how Fina tried to pierce through the barriers of his mind.

Lautrec strengthened his walls and hugged the arms of his cuirass.

“I’m grateful to you for being the only reason I’m still alive.”

“Oh, my Lautrec.” Fina kissed him in the cheek. The softness of her ethereal lips was followed by the sharpness of her voice. “If only I could believe you.”

Beads of cold sweat formed in Lautrec’s forehead. He didn’t know what scared him most, Fina’s anger or how easily she had seen through his façade.

He remained trapped together with his goddess in a cold uncertainty that felt eternal.

“You’ve got nothing to fear, my knight.” Fina said, “As long as do as I tell you, you won’t be giving me reasons to forsake you. As long as you forget about that ridiculous knightly pride of yours, killing that fire keeper will feel as natural as the beating of your heart. The act will be quick, peaceful and pleasant. She will be grateful to you for freeing her from her cursed fate. She will enjoy it, and so will you, if you just let go of your past and embrace your present.”

Lautrec’s lips quivered.

“You are Undead.” Fina continued, brushing away the only tear that escaped from his eyes. “You’ve got no lady to satisfy other than me. The teachings of your homeland have no meaning in Lordran. I am your everything; you are my knight.”

“I am.” Lautrec muttered. He was overwhelmed. Not even the darkest piece of Humanity could have granted him as much peace and comfort as Fina did.

“Then prove it to me now.” Fina’s tone changed. It remained gentle, but now her words sounded like orders. “Over there, at the altar. Do you see it?”

He did.

There it was, at the other side of the church, carved in stone and untouched by time. Behind it, he could see the statue of a woman.

“Not just any woman.” Fina corrected him with a scoff. “It’s me. Approach it, my knight.”

Lautrec obeyed. He felt like almost like a child.

The silly excitement he felt slowly vanished the closer the got to the altar, and it disappeared completely the moment his eyes understood what the strange figure laying on the altar’s surface really was.

Lautrec was used to the sight of corpses. He had been familiar with death since the time when he had been too young to become a page.

However, as unfazed as he remained by the decrepit state of the corpse before him, Lautrec trembled at the sight of the glowing orb floating just above the body’s chest.

“What a shame.” Fina said, “I would have preferred her to be alive so you could kill her, but it seems someone else already did the deed for you. You must be rather disappointed.”

“But I thought,” Lautrec swallowed before he could continue, “I thought the fire keeper would be at Firelink Shrine, locked for all eternity inside a cave, just like you told me.”

“Don’t be stupid, my knight. This fire keeper is not the same you will murder. This must be the tribute some deluded fool left here for me in a desperate attempt to earn my favor. Whoever he may be, the only thing he’s gained is my disdain. Does he honestly believe I would accept the offerings and advances of every man that comes by, as if I were a common strumpet? The gall! Does he not know that Fina handpicks her knights and followers? Does he note care? Such offense will not go unpunished! If he ever dares to come back, you will fight him, and you will kill him.”

“I will.” Lautrec promised, wishing that the offender would return and give him an excuse to step away from the altar, but no one came.

“Regardless,” Fina continued once the worst of her flaring temper had passed, “it would be a waste to refuse this soul. I will not accept the offering of a stranger, but if my knight was to offer it to me instead, everything would be different.”

There was no need for Fina to instruct him further.

Somehow, Lautrec managed to lift his arms. They felt heavy, as if they were made of stone. It took as much effort to get them closer to the corpse as keeping the barriers of his mind up did.

Yet, he could Fina trying to tear down his defenses and reach the deepest part of his mind. She wanted to see it.

She wanted to make sure that his heart was free of all regret and doubt.

Why shouldn’t it be?

Lautrec was staggered by the question as he asked it to himself.

To kill a fire keeper was the greatest sin a Carim knight could ever commit. It was an unforgiveable offense, a taint on his soul not even death could remove.

But he was not responsible for the death of this fire keeper. He had not taken her life; he had only found her rotting corpse on his goddess’ altar.

He had done nothing wrong.

He was following his lady’s commands.

So truly, he was fulfilling his duty as her knight.

He was just—

“Take it.” Fina said in his ear. It wasn’t until then that Lautrec realized his hands had remained stuck in the same position for a while. His armored fingers were so close to the fire keeper’s soul that its gentle warmth could be felt through his gauntlets. “Do it.”

“I will.” Lautrec smiled. His pulse throbbed intensely in his temples. “I am yours, remember? I love you, Fina.”

“Shut up and take it!”

That he would.

His rebellious hands had just started to listen to his commands when the blade of a rapier emerged from his chest. His blood covered the weapon, concealing the silver of the metal underneath a crimson layer.

Lautrec let out a soft gasp. It was the only sound his pierced lung could muster.

Fina did scream on his mind; more than a mournful lament, her cry resembled a roar. She cursed the stranger for spilling the blood of her servant.

She damned him for damaging that which belonged to her.

The stranger, if he could hear her, ignored the goddess with sinful indifference. Instead, he focused all his attention on Lautrec.

The stranger warped an arm around Lautrec’s neck and pulled him closer to him, further impaling him with the blade of the rapier. The weapon cut through the plates of Lautrec’s armor as easily as it cut through his flesh and bones.

“I witnessed your sin.” The stranger said as he rested his chin on Lautrec’s shoulder. “And it shall not go unpunished.”

“Kill him! Don’t you dare die without putting up a fight!” Fina exclaimed. Her voice resonated so loudly in his ears that Lautrec was surprised they didn’t start to bleed. “Kill this bastard, you useless coward! What kind of man are you? Are you even a real knight? Don’t you dare die, Lautrec. I will never forgive you if you fail me this way. If you die, I will forsake you and leave you to rot in this cursed land. I have no need nor use for weak men.”

The stranger removed the rapier from Lautrec’s body. His movements were quick, but they were not gentle.

Lautrec swallowed his pain and blood and tried to turn around. He would do as Fina said. He would not die in such a shameful way.

If a knight of Carim was meant to die, he had to meet death in the heat of battle. To perish under any other circumstances was the greatest humiliation imaginable.

“My lady,” Lautrec stuttered as he tightened his grip on his swords.

Just when he was turning on his heels, the stranger grabbed him by his helmet and violently pulled him down to the floor.

He then grabbed Lautrec’s arm and pulled it behind his back until he let go the sword. The stranger kept pulling, almost snapping Lautrec’s arm from his shoulder.

“Useless.” Fina spat at Lautrec. Her voice was venom, and it spread across his soul like a blight. “Absolutely useless. What a pitiable excuse for a man, what a mockery of a knight you turned out to be.”

The stranger said something. His voice overlapped with Fina’s.

Lautrec tried to reach out for his goddess, but he had already sunk too deep into the darkness of death. His life was leaking away from him, taking with it all of his thoughts and his strength.

Soon, all that remained inside him was exhaustion and the phantom of his own despair.

Lautrec heard a distant, chilling laughter.

It was the last thing he perceived before death claimed him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He got no response from the knight.

Oswald waited, but it was in vain.

He knew the knight was awake and could hear him. Oswald had defeated him; then, he had healed his injuries by forcingly feeding him Estus.

Sinners like the knight did not deserve to be granted the peacefulness of death so easily. Death, contrary to what most people believed, was not a punishment or a sentence. To those with a clean conscience and an unburdened heart, death was a well-deserved rest.

Yet, even if the knight had not sinned, to let him die would be an unnecessary waste of time. He was Undead, and for all Undead, death no longer had the same meaning than for those who remained free from the curse.

“You should have taken your own life the moment you lost your lady. That’s what was expected from you, or are you not a true knight of Carim?”

Oswald said. The knight refused to acknowledge him, but Oswald did not care.

“That fact you still exist when you’ve got no lady to protect is a sin in itself. How unfortunate that the Undead curse prevents you from fulfilling this last duty... or perhaps luck has nothing to do with this matter, and you sought a way to curse yourself in a pathetic attempt to preserve your life?”

Oswald listened as the echo of his own laughter spread across the church. The knight of the golden armor, however, remained quiet and indifferent.

He had his chin glued to his chest. His hands were caressing the golden arms of his cuirass.

So, he was one of them.

Oswald’s smile almost hesitated, but he had long learned that to pour any amount of pity into those lost, deluded men was useless.

It was seldom that they broke free from their delusions, and most of them never tried at all. They became drunk on the promises of eternal love of the vainest of goddesses.

They willingly fell for her empty words.

Fina’s power over them was only as strong as the power of their own wills.

It was no wonder she always picked the most broken and feeble of knights.

“Your failure to keep your former lady alive, whoever she was, is an unforgivable sin.” Oswald said. He took a step back from the cell. He joined his hands behind his back. “But that’s not the reason I am punishing you. Whatever sins and mistakes your committed back in Carim are none of my concern, but those you commit her in Lordran are my domain. And I saw what you did, so don’t even try to deny it. At this point, accepting your fault is the least you could do to salvage what little honor remains in your rotten heart.”

The knight did react to this. He lifted his head and looked at Oswald.

Oswald couldn’t see his eyes, hidden behind his golden helmet as they were, but he could almost feel the ice-cold glare of the knight.

“I did not kill her.” He said.

There was anger in his voice, but also a deep emptiness. He would go Hollow soon.

Oswald smiled.

“Perhaps you didn’t.” He conceded. “I have no proof, so I cannot thrust the weight of this sin upon you; but I saw what you did. I saw how you tried to take her soul for yourself.”

Oswald expected the knight to say something in return. He was prepared to counter his excuses and tear apart his arguments, but the knight said nothing.

His silence was all Oswald needed to know he had condemned a guilty, dangerous man.

“If you were willing to commit such a vile act, what will stop you from killing a fire keeper yourself the next chance you get? Certainly not your conscience, even less your pride as a knight. That’s why you shall never leave this cell. You will remain here until you go Hollow.”

Oswald gave one last look to the disgraced knight before turning his back on him.

“And then I will kill you. But remember this, knight, your death is not your punishment.”

He told him as he walked toward the stairs that led to the church’s roof.

“It is merely the fate you chose for yourself.”

Oswald laughed again.

He didn’t so out of mockery or cruelty, but out of amusement.

Oh, Fina’s so-called devoted followers.

They would have been pitiable if they weren’t so pathetic in the first place.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fina had forsaken him.

The bitter solitude of her absence had almost driven Lautrec to his Hollowing, just like the death of his first lady had come close to sink him into madness.

But he had endured, though not because he was strong.

If he had been allowed to keep his sanity after losing everything, it was because he had never lost his faith.

Faith that he could make amends and regain the love of his goddess.

A faith that became invigorated after some poor idiot freed him for his cell.

A faith that was about to be cemented now that the second bell had tolled.

It was time.

He had delayed the act long enough.

It will be quick.

Lautrec thought as he grabbed the fire keeper by the neck through the barriers of her cell. She showed no emotion in her blue Astoran eyes.

It is peaceful.

Her stoic semblance not once faltered, not even as Lautrec slit her belly with a long slash of his curved sword.

It was pleasant.

Lautrec did not trust this last thought, but when his eyes meet with the agonizing and defying stare of the moribund fire keeper, he could see a glimmer of happiness in her.

It was then Lautrec knew that Fina had been right all along.

The gaze the fire keeper was giving him was not one of hatred or resentment, but of gratefulness. In the last moments of her miserable life, she was thanking him in silence.

She was grateful to him for freeing her from her everlasting torment.

She was enjoying the moment just as much as Lautrec was.

“You are welcome.”

Lautrec told the fire keeper before letting go of her fading corpse. He forgot about her as soon as her neck left his hand.

In his other hand, floating above his blood-soaked palm, there was her soul.

I did it, Fina. Can you see me?

Lautrec held the essence close to his chest. His mind, devoid of all barriers now that he had freed himself from his past fears and insecurities, was touched by the soft whisper of a goddess only he could hear.

“I do.”

Fina answered. For the first time since his defeat at the hands of the pardoner, Lautrec felt safe in the tender embrace of his one and only lady.

“My knight.”

Lautrec smiled.

He felt whole.

@pan-de-torao

@dbzespio

Lautrec leaned heavily on his knees, gazing deeply into the bonfire and its dancing flames. He sighed softly as his wounds began to heal up, and the strength returned to his body.

Yes, this bonfire had served him well. But now, he felt it was time to move on.

His posture still stooped forward, he turned his eyes upward to behold the firekeeper.

Much like his, her helm hid her face from view, and so he could not tell where exactly her gaze was directed. She was rested against the wall, her body still with a certain poise, one that indicated she was not one to be trifled with. She could hop out of that position and into a battle stance at once, and all with the ease of a well-trained warrior; he could tell.

He rose to his feet with a slight grunt of effort.

No, it would not be worth the trouble. He already had one prize; he didn’t need more.

Those damned archers…

Lautrec nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of a new bonfire. He practically dragged himself to sit before it, finally allowing his gaping wounds to heal once again.

“Oh! There you are!”

Lautrec startled, snapping his head towards the voice.

But it was only a fellow knight, seated there on the floor nearby, just far enough to still be warmed by the flames. The crest on his chest held no significance; the fool had likely painted it on himself in a fit of self-grandeur, or perhaps, sheer lunacy. He also appeared to be adorned with a feather or two and... was that grass? A lunatic indeed.

Lautrec faintly recognized him; he had likely summoned the fool to assist him in battle at one point or another. He merely grunted a sort of half-acknowledgement of the knight’s words and returned his gaze to the bonfire.

The knight politely waited a few moments before speaking again. He leaned forward slightly, his voice friendly. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Smooth summoning out there?”

Lautrec slowly turned to face him again, wishing that his glower could melt through his helm.

“Anytime you see my brilliantly shining signature, do not hesitate to call upon me,” the knight continued. “I must say: you’ve left me with quite an impression. I would relish a chance to assist you.”

Was that fondness in his voice? Truly a fool, this man was.

Despite this, a modicum of camaraderie swelled a little within Lautrec’s chest. Fool though he was, this man was still an undead knight, trapped within this godsforsaken realm, no doubt charged with a quest similar to his own. He felt he owed the knight a warning, at the very least.

“Our futures are murky,” he finally told him, turning back to the fire. “Let’s not be too friendly now.”

“Nonsense,” the man proclaimed, the feather atop his helm swaying in place as he fervently shook his head. “You and I are bound together in not one, but two bouts of jolly cooperation!

“Whatever your quest, my good knight,” he continued, his fist held up in a firm resolve, “I feel certain you will see it through.”

“I already have.” Lautrec rose and readied himself to leave. “Now it is nothing more than a simple matter of delivery.”

Breathing heavily, Lautrec willed himself forward before collapsing before the fire.

That was too close.

His eyes darted around wildly before settling upon the summon signs around him.

So there it was. His answer to the ever-constant invasions…

Lautrec and his posse had just cleared the hall when yet another invader formed before them. She was but a simple cleric, but her eyes smoldered with barely suppressed rage as she rose from the haze upon ground.

“Oh, look! Another one,” Lautrec sneered, waving the others to attention. “How many times must these lambs rush to slaughter? Ah well… Let’s get it over with!”

Lautrec charged forward, his summoned warrior following in his wake. Just behind them, his sage readied his wand.

The cleric immediately raised her shield, a flimsy thing, really, and certainly no match for his blades. It managed to reduce the impact of the sage’s magic bolts, but now, Lautrec was right before her. He reared back before striking her a solid blow, his curved shotel easily reaching around her paltry shield. The shield blocked his comrade’s spear, but the woman now looked rather breathless.

“‘Tis a terrible pity,” Lautrec mused, trading his left shotel for a knife as he watched the invading cleric scramble to return her shield to her back. “Like a... moth, flittering towards a flame.

“You fellows… No? Don’t you agree?” He turned back towards his sage and briefly extended his arm towards his warrior, allowing the cleric a moment to ready herself for an attack of her own.

As if she’d stand a chance.

He chuckled darkly, watching as she lifted her talisman. She cast Force, which sent the spearman to the ground and the sage’s next magical projectile soaring back to strike him in the face.

Lautrec himself stumbled before recklessly charging her again. If his companions weren’t able to strike her, it appeared he’d have to finish the job himself.

She rolled away when he slashed at her with his shotel before charging at him with a knife that he hadn’t noticed she had been holding. He caught it with his own, slashing at her again with his free arm.

Vulnerable as she was, and with no armor to boot, the cleric staggered from the devastating blow. Lautrec kicked her away, laughing callously yet again. The sage’s magical bolts peppered her several times as she struggled to recover. In the meantime, Lautrec traded his parrying knife for his second shotel, all the while watching her intently.

Finally she knelt with talisman in hand. He recognized the gesture immediately as one of self-healing. “Oh no, you don’t…”

With that said, he lashed out with dual strikes and chuckled as her form disintegrated into smoky mists. He helped himself to the humanities and souls she left behind before turning back to his entourage. “Well, well. I thought you were wiser… but I thought wrong.”

His summoned warrior lunged at her now formless remains with his spear. Poor fellow was a bit slow to grasp the reality of the situation. Finally he recognized she was gone and returned to Lautrec’s side.

“Well, that was rather simple,” he scoffed and scanned the area. He beheld a glowing summon sign near the stairwell and went to examine it further.

Ah, if it wasn’t the fool himself.

Lautrec recalled the spearman, and summoned the warrior of sunlight. He arose with his arms in the air in a sun salute before facing Lautrec with a nod. Thankfully, he didn’t talk as much while in a summoned state.

Lautrec led them down the hall and pushed open the giant, double doors. He would have thought the room beyond empty, until he finally took note of a giant, stocky figure at the other end of the area. For a moment, they were so still Lautrec wasn’t quite certain whether they were human or statue. Either way, they wielded a hammer, nearly as large as themself.

Before Lautrec or the others could move in to have a closer look, another figure slowly and gracefully made their way to one of the balconies above. A single hand rested gently upon the railing as the knight, clad in incredibly intricate armor, gazed down at all of them. Within moments, the knight leapt down to stand before them, poised for battle.

The one wielding a hammer hefted it upon his shoulder, moving the giant weapon with such an ease that it looked as if it were made of feathers. So then apparently this ‘statue’ could move after all.

Lautrec faintly recognized the pair of warriors; felt certain that he had found their likenesses etched in marble somewhere within the city of Anor Londo. But it hardly mattered; if they stood in his path, they would be eliminated, all for the glory of the goddess.

The knight charged forward, his spear at the ready. Lautrec raced to meet him, easily moving off to the side to avoid the incoming spear. However gifted he may be, this spearman was no different from all others; he favored his right. All Lautrec needed to do was be careful to avoid that side and attack from the left, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Meanwhile, Solaire focused his efforts on the giant. He would avoid the swing of his hammer with well-timed rolls and slash away with his sword while the giant struggled to reorient himself. He’d have to sprint away whenever his opponent decided to charge him, his hammer practically transformed into a whirlwind. And once his back was turned, Solaire would toss over a few lightning bolts in response.

Meanwhile, Lautrec’s summoned sage would hurl magic bolts at the giant. He was a large, and therefore, easy target, after all. And with both Lautrec and Solaire keeping their opponents busy, the sage didn’t have much to worry about, so long as he kept himself far from the fray.

Before long, the giant man crumpled to the ground and took his last breath. Ornstein leaped away from Lautrec to stand at his side. He rested a hand against his fallen comrade’s body with a clearly remorseful weight to the action, despite how simple it was.

But that simple gesture granted the knight a sudden surge in power. His very size surged until he grew to twice his height and weight. His spear sizzled with electricity as he held it aloft, reinvigorated to fight anew.

“By the goddess!” Lautrec exclaimed as the spearman lunged at him. He rushed away; this time, it was much more difficult to avoid the weapon, given it too had increased in size.

Solaire took the moment to lob a spear of lightning at the dragonslayer. However, it hardly had any effect.

The sage had prepared a more powerful spell, and this time, several magical bolts struck Ornstein at once. He momentarily flinched before rushing forward to attack the sage.

Lautrec and Solaire used the opportunity to move in close, slashing away at Ornstein’s legs. In response, the knight readied a lighting strike, charging up his spear with crackling electricity. Lautrec just barely managed to avoid being impaled, but his body shuddered as the remnants of lightning burned at his skin. He rolled away and yanked up his helm to chug a flask of Estus.

Meanwhile, Ornstein leapt high into the air, his body practically shining with excess electricity. Both Solaire and Lautrec were knocked off their feet as the dragonslayer crashed back down to the ground, sparks flying nearly everywhere. Even the sage, far from the action, staggered from the impact.

Lautrec frantically rolled until he was far away, ripping back his helm to down not one, but two flasks of Estus. This wasn’t going to be an easy battle.

But once he had his fill of Estus, he clenched his fists tightly around his shotels. He would not falter. For, after all, he had the favor of the goddess.

In the meantime, Solaire hurried to his feet and rushed in to attack Ornstein’s legs once again, determined to give Lautrec the time he needed to recover. He narrowly avoided another lunge; his body involuntarily shuddering from the excess electricity. How he longed to drink but a drop of Estus… But he had no time for that.

Meanwhile the sage had quickly gathered his wits and hurled magical bolts at the dragonslayer. He was too distracted with Solaire to fight back, so the mage continued his assault without interruption.

Reinvigorated, Lautrec moved in to assist Solaire. Together the two kept slashing away at Ornstein’s feet, all while avoiding his near-constant barrage of lightning laden lunges. Ornstein was just about to recharge his spear when the sage dealt him one blow too many, and the mighty dragonslayer finally fell.

Muscles buzzing with excess energy and skin burning from electrical buildup, Lautrec heaved hungry breaths of air as he watched the knight succumb to darkness. A glittering light was left behind, along with several other treasures.

But before he could go to retrieve them, the foolish knight hurried to stand before him. He jovially clapped Lautrec’s shoulder until he finally lifted his helm to look him in the face.

“A truly excellent bout of jolly cooperation, my good friend!” Solaire declared, no doubt a hearty grin beneath that helm. “Here; please take this!”

Lautrec already knew what the man was about to give him, and he didn’t want it.

Regardless, Solaire found his hand and pressed a warm medal into it. Lautrec could feel the warmth even though the thickness of his armor; the object was indeed strange. But he refused to close his fingers, so the medal eventually fell to the ground once the golden sunlight warrior finally vanished into thin air. Lautrec didn’t bother to give the thing even the slightest of second glances. He simply didn’t need it.

Instead he moved in to receive his prizes. A gluttony of souls, along with Ornstein’s own, and a ring, a lion engraved upon it. He doubted he would find much use for it. Regardless, he tucked it away along with the rest.

He wandered about the area for a while before coming upon a moving platform. He took it to find access to the balconies above, and to his great relief, a bonfire laid in wait. He took a rest there, allowing his wounds and aching body to heal.

Soon enough, he rose to his feet and made his way to the double doors before him. What laid behind them took his breath away.

There, her beautiful body draped across a plush chaise, laid the goddess Fina. The room was warm; soft light that emanated from the goddess herself wrapped the area in a gentle glow.

“Fina…” Lautrec breathed, immediately dropping down to one knee.

Fina smiled and extended a gentle hand towards him. “Thou hast journey’d far, and overcome much, chosen Undead. Come hither, child…”

Lautrec blinked. ‘Chosen undead?’ ‘Child?’

Did she not see him?

He cleared his throat. “Fina, my beloved… It is I, Lautrec the Embraced. And I have for you a gift...” He procured the firekeeper’s soul and held it aloft.

She beckoned to him again. “Come hither…”

“As you wish…” Lautrec humbly rose, moved to stand just before her, and knelt down, all while holding out his treasure for her to take.

“O chosen Undead,” she continued, her voice soft. “I am Gwynevere. Daughter of Lord Gwyn; and Queen of Sunlight…”

She had more to say, but Lautrec immediately stopped listening. Rage boiled up within his gut and spread throughout his body as he clenched his teeth.

The blasphemous wench! How dare she pose as the everlasting goddess!

Snarling, Lautrec ripped his shotel from its sheath and slashed the imposter, causing the unsuspecting woman to scream out. But his steel did not taste flesh; rather, he tore through naught but haze.

The woman was but a mirage. A trick of his mind.

Just as suddenly as the woman disappeared, the room went dark. It was cold here.

Lautrec looked about wildly, but he was alone, left with nothing but a soft, almost fading light from the firekeeper’s soul. He dropped his shotel, and it clattered to the ground, louder than ever now.

Was Fina… testing him?

He clenched his fist. No, it was that woman’s fault. She was a charlatan, a fake. Nothing was worse than impersonating a goddess. And it wasn’t as if he had ever seen a being as wondrous as the goddess herself in person before. How could he have known?

Yes... yes. He was not to blame here. No, not at all.

In that moment, the silence was broken.

I witnessed your sin, and it shall not go unpunished.

Lautrec froze. Too afraid to turn and face the voice.

Thou shalt perish in the twilight of Anor Londo.

No, this wasn’t happening. Everything he had done… it was all for Fina.

He couldn’t have…

Slight footsteps from behind compelled him to whirl around. A blue phantom stood within the doorway; she was dressed in light armor, not unlike the painting guardians he had encountered shortly after he had entered Anor Londo. And just like those warriors, she was wielding two short blades.

He would have bent to retrieve his shotel, but his limbs felt heavy, worn. And before his mind could have the opportunity to overpower his fading will, the warrior rushed forward, her blade plunging into his abdomen. She twisted the weapon, and he shuddered, the pain overtaking all of his senses. She kicked him to remove her blade, and his body easily crumpled to the ground.

He laid there in agony, coughing up blood and wondering why she hadn’t yet finished him off. Once he finally opened his eyes, he saw her, tenderly holding the firekeeper’s soul. He must have dropped it at some point, or maybe she had taken it from his hand; he could hardly tell, much less remember, at this point. All he knew was that it was ill-gotten. That he had soiled Fina’s good name in taking it.

Before long, his helm was roughly ripped off of him. “This is for Anastacia of Astora,” the warrior stated, her voice cold.

With that said, she lopped off his ear. “The Dark Sun will be pleased.” Her voice was soft now, devoid of the malice with which she spoke earlier.

He watched her ready a black separation crystal. “You will not kill me?” he finally managed to ask.

“Killing you would only end your suffering.” She stepped on the wound in his gut and pressed down, forcing him to cry out yet again. “And my wish for you is to wallow in it.”

She finally backed away and activated her crystal, returning to her realm awash in shining light.

Lautrec, bloodied and broken, finally mustered the strength to drag himself out of the room and towards the bonfire beyond.

But it was not lit.

He coughed again, blood spattering across the marbled floor. His vision blurred; the blood loss certainly wasn’t helping matters.

He crawled onwards, knowing full well he was too far gone to reach another bonfire. But he knew he must try. For Fina’s sake.

Fina…

He had failed her.

No…! He would never…!

His fingers trembled as he continued to drag himself forward. Onwards.

Everything, yes, everything he had done, all of it was for Fina. For her glory. For his honor. For their love.

But…

Lautrec faltered and hissed. The pain was too great.

Fina was a magnificent, benevolent goddess. Death in her name would only serve to sully her beauty, her magnanimity. She would never allow it.

But the prize.

The endless souls… They would preserve her beauty forever; grant her with eternal youth.

Lautrec’s fingers hit into a wall. He could barely see straight; his body felt cold. He wasn’t certain how much longer he would last.

He pulled himself into a seated position, his back against the wall. He breathed deeply, as best as his tired lungs would allow.

The ends do not justify the means.

He had failed his goddess, his love, by dishonoring her name. She would never accept any gifts, any love from a man drenched in sin. He knew this now.

He would perish within the twilight of Anor Londo.

As his goddess ordained.

@lefrustemangaka

@taroris

Silence always followed death. It was mandatory, as only death could rip things from this world with such coldness and leave a grieving void where the poor soul exhaled its last breath. Once the Shrine’s fire faded, not even the breeze dared to break the deathly quietness.

It took a while for Anastacia’s grasp around the metal rod to vanish; her delicate face contracted in a somewhat painful expression yet with relief under her lifeless blue eyes. Blue eyes which also stared at Lautrec with reproach; reproach because it wasn’t yet her time to leave, because she was supposed to die after fulfilling her role as Firekeeper, not in the hands of a knight who kept her company day after day until turning his blade against her.

With a swift measured move of hand, Lautrec cleaned the blood from his shotel. It was splattered on the floor in front of the rusty cell, which seemed to have been built in a rush by non-expert hands. Her frame paled in the light, not even a murmur was produced by the vanishment process. Then, the delicate soul of Anastacia jingled where her place has been for, perhaps, an eternity; tiny humanities dancing around the pure white light, happy, unbothered by the grim turn of events.

Lautrec picked them up and gave a look at the light and the darkness. Both antagonists floated pleasantly in his hand; darkness around light, light around darkness. The tendrils of Anastacia’s soul seemed to caress the humanities, as a mother would do to their kids. The humanities seemed to love the attention as they appeared to jump and shake their small bodies pleased. The somewhat peace these poor vestiges of a past life enjoyed was finally disrupted, for the image of the very safety and home meant nothing to Lautrec, whose real home was in the arms of a Goddess and the safety was only reached after the brief moments of offering the humanities he separated from Anastacia and placed inside his travel bag.

The Firekeepers' soul seemed to shiver when the mourning was over and the wind blew in the shrine, caressing its tendrils and letting it know of the newfound loneliness.

Truth be told, the reaction of the white soul was rather peculiar. With a tilt of his head, Lautrec observed how it reacted to its surroundings. How it seemed to know somehow that something was off. Maybe the pureness of the Firekeepers’ souls was the one to blame; souls remaining safe of the hunger that leads most Undeads, unbothered by the filthiness of the world that has no room for these same souls unless entrusted with the task to tend fire.

Lautrec scoffed. He was no innocent human, that was as true as the sky was blue. On top of that, he was hungry; hungry to please her Lady, hungry to give her everything she wished for. Staring at the soul wouldn’t do him any good. Then, almost in a whisper, a kind voice spoke to him. It spoke to him about time, about love, about forgiveness. For Lautrec, there was only one thing more absolute than death, and that was her Goddess’s words. He knew what he had to do next: complete his duty in the so-called city of Gods, but which was no home for his Lady. At least, not anymore.

The knight left the Shire, wherein the few beings remaining there barely noticed his leave. He, then, resumed his travel; going through the cathedral, through the burg, through the fortress made to break one’s soul but merely scratched his for the loving voice gave him the strength needed to prevail and move forward. It was such the faith in his Lady’s words that he even travelled through air (carried by nasty ugly demons) to arrive at his destination.

With utmost care, Lautrec inspectioned the place until finding the bonfire and, with the bonfire, the Firekeeper. He felt the arms around his torso hug him even in a more affectionate way, and the joy which washed over his body was almost overwhelming. Yet, he shouldn’t be carried away by those feelings, or he could end up imprisoned again, when the end of his task was within the reach of his fingertips.

When the Firekepeer spoke, Anastacia’s Soul shaked faintly in his travel bag.

“Mmh… You are a rare visitor,” she said once he walked down the stairs. In her voice, there was a hit of something Lautrec couldn’t place right away. “Welcome to the lost city of Anor Londo. If you seek Lord Gwyn’s old keep, exit here and head straight yonder. If you-”

“I will, for now, allow myself to take a rest,” Lautrec interrupted her.

It had been quite a while since he had been around a talkative Firekeeper. Instead, he had grown so comfortable with the silence around Anastacia that he had forgotten how annoying these women can be sometimes; with their gibberish and duties.

“Very well. After all, that is what the bonfire is for,” she muttered, with annoyance and that something which was still difficult to place in her voice.

Lautrec sat down near the fire. His tired legs sighed with the brief break they were given while his hands quickling unfastened the travel bag around his waist.

The moment to observe her came when he pretended to take care of his equipment, of his shotels and armour. It stood out that Firekeeper was nothing like the previous ones he had encountered before; all delicate ladies, sometimes blinded, sometimes too oblivious of the world around her. This woman, instead, looked like a warrior, and it was not because of the pretentious armour befitting of an even more pretentious place like Anor Londo. No. It was because of the aura around her, of the way she folded her arms, the posture she kept against the wall, the way tried to appear like she was self-absorbed but her eyes felt like daggers poking his skin.

It finally clicked. That something hard to place in her voice: mistrust. This woman was, by all means, different from the previous Firekeepers who always thought he was a well-meaning knight searching for their help and fire. This woman was dangerous, because mistrust made you be aware of dangers, of betrayal, and made offering harder. Lautred needed to find help, and by help it meant cannon fodder. For that reason he got up and announced it was time to continue his journey. The knight, then, adventured himself even further in the city, further into the high building.

His shotel cut through multiple enemies dressed in white clothes and who threw daggers. He got no reward from it and the voice whispering kind words suddenly started to rush him to go back to the Firekeeper’s place. Oh, how much he wished to speak with his Lady at that moment, to hold her delicate hands and promise her that she would have the world if only she gave him a moment to do what had to be done to cut the Firekeeper’s throat.

His steps lead him to a cathedral, wide, open, and filled with multiple enemies. Even if it cost him some estus, Lautrec prevailed and the colossals figures and Silver Knights ended up falling to his blade. When inside there was no more than silence (a silence aware of the knight’s intentions and which followed him as it followed death), Lautrec started to search for marks. For marks of unwaries who would have no other choice but to help him fulfill his role; perhaps serving as bait.

It didn’t take him long to come across a well-known yellow sign. Holding back a scoff turned out to be impossible for a solid second, as there was no point in summoning that crazy fool. Lautrec kept searching, avoiding the signs of Warriors of Sunlight as if they were infected with the plague. Then, finally, after walking up and down the hallway, he located it: two white summoning signs. A sorcerer and a spearman. That would serve him well. Lautrec touched the first white light, with black letters signaling a name that he couldn’t care less, before touching the second one. Two men appeared in front of him and spoke words of greeting, too cheerfully for his liking. He barely muttered some words to content them for there were more pressing matters to attend.

After the pointless greeting was over, the three of them walked to the entry, to the closed massive doors. With a sigh, Lautrec started to look for the mechanism to open them, locating a giant lever attached to some big gears.

Upon touching the handle, though, he felt it. The soft rumbling of worlds clashing together. His furrow deepened under his helmet and walked back to his comrades who were looking at their surroundings. Lautrec didn’t feel like playing the mouse and cat game at that moment, so, when the other two men looked at him wondering about his plan, he simply ordered them to wait until the dark phantom appeared.

And the phantom did so. After a closer look at the armour, an amused hum left his lips. The Chosen Undead straightened their back and when their gaze fell on the knight and his cannon fodder, they stormed towards them, sword raised in wrath. The same wrath that filled their voice when they spoke.

“Lautred, you bastard! How dare you kill her?! How dare you kill Anastacia?!”

The knight waited (hearing reassuring words of his Lady that ensured him the victory) for the Chosen Undead to run towards them and for his summonings to defend him, as it was a mandatory rule between the fool Undeads.

“Well, look at you,” he began, dragging out his shotel. “I thought you were wiser, but I thought wrong!”

@thefatladysang

#dark souls #lautrec of carim #fanart #fanfiction #soulsborne chain game #dark souls chain 2 #lautrec chain

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop

I realized last night that that concept was the first I had written of Solas and Fane interacting in forever, and as such, I can’t stop now.

I’m like, ‘Okay, smut now. Waaaait...one more build up!’ And so, I present Fade shenanigans and more fluffy angssssssttttt! *slams down virtual document*

***

The scent of Gladiolus was the first thing Fane could detect as his mind disconnected from blackness. It was sweet, yet pleasantly mild, and slowly numbed the pains of his body and head, which were both throbbing in protest.

“Ugh..”, he heard himself grunt before he willed himself to open his eyes. He had a hazy recollection of everything, but mainly all the emotions he’d absorbed.

Trepidation, anxiety, sorrow, grief, happiness, love and joy in equal measures. Along with the magic he could remember kissing his face, that must have been why he had...ended up where he was currently.

Which was…?

Brightness immediately met him as Fane slowly opened his eyes, squinting a bit from the intensity before his vision acclimated. What he saw above him, realizing now that he was laying down, had his hazy mind clicking into place like a piece in a puzzle.

He knew this place - completely.

This place, with its crystal clear blue sky that still warbled like the tides of the ocean, and the almost overwhelming scent of Gladiolus, who’s sweetness reminded him of a fresh baked cake. This place, that felt so real, so tangible, as he ran a hand along the soft grass under his body and felt his eyes flutter at a whispering breeze. This place, that held a feeling of home, of safety, of grief, but made him only feel relief as each one soaked into his body. This place, where he could hear the delicate tinkle of wind chimes and the low hum of a baritone chorus in the air around him, the latter barely audible, even for a dragon, but it was there.

This place, where the rules of nature apply, but don’t. This place, where the imaginable became reality. This, where they had made a golden vow before only one returned with a usually composed face shattered and eternal eyes only harboring a well of tears for their other half, but refused to shed them due to guilt and self loathing.

Yes, he knew this place, even if he possessed none of which would tie him to it. Or, maybe he did have a link as he let his head roll to the left to glance down at the dormant mark upon his hand - watching it silently ebb with green light like a wisp.

It didn’t hurt anymore, surprisingly, but there would come a day when it would again. Though, there could be a chance, he knew, to--

Fane quickly abandoned that train of thought as he let his head lull back to stare upwards. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on what was to come, what many, many an argument had been about. No, now was the time to watch the sky and be welcomed back.

“Been a while.”, Fane murmured to the sky above, seeing how it shifted with the swaying of magic and spirits. “Yeah, I know. I should have come sooner..”, he continued to converse, able to understand what this foreign, but familiar sky wished to tell him.

It was saying, ‘Welcome home. We’ve been waiting.’ But it wasn’t the only one waiting for him if the mildly, mildly, panicked aura he could sense was any indication.

Solas was here, and of course, he was being his usual self with how he could hear furious muttering coming from the treeline to the meadow he was situated in.

“Every time, we are unprepared. Every time, and I still bend to match his passion.”, Solas’s voice reached him as it got closer. “I told him to be patient, but he never listens, never waits. Fenehdis lasa, ma’isensatha..”, the self conversation dying out upon that curse.

Fane couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh at that, the realm around him latching onto the sound greedily as if it had been deprived of such purity. Oh, this fool would be the death of him. One could never truly be prepared for everything, and the removal of his vallaslin had been--

His thoughts and amusement died out as Fane launched himself upright, momentarily getting smacked with a wave of dizziness before he shook it off. Now he knew precisely why he was here!

The vallaslin, or the lack thereof! The ritual! The magic had made him pass out!

“Gaps in my memory. Always gaps.”, Fane grumbled before whipping his head around for anything that could be reflective. He needed to be sure! He needed to see!

With a surprisingly graceful movement, he pushed himself to stand, wobbling slightly as he adjusted to the change around him, but steadied quickly. He nodded, shaking out his legs before resuming his search with his eyes. Reflective, reflective..

There was...nothing. No water, no shiny surfaces. There were only golden flowers that made a tight pang of longing replace the desire to see his unshackled face. He felt his eyes zero in one bloom, its petals still slightly closed as it seemingly trembled with fear and hesitation.

Fane frowned. That won’t do, he thought. Let me…

Fane slowly began to walk towards the shivering bloom, gracefully bending a knee before it. As he thought, it was trembling. It’s golden hue held a mild hesitance to join its fellows. It’s peeking crimson from within making an appearance on occasion as it seemingly sobbed. He felt his eyes narrow and soften at that as he reached a hand out carefully, lightly brushing a few fingers against outer petals.

“Shh. Do not fear the change to come, little bloom.”, he encouraged, watching as its shivering slowly calmed to where it was just lightly sobbing. “Look at me, see me, and accept that change can be beautiful, even if crimson and black loom overhead.”, his fingers glided up, tapping the now agape mouth of the flower. “We are what we are. There is no shame in that.”

With those words that he wasn’t even sure he was capable of ever saying, the fearful bloom calmed completely before it shined dimly. Fane watched without a shred of hesitation or any feeling of sickness as magic wrapped around a delicate bud like ribbons floating in the breeze.

“Observe and accept. Observe those who came before you, but accept that you can be different, but still stay the same as they.”, he whispered in fiery determination. That’s right. No matter their appearance, they belonged to the kin that bore them to begin with. He to the dragons, and this slowly morphing flower the Gladiolus of gold and crimson.

Those words seemed to give the struggling flower the push it needed because suddenly, the area around them lit up with not hues of gold and red, but rather, hues of white and blue. He watched with amazement as that essence wiggled into the ground, offering its gift to the others surrounding it before every single flower bore the same majestic colors of cerulean and ivory.

It was beautiful. It was magical. It was a change born of acceptance and desire. There was no more simple way to put it as twinkling specks of magic popped to release themselves from above before residual flecks sprinkled down like the snowflakes that he had once allowed to sit upon his tongue out of draconic curiosity.

And all Fane could think to say, as he heard a familiar intake of breath from behind that had him turning slightly towards it and how the array of blooms before them were awash in magical blue and purifying bleach was--

“We’re home, Solas.”, he said with a tight voice as the sprinkles of magic above kissed his skin with no pain. “We’re home..”

Fane watched as Solas’s unconcealed wonder at the display before them shifted to crushing adoration and relief, his face breaking out into an easy smile that could only be possible when they were home.

“We are, ma lath.”, Solas agreed with a wobbling voice of his own before quickly, but not too quickly striding over to him to crash into him in a tight embrace.

Fane easily responded with an embrace of his own, the agony of his body feeling like no more than a bad dream as he pulled Solas flush against his frame. He nuzzled his face into the crook of the elf’s neck, suddenly overcome with a wellspring of emotions that had tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Such an overabundance of emotion had him sobbing quietly before giving himself a watery laugh.

“Damn it all..”, Fane laughed out shakily before more tears began to escape, his fingers curling into the back of Solas’s tunic. “Ar lath ma, ma fen. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma.”, the once disgusting language that signified slavery to him falling out with love and relief.

Solas’s embrace tightened even further around him as those words flowed like water, a singular hand coming up to weave into the hair at the nape of his neck with a firm grip.

“Ar lath ma, ma’isenatha. Ar lath ma.”

Yes, change was good, change was required, and change was freedom awash in blue and white, not gold and crimson.

Fane let out another watery laugh before a tiny wiggling of anxiety had him pulling back to connect their gazes. He was almost knocked out once again when he saw the swirling of pure love within Solas’s eyes, their stormy cast intensified by the shimmering lunar hued flowers around them, but he cleared his throat. He could gaze at his sky later because right now, he had a question. One he needed the answer to.

“So..”, he began, shifting his gaze away a few times from the one piercing into him.

Solas only gave him a calming smile, arms still wrapped around his shoulders. “So..what?”

Fane let out a tiny huff. Why was this suddenly so difficult? Was it because of how many emotions he could feel rippling through him, the realm of dreams tickling his skin as it, too, latched onto this memory of love and freedom. Was it because of the knowing look that Solas was giving him with eternity?

Was it because he was scared to know the truth?

Perhaps it was all of those, or none of them, but soon he found the will to elaborate. This desire was stronger than any fear he could harbor.

“How...do I look?”, Fane finally said, his voice low and quiet, but not so much that Solas wouldn’t be able to hear.

Solas blinked before his features softened and practically melted with tenderness, the arms around his shoulders unwinding to instead cup his face with his hands. Fane practically melted himself as he leaned into those soothing cushions, letting out a tiny sigh as his eyes went hooded. Looks like they were back where they started, hm? The mage, all cool and composed, and him, just putty. So typical.

The Elvhen rebel’s own eyes went hooded, supposedly due to Fane’s contentment, before leaning up to brush their noses and their lips together. Fane nearly cracked with long held restraint at that, but opted to simply pull the man closer to him. There would be time for what he also desired later.

Their hooded gazes connected, heat radiating between them, their dual presence assured with the connection of their bodies before the sound of Solas’s voice, no more than a whisper, wrapped with gentle wonder and tender adoration, caressed his ears.

“You are beautiful. Without and within.”

And what a freeing truth those words were as Fane let the last leash of his restraint snap and fray, surging forward to connect them in the most freeing expression he had once only dreamed of, yearned for but could not for fear of retribution.

A kiss, and he hoped, oh, he hoped, that much more would follow in this bittersweet place they called home.

*sits in a chair as the world burn around me* This is fine. I’m in hell and this is fine.

#my writing #dragon age #solavellan #oc: fane lavellan #solas #i will write smut but it was FADE scene and I had to have MAGICAL happenings #*cries in fanfiction*#these two are just fucking NERDS

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vivdunye · 3 years

Text

present day, present time

and you don't seem to understand

fabled adages of science

so i was watching the snyder cut of justice league the other morning, i couldn't really begin to tell you why other than i needed 4 hours of background noise . but i tuned in at one point when the fictional super Israeli, wonder woman, narrated a scene explaining an alien technology "that was so advanced that it almost seemed like sorcery", and wouldn't yknow, that's a real concept actually, i recognized it immediately as clark's third law:

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

it's perhaps the most well known and oft quoted of the three, but i always felt like arthur c. clark's first 2 laws don't ever get quite enough love . i've been thinking heavily about the first law lately:

When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.

i've been thinking about it in relation to this one quote from wernher von braun that i always liked:

Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation. Everything science has taught me, and continues to teach me, strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death.

many people are afraid of death; of ceasing the awareness of life, because they don't know what will happen to themselves after, where do they go if anywhere? it's much more nebulous in the secular sense if you haven't a construct for the afterlife already . i've been thinking about death more and more often lately to a worrying degree . however, scientific thought for all its clinical detachment from all things spiritual has strangely enough always felt like the perfect module for contemplating the metaphysical . so i decided to do some research .

i want to recall right now thomas edison's first intended use for the phonograph . edison had originally envisioned the phonograph primarily as a means of preserving the voices of loved ones after death . he later went on to try and develop a "ghost box" or "spiritphone" . this device would allow humans to communicate directly with the dead . he was unsuccessful .

if hauntology has taught us anything, we technically do have ghost boxes now, but maybe not in the way edison intended or even predicted . we carry them everywhere and can check them anytime, channeling messages through them constantly . we actively become digital ghosts, online we are both present and absent . the present implodes with the past, we've over-documented everything so now we can experience an instant nostalgia . today's future becomes archaic, we live in the archive to try and remember what the future once was .

'haunted' and 'futuristic' become one and the same .

by this token i'm reminded also by transhumanism . as the technological singularity fast approaches, as progress charges forward at a constantly increasing speed, current estimates posit the 2040s as the point in which technological improvements will occur at a constantly self-replicating rate . in the time between now and then, transhumanism and the eventual merging of human consciousness with machinery are theorized outcomes of technological progress . one day we might be able to leave the shackles of our human bodies and transcend our physical forms as a joined digital consciousness .

and in relation to this i also think now of clark's second law

The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

through the wired

this is the stage on which the anime Serial Experiments Lain is set . a story, that while constructed on the patchwork of fiction, is nevertheless symbolic of certain phenomena based in reality .

also i apologize if it wasn't apparent that this post was going to be about Lain . im lainposting boys

the first few episodes exist to misdirect the viewer right from the beginning . and only by returning to these episodes having thought through the rest of the show, does their purpose become clear . the first episode, aptly titled "Layer 01: Weird" , is meant to show us exactly one thing, that lain is fucking weird . we can't tell what she's thinking, we can't tell what she's doing, and that's exactly how everyone around her feels . lain is totally and completely disconnected, she doesn't keep up with current events at school, she doesn't communicate with her family, near as we can tell she has no actual interests besides her stuffed animals and totally phasing out of reality. the inciting incident of the series happens when someone tries to make a connection with lain, and that person happens to be dead...

or at least there body is dead, their consciousness seems to have escaped into the wired . lain's decision to pursue this connection is what lead's her to ask her father for a new navi (the series' name for a personal computer) and that's all that really happens in this episode . coming back to it from later episodes we know that lain is probably thinking a lot throughout this episode . the decision to not entreat us to any of her thoughts is intentional, it is to make us feel distant from her as viewers, the same way that the world around her is distant . as lain forms connections throughout the series, so too, will we form a connection with her .

we do not know how much time has passed since then and the second episode, but whatever has happened lain has already developed a significant presence in the wired . this episode is tricky in its presentation as it doesn't make us privy to which things lain is lying about and which things she's honest about . in it we have lain talking to someone on her navi, she types sporadically in an encrypted language, and someone who looks just like her appears late one night in a night club downtown . while lain won't admit it to her classmates it's apparent at the end of the episode that it was her at the club all along . the key to understanding her actions throughout the episode is to realize she is trying to keep her existence in the wired and her existence in reality as separate entities . the realization she has by the end of the episode, which she uses to terrify a gunmen into suicide is that there is no escape from the wired, no matter where you are you are always connected .

made in the late-90s, Lain was quite ahead of its time . it predicted not only how in the early 2000s the internet would be regarded as a separate world where anonymity and personas reigned—it also predicted how the internet would eventually and inevitably overlap with the real world, once people in the real world realized that the internet is the real world . people have a tendency to see one part of themselves as their "true selves", whereas the parts they show to others are personas, they think of these things as separate when in reality a person is an amalgamation of all of their personas . lain tries to change her personas by dressing and acting differently from when she's in the wired-mode and in normal-mode, but she doesn't realize how people have been doing this way before the wired existed . her classmates are all 15 but they all pass for adults when they've dolled up and hit the club . if the characters in the show seem a bit young for their attitudes then you may not have met enough tech-savvy teenagers before . the purpose of this episode is to ultimately to prove to lain that the so-called real world and the wired are merely two layers of one reality, which couldn't be more true of the world today .

let there be light300pMTK. .

in mythology, psyche was the mortal princess who fell in love with and, eventually, married the god cupid; in religion and classical philosophy, psyche came to mean the human soul, and in the modern, literate world, it retains that meaning as the human spirit; in freudian analysis, psyche refers to the totality of the human mind: the id, ego and superego .

every meaning of psyche is distinctly human: a human princess who achieves godhood, the soul or mind of an individual . if previous episodes introduced the blurring of the real world with the wired, then episode three; "Layer 03: Psyche" is the episode that starts to blur human identity online and offline . one doesn’t even have to venture into the wired to ask what is human .

by this point we know that lain is definitely up to something . at this stage it's hard to tell what, but all we get are little glimpses into her actions . she still seems to be hiding a lot from the world around her and from the viewer in turn . ironically, lain's blank-faced silence and response to the questions of those around her it's own incrimination . when a police officer tells her to speak up (regarding the gunman's suicide) even if she had nothing to do with it, he doesn't realize she's being silent precisely because she does have something to do with it . but her deer-in-the-headlights persona gets her out of it .

the lain of the wired and the lain of reality are slowly starting to mesh into one whole . it remains difficult to interpret the physical existence of "other lain" so to speak, and the show refuses to outright show her playing that character . at the least, we do get to see lain access the wired in all its chaotic glory and she does begin to take an active interest in expanding her knowledge as she learns about and installs the "Psyche drive", a computer circuit that lain procures in hopes of it enhancing her computer's processing power . on the smaller scale, when lain applies the psyche processor to her navi, she is installing a spirit or soul, an animating element, to her machine . notably, the psyche does not replace the main processor; psyche augments the main processor, interpreting the data that flows through it . the soul is not simply the brain, it is an elevated consciousness or meta-self. by this point in the series lines become blurred and the lains begin to merge (hehe) . all of this is set against the backdrop of lain trying to decide if she should remain in the physical world or fully integrate in the wired . she hears one voice telling her that death feels amazing, and god exists in the wired, that there is nothing left for lain in this world . however, lain begins to establish a connection with her classmate alice, saying her name out loud and commiting it to memory for the first time, alice asks why her friends are not more shaken up after watching someone shoot himself in the head the previous day . it's almost as though lain is clinging to alice as an excuse to stay in the physical world out of fear for changing over . this all sets the seeds for what eventually grows throughout the series .

i want to recall the final meaning of the word “psyche". that the word also meant “butterfly,” which is how the greeks imagined the soul to appear . no doubt the symbolism of a creature that begins as one thing and transforms into another is not lost on us here .

every event serves to emphasize the existence of one's own personal reality, and as individuals from all others, we desire a place to belong . however that too is an egotistical concept . in order for there to be a mutual understanding, it is necessary to recognize here and now, like the brain synapses, we are all—in a logical yet chaotic manner—connected .

each is seperate—yet they are one . by connecting, humanity gains first awareness of its function as a seed . and by connecting a human no longer remains a mere endpoint, a "terminus", but becomes a junction to another point, having won the right to continue itself . in a sense, the ability to connect is the ability to continue . this not only applies to the connection of axial coordinates but temporal coordinates as well . therefore, at the time when a conscious, intentional connection is made, surely the dead will rise from there intended place, appearing at the time coordinate of the connection's origin .

in that moment, the realization will dawn that the time in which we inhabit our physical bodies is but the starting point of the connection, and the very meaning of possessing a physical body might be questioned .

we recognize we are connected .

serialize thyself .

#tecnobabel #text

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readyaiminquire · 4 years

Text

The Future as Vapor.

‘The semiotic phantoms, bits of deep cultural imagery that have split off and taken on a life of their own.’

William Gibson, The Gernsback Continuum.

I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately. Not wholly sure as to why, perhaps it’s because we’ve just moved from one year to another, and taking stock is only natural; or perhaps because of the peculiar nature of the year that has just ended, with its pandemic, lockdowns, and the many challenges and tragedies borne out of it. Perhaps my research and its focus on time and temporality makes me particularly vulnerable to this sort of introspection; perhaps I am just predisposed to it? Likely, it is a mixture of all of these, but I already digress from the main point I was making, which is, quite simply: I have been thinking a lot about time lately. I’d wager the year that has just been, and which doesn’t feel as if it has fully ended quite yet, has a lot to do with it. My soundtrack for 2020, if there was such a thing, has undoubtedly been vaporwave, dyschronous ‘trapped-in-a-loop’ music for a year where everything stood still: a semi-ironic haunting from the past with empty, tinny beats and retro-synths, just mangled enough to sound new, but not too mangled so as to lose its retro-80s soundscape. It is, as absurd as it sounds, Muzak with teeth. The ironic resurrection of a dead aesthetic, brought back with a vengeance and with a purpose.

Vaporwave gets its name from ‘vaporware’, software that never was. Vaporware is software that has been announced, sometimes even showcased, but which then disappeared into some development maelstrom and seemingly vanished from view. It is neither cancelled, proclaimed dead and left to rest in the pile of ‘what could have been’, but always kept alive – a zombified software – as a potential. Its nonexistence-with-a-side-of-potential is precisely what makes vaporware vaporware. What does vaporwave take from this? The music is a form of Muzak, seemingly generic elevator music perfect for blending into the background but never meant to be listened to. This implies a vaporware existence (existence in nonexistence; or rather nonexistence in existence), vaporwave has more to it than that. It is precisely its purposeful meaningless soundscape that gives vaporwave ability to critique. Often made up of repeating synth riffs, tinny beats, sometimes sounds or jingles reminiscent of 1980s and 1990s TV and radio commercials, it is not an accident that the genre has modelled itself on Muzak. It is an echo of a past that has long disappeared into memory, even into cultural memory; a haunting reminding its listeners of what was, through its twisted soundscape of an otherwise well-trodden cultural form. The genre is best described as music optimised for abandoned malls.

Vaporwave is the audial version of a ruin. Or rather, it is the erection of a folly among ruins, a means to highlight the absurdity of the action itself. Its soundscape exists as a reminder of a past that promised a future that has not appeared; its central thesis – if it were to have one – is that we live surrounded by the ruins of this future-that-never-was. Crucially, and this gets at the heart of the present predicament, we only live and operate among these cultural ruins strictly because we have been unable to reconfigure these cultural building blocks into something new. The ruined landscape of a future that never existed has only come to pass because it has not been replaced by the new. Instead, the orientation has shifted to focusing on the past in the present, not the future ahead of us. The emergence of vaporwave in the present is thus by no means a result of the pandemic, the lockdowns, and the perceived stalling of time as a result, but rather predates it. The pandemic has likely brought such feelings of standstill to the fore, but it by no means created it.

This essay was prompted by a post on Reddit. Paraphrasing, the posted said something to the effect of ‘I don’t want to play the video games from when I was a kid, I want to feel like I did when I played the video games from when I was a kid.’ This, again, gets at the heart of the predicament. That feeling many of us remember from the past is one we have not felt in a long time – myself included. Indeed, video games are a fantastic case study for this development. Using an example from my own experience: I remember when I first played World of Warcraft. I know, your mental image of me as the narrator just shifted substantially, but bear with me. The nature of a fluid massively multiplayer online roleplaying game (MMORPG) wasn’t new by the time WoW was released. Still, it had never been done quite so well: the graphics were fantastic (at the time…), the level of interaction, the fluidity and connectivity of the world, the social aspects and community building… the list goes on, but the software was an adventure, and I (and countless, millions of others) couldn’t get enough of it. It was an unrivalled experience in many ways. Nothing like it had existed before. It was a completely new cultural artefact. It invoked a sense of future-shock.

WoW is, in addition, an interesting example as its original (well almost original) game was re-released in 2019 to thunderous applause, and a community bracing itself for another nerdgasm. The re-release was undoubtedly popular, it was undoubtedly fun, but it wasn’t the same. The feeling that it evoked in the past was no longer there. The future-shock with which it had once been densely packed had melted into air. This disconnect has even been picked up by parts of the community. A debate has raged between players who wish for no changes to be made to the original, for it to be released in its ‘pure’ state (as some changes had been made around specific mechanics, bugs that were never ironed out originally had been, and so forth), and players who call not for a recreation of the original game, but a recreation of the feeling of the original game.

But this is the issue with nostalgia. The original feeling of something unique, the future-shock as it were (or what German historian Reinhard Koselleck called the Überraschung; lit. surprise) cannot by definition be re-created; it must be created anew, with something new. The tragedy faced in the present, then, is that the dominant form among popular cultural media is that of nostalgia: a harkening for past experiences not for the experiences themselves but for that feeling of wonder that came with them: the surprise when playing your first 3d video game, or when first using a smartphone, or at the choice of music on an iPod (not to mention that the songs never skipped if you bumped it!). In many ways, this sense of surprise and wonder has been lost, even if innovation has sped up. Computing is faster than ever. Technology is near-ubiquitous in some parts of the world, yet nothing new seems to come from it. It is the same experiences, but faster, or in higher fidelity – occasionally this even folds back unto itself: vaporwave being a prime example — the mockery of a past cultural form that is only made possible with new technologies and innovations. In short, for all this new potential, nothing new is created.

Much has been written on what has caused this predicament, be it Mark Fisher’s argument that the foundations for innovative cultural forms have all been eroded with the rise of neoliberal capitalism, Franco ‘Bifo’ Berardi’s analysis that the future has disappeared because social imaginaries have been eroded with the rise of global techno-capitalism, or indeed Fredric Jameson’s take that capital is too effective at rehabilitating the radically new. To varying degrees, these thinkers (and others) speak to the problem of nostalgia, specifically how the marketing of nostalgia is but a logical conclusion. In the present neo-liberal configuration, innovating is a risk, especially within the realm of culture and pop-culture. It is much safer, and more in line with the underpinning profit motive, to repackage and re-sell old cultural forms as nostalgia and pastiche: think of the Star Wars universe's resurrection yet again, or indeed the example above with the re-release of WoW.

‘Fine’, you say, ‘you’re right’, you concede, ‘but what’s the problem?’ you finally ask. The issue with nostalgia becoming one of the main pop-cultural articulations is that it reorients the present away from the future and towards a past long gone. A lack of future orientation, in turn, takes out much of the hope surrounding societal and cultural development and innovation. To frame this less abstractly: it is hardly news that scientific research and literature, typically in the form of science fiction, exist in a feedback loop. They both take inspiration from one another. Scientific breakthroughs lead to authors to push the boundaries of the imaginable, which in turn inspire scientists, engineers, and inventors to make science fiction science reality. In the words of William Gibson: ‘There are bits of the literal future right here, right now, if you know how to look for them. Although I can’t tell you how; it’s a non-rational process.’ Just think of how many present innovation and inventions we have already seen on shows like Star Trek. Lacking this future orientation, in short, invariably leads to a form of social and cultural stagnation. Let me be clear here: this is not a piece lamenting the ‘fall’ of some romanticised Western culture or some such nonsense. Instead, much of our present social, political and cultural order is underpinned by a futural orientation insofar as it is a belief in a future that drives engagement, innovation, and creativity; that creates future-shock. Why bother changing anything if ‘this is it’? It is precisely this process that ‘Bifo’ Berardi described as the slow cancellation of the future, and that the late Mark Fisher referred to when he asked, “Is there no alternative?”

When I say that nostalgia has become the dominant cultural form, this is what I mean. The conventional means of artistic productions have been subsumed under an unmoving profit motive. As a result, real, shocking, surprising innovation cannot take place. But I wish not to end it with such a conclusion, as merely pointing at a problem isn’t necessarily helpful. Instead, new & radically different forms of production must be discovered. Fredric Jameson calls such an exercise cognitive mapping, the process to resituate oneself in the cultural landscape and thus gain a new perspective. To continue a metaphor: to move out of the ruins and into new vistas to regroup, reshape, and ultimately rebuild. The first step is to realise the impasse faced, the second is to do something about it. This process can already be seen in some spaces, especially among grass-roots movements like the markers’ movement, citizen scientists, and other groups – be they tech-focused or artists’ collectives. What ought not be understated, on the other hand, is the importance of ensuring such a shift takes place, lest we end up reading our own collective epitaph:

‘[…]

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.’

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1818.

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soveryanon · 4 years

Text

Reviewing time for MAG178~!

- Notable thing this episode was the intensity of the sounds (understandable given where they were), almost covering Jon’s words at some point, and the fact that once again… we got statements-specific ones. It used to be a bit unclear whether the sounds we were hearing belonged to the scenery around Jon or if they were emanating from the statement itself: for example, the sounds of the war (MAG163) were surrounding Jon&Martin before the statement while they were immersed in the domain, same with the carousel (MAG165) or the burning building (MAG169); and likewise, the wailing of the worms (MAG166) was audible outside of the statement (surrounding Martin at the end of the episode, when he wasn’t even in earshot of Jon)… but the squelching we could hear during Jon’s statement was a manifestation of what was happening in Jon’s narration. The hooks attacking Francis (MAG172) were a bit more ambiguous: were they audible outside of the statements, and Jon was commenting on them as they were happening? (Jon himself, after all, was described as present in the audience in the statement itself.) In The Extinction domain (MAG175), were the scuttling and hisses of the creature audible anyway around Jon? Or were these sounds created by Jon’s statement?

It’s been a bit clearer with these last three episodes that Jon’s statements seem to be creating/emanating these sounds, or allowing them to be heard: we could hear the sounds of running footsteps and pants while Jon was unmoving (MAG176); we heard the clock of the room, the chair creaking or scraping, the pills getting swallowed, the altercation, the distant wailing, the peeling of Doctor David’s face… and these sounds disappeared (including the clock!) when Jon got out of his statement, while the tinny muzak reappeared (MAG177). This time, Jon was stated to be in a closet: yet, we heard the factory gates opening, the grunts of the “things”, the tools they used, the sizzling of flesh, the cutting… and same thing, they faded once Jon was done with the statement.

(MAG176) ARCHIVIST: “Feet pound, silent whisper, silent blood on lips, blood on teeth, blood-scent of hated prey flows through veins and into feet pound silent in pursuit. [IN THE BACKGROUND, CONSTANT SOUND OF A CHASE IN THE FOREST: FEET RUNNING, PANTING, SHUFFLING OF LEAVES AND BRANCHES] Teeth smile. Ready to kill. [SHUFFLING OF BRANCHES]”

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [SIGHING] If you say so…! [INHALE] [STATIC RISES] [DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES] [FOOTSTEPS, A TELEPHONE RINGS IN THE BACKGROUND] [CLOCK TICKING IN THE BACKGROUND] [STATIC FADES] ARCHIVIST: “Hi. How are we doing? You can call me Doctor David. […] Like I say: we have all the time in the world! [STATIC RISES] And good old Doctor David isn’t – going – anywhere.” [STATIC FADES] [SOUNDS FROM THE STATEMENT FADES] [THE TINNY MUZAK RESUMES]

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “The only smell… is the smell of cleaning products. The door finally opens, [RUSTY DOOR OPENS] and another thing stands there. […] Finally, he is led over to a grate on the floor. [SWIFT METALLIC NOISE] He barely even has time to register the red-hot wire cutter [SLASHING SOUND] before it is in and out of his left arm with practiced, professional ease, neatly removing a small wedge of muscle. […] [SHUFFLING, CRACKING AND ELECTRIC SAWING SOUNDS] The last thing he sees before returning to the processing line… is everything going into the garbage. There wasn’t a single, suitable cut. [ANGRY FOOTSTEPS] “Useless,” one of the butchers says. And Tyler is gone.” [STATIC RISES] [SOUNDS FROM THE STATEMENT FADES] [STATIC FADES]

Is Jon “creating” them through dream-logic? Could Martin&Basira hear them, if they stayed around as Jon’s audience, or are these sounds only present on the tape we’re hearing? I’m keeping in mind that the tape recorder is not acting like an out-of-the-box machine: through Jon, it seems to be able to “interact” with the content of the domain/the stories Jon is describing, as affected as the characters…?

- Jon explaining how this domain worked was super interesting (and terrifying):

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] Technically, a lot of them… actually aren’t people? BASIRA: … Come again? ARCHIVIST: A–a lot of them are created by this place as, uh… “set dressing”, I suppose? Th–this domain, the fear of it requires these… queues, these… this, uh, intricate hateful bureaucracy o–of hundreds of thousands of doomed souls, it needs far more than the number of people who actually ended up here. MARTIN: Wait–wait–wait, so… so it just… makes the rest of them up? ARCHIVIST: Er, maybe one in a hundred or so are actually real? The rest are there to make those people’s fears more acute. MARTIN: … That’s… Ugh, that’s somehow more disturbing.

… because it felt almost like some level of consciousness was at work? Or, well. Once again, a symbiosis between the Fear and its victims, the fact that the domains are literally their fears given enough autonomy to construct that reality and hurt them even more. (I’m thinking back to Jon’s “You want to talk about psychological projection, try viewing the metaphysical world through the lens of a being that is, by its very nature, a reflection of your own obsessions and fears.” from MAG175: he was, in context, talking about his own relationship to The Eye, but that… actually applies to every victim in the domains.)

Things getting me in the statement: the implicit rules/functioning of the domain being so unpredictable and odd that Tyler couldn’t expect them (“He looks around, unable to find a pen, a pencil, anything. The thing sat behind the desk does not respond to his questions. Finally, Tyler takes his fingernail, now long and ragged from his time in the queue, and painstakingly scores the words into the paper.”), the hurt and the pain never being factored by the creatures around him, the fact that his reactions were never timed exactly right (didn’t try to flee when he could have; would like to flee later but knew it was too late in the line), the fact that trying to find a meaning in his own sacrifice was utterly denied (“Is it not better, at least, to be useful? […] The last thing he sees before returning to the processing line… is everything going into the garbage. There wasn’t a single, suitable cut. ‘Useless,’ one of the butchers says.”). There were such a range of different fears in the whole statement: the anguish coming from limited options, the idea of suffering for nothing, of being evaluated and imprisoned into categories outside of one’s control, the crushing feeling of inadequacy, of accepting sacrifices and yet being labelled as a disappointment. Jon described it as an “intricate hateful bureaucracy of hundreds of thousands of doomed souls”, and there was indeed a big aspect of it evoking modern workplace environments (… unfortunately).

Even with the description and the beginning of the statement, I was surprised that this one was a Flesh domain! I do get the “Meat is Me” aspect (the idea of being reduced to meat and value, of being stuck in an abattoir), but I reaaaally felt a Vast vibe in it (being one amongst thousands, of time and space spreading, of being meaningless) with dots of Web (being absolutely dispossessed of agency, having the “choice” to rebel and being conscious enough of the decision not to) and maybe of Lonely (disconnected from the others, lost-in-the-crowd yet unable to reach anyone). One gigantic blob of terror, I know, but it’s a nice feeling when Jon labels a domain and I got a slightly different vibe, while seeing and understanding Jon’s logic!

(- Re: time, it was also very striking in this one that Jon is not exactly describing things as they are happening, but condensing them, since this one would spread through “years”:

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “Time has no meaning in this place – but that does nothing to lessen the certainty that Tyler has been in this line for years.”

Or. Well. That time experienced in the domain is an absolutely subjective experience, to the point that it might be possible that, actually, Jon is still telling the story as it happens although there would be no way for his words to match the rhythm of the events he describes? It’s still dream-logic, so whatever can happen.)

- ;; Once again, domains affecting victims’ abilities to remember or be conscious of anything that happened to them before the Change (or creating memories to hurt them more efficiently):

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: “Next to him, Charlie saw Ryan, who he’d known since childhood – though the other details were hazy. Ryan gave him a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile – before his face exploded inwards to a sniper’s bullet, peppering the boat with shards of bone and gore.”

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: “There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where nobody could stomach to check, where good neighbours wouldn’t dream to speculate.”

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: “Its pace remaining as it ever was, it does not care for coming pains as you are torn. Doesn’t it know who you are? No… And soon… neither will you. […] You will be someone again, someday. […] “I’m still Hannah!” you try to scream, but are you? No. Perhaps there’s some Veronica as fragments there, or Julian, or Anya, but… no. You feel the last of names and “who” you might have been be torn away and borne towards new bodies. New pages, blank; determined to be people.”

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: “When had the crushing pressure in his chest become literal? When had the empty promise of the horizon finally vanished completely, replaced by the pitch darkness of this “forever wall of earth”? Sam did not know. Time had no meaning here. […] His existence was static, and eternal. Immutable. “Sleep” was only a memory, because even the prospect of unconsciousness might have made his present state slightly more bearable. Food as well, he knew, must be a thing, for he could feel the hunger, but his imagination failed to picture it. The only smell he knew was the damp, and the dirt.”

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “How long as she lived here? How long have these cramped, dingy rooms in the back of this sprawling rundown tenement been the place her heart calls home? She cannot recall, but long enough for her to grow into love for it, to cherish every rusted appliance, every crumbling piece of plasterboard, every – flickering – lightbulb. […] Sabina cannot… picture their faces, but knows that should they wake to see the state of the place… their anger would be blistering. […] What floor was her flat on again? Surely, it can’t be this high. […] Limping and desperate, she turns to see her furniture in flames, the bookshelves full of memories, that she can’t quite place [STATIC RISES] but knows are precious to her, curl and float away as ash. The photos on the wall of her family whose faces seem indistinct but she knows that she loves, begin to blacken, as the glass pops out of the frame.”

(MAG170) MARTIN: … It’s sort of weird, isn’t it? [CREAKING] A smell can trigger memory so… powerfully. Like this one; it, it–it makes me think of… [INHALE] Hm. [INHALE] Hm. I, I don’t know. Is it a person? A place? No, no; people, people don’t smell like that. Besides, I’m all alone. … I’m, I’m all alone. [CREAKING] Why, why am I alone? I, I shouldn’t be alone! There should be people! It’s such a, such a big house, my house, there mu–, there must be other people! People who care. Unless…

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: “When it had first covered her home, bathing the street beyond her window in unexpected shade, she had thought it an eclipse. There wasn’t supposed to be one then, she is… sure of that – although if pressed, she could not have told you what day it is today. Before the shadow fell, she is sure that the sun was shining brightly – although, if pressed, she could not have pictured it. And the humid heat of a lingering summer had left the world sleepy, and unprepared – although, if pressed, she remembers the heat, but not the season. […] Mehreen cannot quite make out their faces as she bundles them into the car, old and shuddering as it coughs into life. Does she remember having a child? A spouse? Does she remember her mother having such a cruel sneer? It doesn’t matter. They are here now, and she has to save them.”

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “It’s faded now. He remembers aches and worries and, sometimes, something that might have been joy…! But it’s far away now, like something seen projected on a distant wall.

I still wonder if that situation will evolve, by MAG200… Jon said that the Fears would stay as long as there are people to fear them, and the current status quo is that victims are imprisoned in a loop – their fears made manifest, torturing them in turn, leading to more fear, their perceptions and memories biased to prevent them from feeling something else. We’ve seen how anchors could work as a point of focus to get out of their grasp; it’s not possible with how the world is shaped now, but if the victims could remember something else than their fears, maybe…?

- Oh! I hadn’t noticed/wondered if there was an echo of Beholding in the domain itself in a while, but:

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “Even if he had the will to, Tyler could not have struggled: the movements of the things scrutinising him are as gently unstoppable as a piston.”

… that’s a big Eye mood.

- Same as in the Slaughter domain, it seems to be a loop of fear:

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: “There is a rumbling in the earth around him, as a tank speeds along its unstoppable path, and Charlie is immediately pulled under its tread. He has a moment of shocked horror, before being reduced to a smear in the mud. […] Next to his bleeding corpse, Charlie wakes from what passes for sleep in this place. A sergeant is yelling at him, screaming for him to take his gun and get into the waiting transport.”

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: “The tragedy of Francis. A comic puppet show, in all acts. Act 48067”. […] And so it will be until the curtain descends at last, and THE SPIDER resets the scene, its belly already beginning to swell once again with replacements for the creatures it so gorily birthed. AUDIENCE (BACKGROUND): [LAUGHS] Pause, for laughter. AUDIENCE (BACKGROUND): [LOUD CLAPS] And so the curtains descends.” AUDIENCE (BACKGROUND): [LOUD CLAPS AND CHEERING] [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: “The tragedy of Francis. A comic puppet show in all acts. Act 48068.”

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: “The last thing he sees before returning to the processing line… is everything going into the garbage. There wasn’t a single, suitable cut.”

(And I’m still dubious of Oliver’s claim that The End’s domain was better than the others and would deliver it for real! Though Jon mentioned dream-logic as the rule at work, to explain why Daisy wouldn’t be coming back if killed… so maybe enough belief in The End as an absolute ending makes it real in that world. Mm…)

- Back to Martin worrying over victims’ feelings, and being vocal about it!

(MAG163) MARTIN: … They’re not… real? [VOICES SHOUTING IN THE DISTANCE] ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLING] No…! They’re real; they were… normal people before the– … Before me. But now they’re here, meat for the grinder. I just mean there’s no point… talking to them. MARTIN: Don’t be a prick, Jon. Hey! I’m, I’m sorry about him. He’s–he’s going through a lot – well… we all are, I suppose, but well… “Hi”, I guess. [SILENCE] Hello? ARCHIVIST: They won’t hear you, Martin, they’re all… too busy waiting to die. MARTIN: Jon…

(MAG178) MARTIN: [HUSHED] Oh, would you both just keep it down, please? ARCHIVIST: They’re not aware of us, Martin, I keep telling you. MARTIN: Yeah, I know, but it’s not okay to talk as though they’re not there. They’re still people. […] [MARTIN JOSTLES A BODY] MARTIN: Excuse me. ARCHIVIST: [EXASPERATED] Martin, they can’t hear you. MARTIN: [SHARP] I know, Jon, that’s not the point. ARCHIVIST: … All right…!

He hadn’t been vocal about it in a long time! (And he had felt a bit disconnected about it, to me, with the worms and the carousels.)

In comparison, I do understand Jon’s pragmatism in the uselessness of trying to Know who is real and not:

(MAG178) MARTIN: Wait–wait–wait, so… so it just… makes the rest of them up? ARCHIVIST: Er, maybe one in a hundred or so are actually real? The rest are there to make those people’s fears more acute. MARTIN: … That’s… Ugh, that’s somehow more disturbing. BASIRA: … How do you tell which is which? ARCHIVIST: I mean, you could ask me, I suppose. B–but I don’t… really see the point. Would it help you to know whose suffering is real and… whose is just a… grim reflection? [SILENCE] BASIRA: No. ARCHIVIST: Well, there you go then.

… but still, a bit aouch about that logic – it’s true that people in the domains are not aware of them, so taking them into account doesn’t change anything, but it still means ignoring real people. (I wonder if they will end up in a domain where victims are aware and conscious and a potential threat to them, if it’s the point of the domain?)

- I’m glad, however, that Jon was trying to make them avoid the avatar of the place, because it was contrasting a lot with Jude:

(MAG169) MARTIN: That turn…! You, you took a hard turn after the roots back there. I knew that was a thing! Why are we here? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] It’s just… [INHALE] When you said… [SIGH] MARTIN: Jon, why have you taken us here? ARCHIVIST: Jude Perry. … This is where Jude Perry rules.

(MAG178) BASIRA: So who’s in charge, here? ARCHIVIST: Not anyone you’re familiar with. We won’t be meeting them. MARTIN: You’re not going to… y’know? [MARTIN VOCALISES AN EXPLOSION] ARCHIVIST: No. Even if I wanted to, he’s in the, uh… Main Processing Room, and believe me when I say that’s… not somewhere you want to be. MARTIN: … Yeah. I guess.

(And even with Oliver: Jon had made the decision that he wouldn’t pursue Oliver, but it had been shown as a rare act of mercy in the face of Oliver’s actions. Here, it really sounded like he wanted to spare Martin and Basira more suffering, didn’t want to put them in an upsetting situation.)

… a bit worried that Martin still hasn’t let it sink in that Jon didn’t want to go Kill Bill anymore because he felt that it was detrimental to himself, but to be fair, Martin sounded like he had asked just to clear it up and wasn’t pressuring, just checking.

- OHOHOHOH about Martin’s frustration feeling extremely… meta (it’s something an audience would say):

(MAG178) MARTIN: [INHALE, EXPLOSIVE EXHALE] God, I hate all of these… loose ends…! ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s, it’s fine. [INHALE] We’ll just have to tie them all up in one go!

Both the thread imagery and the storytelling aspect are screaming a bit “Web?” (THIS IS HOW WEB!MARTIN CAN STILL W–)

- I’m still a puddle on the floor about the fact that:

(MAG178) MARTIN: … Yeah. I guess. [INHALE, EXPLOSIVE EXHALE] God, I hate all of these… loose ends…! ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s, it’s fine. [INHALE] We’ll just have to tie them all up in one go! ARCHIVIST: Hm? MARTIN: [SIGH] Around Elias’s neck. ARCHIVIST: … Ah.

MartinElias. The MartinElias in season 5 is so delightful *snif*. Strangulation? That’s such an intimate way of killing… It’s what Will described as what his preferred method for killing Hannibal would be… My MartinElias rights…

I love how. Martin. Just brings up Elias so much this season.

(MAG161) MARTIN: Elias won, and there were some tapes he’d kept for himself, and he wanted to gloat. So, he sent them! ARCHIVIST: He’s not… MARTIN: I–I don’t see– ARCHIVIST: … “Elias”. MARTIN: Jonah, then. I don’t know, I find it hard to think of him as… I don’t really like to think of him!

(MAG162) MARTIN: Do you think it’ll do anything? Confronting Elias?

(MAG164) MARTIN: What about Elias?

(MAG170) MARTIN: I mean, the interview was weird, I… I don’t really remember the man who talked to me. Just his eyes. They stared at me; th–through me, and… and, I–I knew that he knew what I’d done. God, I…! I was so scared, but… but then he smiled and shook my hand…! What was his name? [CREAKING] He said I “had the job”…! [CHUCKLE] That he “looked forward to working with me”! … I was still so scared I could barely move my arm…! I was so terrified I’d let him down…!

(MAG174) MARTIN: … Hang on, you’re still down to kill Elias, right? Uh, oh, Jonah, whatever.

(MAG177) BASIRA: … So what’s your plan? MARTIN: Long-term? Elias. He’s up in that that… “Panopticon” tower thing.

(MAG178) MARTIN: God, I hate all of these… loose ends…! ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry. MARTIN: It’s, it’s fine. [INHALE] We’ll just have to tie them all up in one go! ARCHIVIST: Hm? MARTIN: [SIGH] Around Elias’s neck.

* “I don’t really like to think of him!” said Martin Blackwood, before proceeding to mention Elias at every turn. (And still “Elias”! Jon and Martin seem to have completely given up on calling him “Jonah”. He’s still “Elias” for them, even though they know who he truly is.)

* Oh, Martin… He really seems to have decided that “killing Elias/getting revenge on Elias” was their goal, and that it would do anything good. Jon has already proven that killing avatars in domains didn’t free victims, didn’t improve their situations; that the domains just… kept going, even “unsupervised”. Even if Jonah is still around in some shape or form (in his old decaying body, in “Elias Bouchard”’s body, merged with the Panopticon, anything), and even if he is the ruler of the Panopticon (not a given, since Jon said that they were heading towards his own domain: unclear if it was the Archives, the Institute, the Panopticon, or all of them)… killing him would not fix the world. Is Martin absolutely in denial about this? Or does he need a small goal to keep going and process his feelings?

(;; And there is just a huge chance that… Martin is mostly feeling guilty about what happened, about the fact that he had the chance and opportunity to kill Elias but refused to do so, and that it led to Jon getting his last mark with The Lonely (with potential additions of not having checked the package they had received, and having chosen to leave Jon unsupervised while he would read a statement). The episode was about Basira knowing all along what was happening but trying to pretend she didn’t, and how this prevented her from reaching her goal (Daisy); I wonder if Martin will soon have to undergo the same process, to allow him and Jon to reach the Panopticon…)

- About Jon’s need for a stop:

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: Left. [INHALE] Just up ahead. [STATIC FADES] Although, uh… Hum… Actually, you might want to head through that door and… wait. BASIRA: Again? Already? ARCHIVIST: There’s a lot of fear in this place. […] MARTIN: New plan. We wait in the corridor; you go in the spike cupboard and tell your story to all the… hooks and stuff.

Once again, it’s definitely presented as Jon having to unload an excess, and I’m really interested in Martin’s lexicon. In MAG177, he called it a “statement”, and this time, presented it as “tell[ing] [his] story to all the hooks and stuff”: “story” had been how Fanshawe had described Albrecht von Closen pouring out his horrors, and Martin’s formulation took into consideration the need for an audience. Jon did introduce the tape recorder as a necessary audience in MAG163 while he was giving the domain’s statement (and he had mentioned how “pouring out” into them had helped him to understand what the cabin was doing, in MAG162), but really, I’m struck with how similar Jon sounds to how Fanshawe had described Albrecht?

(And what is happening with the tape recorder, what is Jon creating through them…)

- Uh! So it seems like Basira got Enough already, by listening to Jon last time. Not keen to reiterate the experience, uh. (Well: it’s mostly Jon who, first and foremost, took it as a given that Basira wouldn’t be listening either.)

- I’m fond of the fact that:

(MAG178) [DOOR OPENS AND METALLIC JANGLING IS HEARD] MARTIN: [EMPHATICALLY] Nope! BASIRA: … What the hell sort of tools are those? ARCHIVIST: “Flesh” factory, remember?

The tools weren’t described. Some things better left to imagination, nondescript but evoked through characters’ reactions, uh?

- ;w; Is Jon still worried about Martin potentially losing himself in a domain? He really almost lost Martin in the Lonely house, and Martin had wandered away too deep in the Web one:

(MAG170) ARCHIVIST: Oh, Martin! Thank god, I, I was… I–I thought you were behind me. [FABRIC RUSTLES] MARTIN: I thought you’d left me behind…! Gone on without me.

(MAG172) MARTIN: No, I… Not for most of it. I just thought I heard… something. Whatever. I went exploring, all right? I don’t know why; I shouldn’t have. ARCHIVIST: No, you–you shouldn’t have!

(MAG178) MARTIN: New plan. We wait in the corridor; you go in the spike cupboard and tell your story to all the… hooks and stuff. ARCHIVIST: … Fine. Just don’t wander off.

… I really wonder if, at some point, Jon will try to come back to Martin&Basira, and they’ll be just… gone, because of Helen, Annabelle, or the domain’s work. (… It might be how Daisy could appear? While Jon is focusing on a statement and unaware that she reached them first?)

- Martin has his Limits and will be vocal about it:

(MAG178) MARTIN: [EMPHATICALLY] Nope! […] New plan. We wait in the corridor; you go in the spike cupboard and tell your story to all the… hooks and stuff.

… but mostly, I’m snickering so hard, because. It was.

It was.

It was Martin refusing to go into the closet. I’ve been snickering about it for a week, alright.

- … I really wonder what Martin was talking about with Basira:

(MAG178) MARTIN: –I know, I know you find it hard whe– … Done already? ARCHIVIST: Yes. [INHALE] Talking about me? BASIRA: … I assume that’s a rhetorical question. ARCHIVIST: I am trying to keep my powers to myself. BASIRA: Sure! MARTIN: I was just… giving Basira some advice. ARCHIVIST: [GOOD-NATURED] Avatars are from Mars and humans are from Venus, that sort of thing? MARTIN: [TINY CHUCKLE] I mean… yeah? Sort of? ARCHIVIST: [BRIEF CHUCKLE] MARTIN: Well, w–we were pretty much done anyway.

… Jon’s shitty sense of humour… (Was that an allusion to the feared vs. the fearful, as Helen made the distinction? To the Jon/Martin relationship as avatar/human? x’))

Was Martin’s “advice” about how to not take what Jon was saying too badly, how to try to talk with him constructively since she and Jon had grown sour towards each other in season 4? … Or does Martin have a plan in the making, that requires Jon to not know about it? Because this episode and the previous one made a point to remind us…

(MAG177) BASIRA: … What’s it like? Being with someone who can see the inside of your head? MARTIN: Hm? Oh! Oh no, he doesn’t. I told him not to, and so he tries to… look away? BASIRA: And you trust him to do that. MARTIN: [DECISIVE] Yes. I do.

… that Jon doesn’t know what is happening in Martin’s head since Martin asked him not to “know” about him…

(I’m glaaad that Martin and Basira are talking outside of Jon!!)

- I like the contrast between Jon absolutely knowing what he was doing, where he was leading Basira and Martin… and the fact that Basira didn’t know about it.

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: Next one’s through here. BASIRA: Next one? ARCHIVIST: Her latest victim. [DOOR IS WRENCHED OPEN WITH A METALLIC CREAK] MARTIN: [REELS] Oh… [SOUNDS OF FLIES BUZZING]

Not exceptionally great from Jon, but typical from season 5 – it just highlights how much Jon knows how the world operate, what is around them, is indeed almost completely omniscient… and forgets how others aren’t.

- I really, really love how Daisy’s victims have been introduced for these past two episodes:

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: We’re here. [DOOR CREAKS] MARTIN: … Oh! Jesus… [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: Yes. Horrible way to go…! BASIRA: You’re sure this is Daisy’s handiwork? ARCHIVIST: Positive. […] I could tell you. BASIRA: [EXHALE] Don’t bother. I know who he is. MARTIN: What? BASIRA: [SIGH] Noah Thomson. That… nasty piece of work. Crossed him a few times when we weren’t doing sectioned work. Last I heard, he’d dodged a GBH charge Daisy brought him in on. Blinded a guy during a robbery. I guess she didn’t forget. MARTIN: Wait. Wait, so… so, she’s hunting down criminals? People who she… thinks got away with stuff? BASIRA: … Sure. ARCHIVIST: Really? As simple as that? BASIRA: What’s your point? ARCHIVIST: What, you think he ended up in Wonderland House at random? We’re just going to ignore it, and write him off as a “nasty piece of work”? BASIRA: We don’t have time for this. ARCHIVIST: Then we should make time. You want to hear how he ended up blinding that man? Because it wasn’t a robbery. He was running away from Daisy, lashing out in a panic. The court believed it. But you believed her…

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: Recognise her… BASIRA: … No… I don’t think I do. ARCHIVIST: That wasn’t a question. It was an instruction, we can’t… move on until you do. MARTIN: Jon, what are you getting at? ARCHIVIST: This isn’t just a journey through spaces. BASIRA: … Fine, I recognise her. I don’t know her name, though. [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Isabelle Moran. Shoplifter, drug addict. [STATIC FADES] Daisy was certain she was dealing as well, derailed her recovery twice.

Jon asking Basira to “recognise” the victims is such a significant move? It’s about giving them some dignity back: we’re given their names and last names (which… is more than what we’re getting in the domains’ statements; it feels more real); we’re being introduced to who they were through their identity, their history, what was done to them, the wrongs done to them… both as humans actions (the hurt Daisy caused as a police officer, although influenced by The Hunt) and as monstrous actions (Daisy butchered them as a beast). It feels very striking that most of the violence inflicted upon them is… not especially the fact that they’ve been murdered in these domains (Jon implied they should respawn?), but really, about what was done to them before, and how fundamentally Daisy’s behaviour had hurt them.

I really like how Jon is pushing Basira to acknowledge all of this, to process Daisy’s responsibility (and indirectly, hers, as someone who let it happen)? There is something very empathetic, very powerful in the fact that what needs to be done is about seeing the harm, understanding how it happened, before being able to proceed to the next step and take actions?

(- Basira, serial Sayer Of Fuck And Swears:

(MAG143) BASIRA: [SIGH] So, what, this was another waste of time? What, no Church, no Dark Sun? … I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch…!

(MAG148) BASIRA: You sent us to the North fucking Pole for no goddamn reason. ELIAS: A, a–hem… miscalculation.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: [DEEP EXHALATION] … Satisfied? BASIRA: Ff… Fuck.

(MAG178) BASIRA: Don’t give me that patronising, ominous-oracle bullshit, Jon. I’m not an idiot…! […] Of course I fucking care!

Now she’s on equal ground with Jon!)

- Basira broke my heart into tiny pieces this episode, because all her prickly behaviours were bad, as she was put in that uncomfortable situation and trying to flee (while Jon relentlessly pushed her to see)… and it felt so human in its own way?

(MAG155) BASIRA: I’m trying to convince her to go after them. To, er… “Hunt” them. ARCHIVIST: Why? BASIRA: Because I’m not going to lose her. ARCHIVIST: She goes Hunting again, you might anyway. BASIRA: And if she doesn’t, she might die. ARCHIVIST: Something you’re fine with in certain other cases. And something she’s made peace with. BASIRA: Because of the guilt she feels over the stuff The Hunt made her do…! It’s not her fault. ARCHIVIST: Earlier, when she was still out of it, I, uh… I “saw” some of the things she was talking about, some of the things she did, while she was police. I’m not convinced I disagree with her assessment. [PAUSE] Do you want me to tell you? BASIRA: No. No, I don’t. ARCHIVIST: … You knew, didn’t you? You knew the sort of things she did, and you let her. BASIRA: No, not exactly. I thought… [PAUSE] It’s not that simple. ARCHIVIST: It never is. But that doesn’t make it okay.[SILENCE] BASIRA: None of us are who we were, Jon.[SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: No. I suppose not. In many ways, it’s simpler now, isn’t it? At least now, our demons have names. BASIRA: Mm.

(MAG178) BASIRA: Fine. Noted. Can we just move on please? ARCHIVIST: I’m afraid not. BASIRA: Why not? ARCHIVIST: We aren’t finished here. BASIRA: Is that a threat? MARTIN: Guys, come on, don’t do this, not here. ARCHIVIST: I told you before, we can’t hunt a monster you refuse to see. BASIRA: Don’t give me that patronising, ominous-oracle bullshit, Jon. I’m not an idiot…! ARCHIVIST: I never said you were. MARTIN: Guys… BASIRA: [ANGRY] Look, I need you to lead the way. I don’t need your advice, and certainly don’t need you stood there judging me! MARTIN: [LOUDLY] Enough, enough! Someone has died! Show some respect. Or don’t you care? BASIRA: [INCENSED] Of course I fucking care! … [QUIETER] That’s the problem. MARTIN: I… I don’t understand. BASIRA: … I just… I don’t need him laying everything out for me like I’m some kind of idiot. I know, all right? Daisy is the only person I could ever rely on and… [GETTING QUIET AND SHAKY] And she… she did things, terrible things, and I… [SIGH] I refused to see it or… said it was my duty, or whatever. I don’t know. MARTIN: Basira…

Basira’s discomfort had to do with her feeling judged, criticised, leading her to get so defensive, all of which we’d already seen a lot in season 4! It’s a defence mechanism! And we finally could see what she was hiding, the feelings she didn’t want others to see! It was long due, and it was such an amazing pay-off!!!

I feel like it’s the equivalent of Melanie in MAG131, and Daisy in MAG132, when they explained themselves to Jon, gave him the keys to understand what was happening in their heads and why they behaved like they did, and, once again, it was such a precious, sensitive moment?

(MAG178) BASIRA: I care, I just… I don’t need to wallow in it. I need to end it. All of it. MARTIN: … We’re here for you. BASIRA: No. She was there for me. ARCHIVIST: … “Cops versus robbers and monsters”… BASIRA: I thought we were doing good. I really did…! I knew there was some bad shit, I knew Daisy was into a lot of it, but… I thought it balanced out. [WEAKLY] … I thought we were good. ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] I know how that feels. BASIRA: … I wanted to help people, you know? When I first joined. Protect people. But then I saw what some of those same people were capable of, and… something changed. I wanted to hurt them, the ones that deserved it, and it… it felt good, it felt… righteous. I thought I could feel the line, though, I really did. Eventually, though, it was… too much. [PAUSE] I was going to quit. I couldn’t… take what I saw myself becoming, but… then I got sectioned, and suddenly… suddenly it turned out there were real monsters out there, and… Well, that just made the power feel better. So things kept slipping. But… Daisy was always there for me. MARTIN: All those innocent people… BASIRA: Were they? Innocent? ARCHIVIST: Some. And if not? [INHALE] What crime warrants what was done to them? Theft? Violence? Disrespect?

* Honestly, the raw vulnerability, melancholia and sadness? It was my favourite performance from Frank ever.

* I really love how it tied in with what Basira had already said about her relationship to police, that she had never really felt extremely attached to the profession (MAG117: “I don’t want to be here. But by the end, I didn’t want to be police either, so… guess I don’t really know what I do want, which… maybe that’s just as well. My options… they’ve gotten a lot narrower over the last year.”). It’s just such a sad story because, in her case, she hadn’t gone there for the power (unlike Daisy); as she explained, she had good intentions… and the structure in place tends to sour and corrupt, encourages its agents to abuse their power, won’t make them become better persons (will only make them worse), and turns out to be a threat for the vulnerable instead of protecting them. It’s even sadder that Basira thought about quitting shortly before she got sectioned because, with the timeline in mind:

(MAG043) BASIRA: Okay, well, the first time I got hit with a Section 31 was five years ago, August 2011. I’d got my badge the year before that, and was still getting used to some of the more stressful bits of the job.

It happened barely a year after she joined the police. And she was already aware that she was becoming someone she didn’t like, that she was doing terrible things, and was considering quitting because of it…

* The “I wanted to hurt them, the ones that deserved it” reminded me a bit of Melanie explaining her anger in MAG131, and I’m sad in retrospect about how… Basira and Melanie could have understood each other much better in season 4 if the circumstances had been different…

* I also like how the existence of the supernatural goes hand in hand with Daisy’s side of things: the monsters and the avatars were a pretext for Hunters to unleash their violence. It was never about protecting the population from dangerous people; it was about having easily digestible targets, which allowed them to feel good about being violent (since, after all, they were only eradicating threats, right?). As both Basira and Jon pointed out:

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: … “Cops versus robbers and monsters”… BASIRA: I thought we were doing good. I really did…! I knew there was some bad shit, I knew Daisy was into a lot of it, but… I thought it balanced out. [WEAKLY] … I thought we were good.

It wasn’t a clear-cut situation – there were monsters out there. But we’ve also seen how so many of these monsters had initially been preyed upon by the entities, had initially been trying to survive, and how the line about their “badness”… wasn’t as easy to establish as characters would have liked. (And, in Daisy’s case: indeed, it wasn’t worth it anyway to… push struggling people deeper into misery, just because she had power over them, and Daisy, in season 4, was the first to remind people of it.)

* T__T I really love the… complexity of Basira’s situation? How would you react if the person there for you, representing a fixed point (your anchor?), turned out to be doing wrong things? In theory, it feels easy to answer that the good behaviour would be to turn your back on them, or to try to make them improve; and in practice, in Basira’s case, it meant allowing her whole system to collapse, and having to rebuild from there. I’m really fond of how she explained that she wasn’t stupid, that she was still aware of what was happening: that she still chose the pack mentality over a rejection of that system, but that she was already disillusioned with it. Basira had often felt a bit… emptier than the other characters; we only knew of a life-lesson given by her father, and the rest of her life seems to have been tied to the police force for the past few years, before she joined the Institute. It has really felt like Daisy was what brought her stability and peace. And yet: Daisy did awful things, Basira enabled her by trying to think it was for the greater good (MAG091: “But I… I always thought you just killed monsters.”), and Basira wasn’t even able to make the most of her return in season 4, when Daisy wanted to improve, since Basira was stuck on the idea that they needed a strong defence against threats… (And I wonder how much of Basira’s initial rejection of Daisy in season 4 had to do with the fact that… allowing herself to understand and hear the “new Daisy” would mean having to acknowledge that the old one had been bad and wrong; that Basira had allowed her to be monstrous, and that they both shared responsibility in those crimes.)

- Really loved Martin’s attempt, too:

(MAG178) MARTIN: … We’re here for you. BASIRA: No. She was there for me.

Because it said so much, that Martin used a present tense while Basira answered in the past (as if, after Daisy, there couldn’t be anyone else). It also put back in my mind how Basira had tried to be a bit softer on Martin at first, after his mother died (MAG127: “But I didn’t want to push it. He was in a… bad place, what with the attack and his mum and everything, so I didn’t press it.”) but didn’t provide comfort either; and how, even earlier, Basira and Martin had tried to be there for Melanie when they learned what Elias had done to her (MAG110). There’s still a lot of ice, but I’m glad that Martin offered, and that Basira didn’t attack him on it either – she’s mourning (that past tense in “she WAS there for me”…), but not… absolutely rejecting him either.

- In the moments of small understandings, Jon’s was also noteworthy:

(MAG178) BASIRA: I thought we were doing good. I really did…! I knew there was some bad shit, I knew Daisy was into a lot of it, but… I thought it balanced out. [WEAKLY] … I thought we were good. ARCHIVIST: [SOFTLY] I know how that feels.

Since he also had to face the reality that the Archives team hadn’t really been doing “good” either, although he had tried to cling to the idea:

(MAG150) MELANIE: Because this place is evil, Jon! And so… doing this job… ARCHIVE: [LOUD EXHALE] MELANIE: Helping it out… even in small ways, i–is in some way… evil too! Every time we try to use it to do good, it just seems to make everything worse, and… and I will not be a part of that anymore. ARCHIVIST: What about The Unknowing? We, we saved the world! MELANIE: Did we? I… I mean, I–I think it was the right thing to do, but how many people were killed to do it? We, we weren’t even a neutral party; we did it as agents of The Eye, because Elias told us to. ARCHIVIST: An–and then you put him in jail! MELANIE: Martin put him there. And, and–and he’s still doing harm.

(With the additional fact that Jon had indeed saved Melanie and Daisy, but had attacked five people during the season; that The Unknowing would have failed anyway; and that ultimately, a lot of Jon’s “good” actions had also marked him as a preparation to Jonah’s ritual.)

Re: Jon’s situation, it’s the same thing with Basira’s declaration about caring:

(MAG178) MARTIN: [LOUDLY] Enough, enough! Someone has died! Show some respect. Or don’t you care? BASIRA: [INCENSED] Of course I fucking care! … [QUIETER] That’s the problem. MARTIN: I… I don’t understand.

(MAG152) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] … When does it stop? HELEN: What? ARCHIVIST: The guilt… The misery… All the others I’ve met, they’ve been… cold. Cruel. They’ve enjoyed what they do. When does The Eye… make me monstrous?

It had been Jon’s “problem”, too: how he was conscious and aware of the suffering he caused, and how he had to live with it, wasn’t okay with it. I really like how it feels like, finally, after season 4, Basira is able to participate in a conversation where they’re opening up, talking in good faith, trying to understand each other and… not hurt each other anymore? How they can relate, or just listen?

- I’m back to sobbing about Jon and Daisy’s relationship in season 4 because:

(MAG178) BASIRA: [SHAKY] … You knew her. She was trying to be better…! ARCHIVIST: She was. But she never asked me to forgive her. BASIRA: Forgive her? ARCHIVIST: … I’ve been scared, terrified for my life so many times these last few years, but I’ve never, not once, felt so horribly, abjectly powerless as when she… took me into that forest to kill me. I’ll never forget it. MARTIN: … You never said. ARCHIVIST: It’s not easy to talk about. MARTIN: Oh, Jon… BASIRA: … And would you have? Forgiven her? ARCHIVIST: No… But she never asked me. She knew she had no right. [SILENCE]

… It’s still “aouch”, but not surprising: Daisy had been terrifying in MAG091, absolutely hammering in that Jon’s life was in her hands, that she had decided who and what he was and what he deserved. It had been a very hard scene, cruel and violent, a demonstration of what Daisy could do (and had done)… and I really don’t feel like it negates the moments she and Jon shared in season 4, it mostly just casts another dimension on it? How Jon was a bit tense and awkward around her, and slowly mellowed down:

(MAG133) DAISY: You sure? ARCHIVIST: No, uh, it’s, hum. It’s fine. DAISY: It’s just… Basira’s busy. ARCHIVIST: I–I understand. Ho–honestly, er, I’d actually appreciate your insights, er, for this one, just… You know, keep quiet during the statement and that. DAISY: Sure. I, I can do quiet. ARCHIVIST: Right. Er, oh, do you want a chair? DAISY: No. ARCHIVIST: Oh. Okay.

(MAG136) MELANIE: W–well, I’ve kind of got to… uhm. I’ve got somewhere to be. Do you mind if, if… she hangs around, with… ARCHIVIST: Er… I suppose… Not at all. She’s very welcome. […] Are you alright? DAISY: Asked me that already. ARCHIVIST: Right. Sorry. DAISY: I didn’t ask her. To do that. ARCHIVIST: I–it–it’s fine. […] DAISY: Get over yourself! You’re always talking about choices – we all made ours. Now I’m making the choice… to get some drinks in. Coming? ARCHIVIST: I d–… I… [SIGH] … yeah? Okay. DAISY: Melanie’s out, but I’ll go get Basira. ARCHIVIST: Is she… W–will she want to join us? DAISY: If she doesn’t, I’ll rip her throat out. ARCHIVIST: Uh… DAISY: It’s a joke, Jon. ARCHIVIST: … oh. Hahah…! Yes… Uh, I–I’ll get my coat.

(MAG139) ARCHIVIST: The others are doing… better, I think. Basira’s busy doing research for something secretive, unsurprisingly. But she seems to be adjusting to, uh… the new Daisy. I actually like Daisy now, which is a… really weird feeling.

(MAG153) ARCHIVIST: Are you alright? DAISY: [BREATHLESS] Don’t touch me. ARCHIVIST: Christ, he was right, I, I didn’t… When did you get so thin? DAISY: I’m not, it’s fine. ARCHIVIST: … It’s The Hunt, isn’t it? Without it– DAISY: I’m fine. Just haven’t been hungry. I’m strong enough. ARCHIVIST: Clearly. […] Even so, if it’s having this much of an effect on you– DAISY: I’m not going back. I can’t let it in again. ARCHIVIST: But it– … What if it kills you? DAISY: [CHORTLE] Always said I was dedicated to justice…! ARCHIVIST: Daisy! It’s not… You can’t think like that. DAISY: Jon. Do you have any idea how much damage you can do if you’re a police officer who wants to hurt people? How much the system will protect you? ARCHIVIST: [SHARP INHALE] DAISY: I managed to keep most of it from Basira, but… ARCHIVIST: That wasn’t you, that was The Hunt! DAISY: … [SIGH] We were the same. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: … You’d never known anything different. [SILENCE] DAISY: Because I never wanted to. All that time trapped was good for one thing: thinking. And I did a lot of it. I’ve made my choice.

I feel like… there is a form of deep respect from Jon, when he explained how Daisy didn’t ask for forgiveness – because it proved, in a way, that Daisy was very aware that the harm she had done was too huge to be forgiven, and that she couldn’t ask that from him (and that it might be a reason why Jon accepted to get closer with her in the first place: because she wasn’t lying when she said that she now understood how terrible she had been). We’ve seen, however, how Daisy was quick to apologise:

(MAG132) DAISY: [CRIES OF PAIN] I’m, I’m sorry… I’m sorry Jon… I’m sorry…

(MAG142) MARTIN: I know. [PAUSE] Not nice being interrogated, is it? DAISY: I… [EXHALE] Oh. MARTIN: Yeah. [SILENCE] DAISY: [INHALE] I’m sorry, Martin. MARTIN: It’s alright. Wasn’t you. [INHALE] Not really. DAISY: No, it was. I hate… a lot of what I did back then; doesn’t mean I’m not… responsible for it, doesn’t mean it… wasn’t me.

But indeed: never asked to be forgiven. And it might strike a very personal chord for Jon, since… he knows, first-hand, how it is to not be forgiven:

(MAG119) TIM: Jon, I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can… ARCHIVIST: [FAINTLY AND FAR] Tim…? TIM: I don’t forgive you. But thank you for this.

(If I remember correctly, the only time Jon had asked to be forgiven had been to the assistants through the tape recorder, when threatened by the Not!Them and panicking. But, same as Daisy: afterwards, he said “sorry”, and didn’t ask for it.)

- There is another thing, not mentioned but hard to forget if we’re talking about Daisy’s victims, including Jon: what about Jon’s? What about the statement-givers who were plagued by the nightmares, and specifically the ones he attacked knowing the harm that he would do to them? We’re exploring the harm Daisy caused to her victims, I wonder if we’re heading towards what Jon did to these people, too… (Are they waiting at the Panopstitute or the Archives, since it’s “Jon’s domain”? He used to terrorise them through the nightmare zoo, and had claimed them for Beholding: but in this new world, he doesn’t sleep anymore. It would feel logical that… they’re still trapped and victimised by The Eye as of now.)

- Early season, Jon had really felt like Virgil leading Dante (Martin) through the circles of Hell, and there is a bit of that with Basira too! Except that it’s not a didactic exploration of divine retribution/punishment, but… precisely, it is about how the “punishments” were the problems, how nobody was inherently unsalvable (or even, how everyone was plain pushed towards misery because of a biased repressive system)? There is still that idea of guiding Basira, both physically and mentally, through a terrible and hard journey, to make her able to see the reality of the world and reach her goal… (and that makes Daisy “Beatrice”. Who is… already dead TT__TT)

- From MAG163 to MAG177 (excluding MAG167, which was Jon&Martin taking a break and Jon giving the statements about the Archives during Gertrude’s tenure), we crossed through all the Fears present in Jonah’s invocation, minus Beholding itself and plus Extinction. MAG178’s was explicitly labelled as The Flesh; although it was another aspect from Jared’s garden, it’s still a “repeat”. I would infer that, either Jon&Martin’s journey has been set aside and put on hold right now (since they’re focusing on finding Daisy), and they now will be able to reach the Panopticon as soon as they’re done with this current quest… either no, going through one domain of each Fear wasn’t the point of Jon&Martin’s journey to reach the Panopticon, and it is something else. Since they left the cabin, Jon had mentioned multiple times that their journey wasn’t a purely physical one, that there was a meaning underneath it:

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: Geography doesn’t work anymore. Space… doesn’t work. MARTIN: … All right. So what does that mean? ARCHIVIST: It means the journey will be the journey, regardless of how we choose to make it. […] You see that tower, way off in the distance? MARTIN: Yeah. [PAUSE] [SIGH] It’s watching us, isn’t it? [SIGH] ARCHIVIST: The Panopticon and the Institute. Merged into something entirely new. MARTIN: Wha–, what? No, th–there’s, there’s no way we could see it from here. We, we must still be a hundred miles from the border, never mind London! ARCHIVIST: You could see that tower from anywhere on Earth. And it can see you. And if you walk towards it, eventually you’ll get there. But you have to go through everything in-between.

(MAG164) MARTIN: How much further do we still need to go? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: A long way. Through many dark and awful places… […] MARTIN: Are we safe, traveling like this? ARCHIVIST: Yes… Yes, sort of, we’re… I don’t know how to phrase it, we’re… something between a pilgrim and a moth. We can walk through these little worlds of terror, watching them; separate, and untouched.

(MAG165) MARTIN: But. You said we needed to go through these places. … Is that even going to work here? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] We need to go through them… metaphorically. MARTIN: Mm… ! ARCHIVIST: Psychologically, we need to… “experience” them.

(MAG177) ARCHIVIST: She was here, but the corridors of this place are… Rushing isn’t going to close the distance faster, it’s more about how we choose to move through these domains rather than our speed. BASIRA: What does that mean? MARTIN: I’ve been with him the whole way and I still don’t know. ARCHIVIST: It means we’ll reach her quicker if you stop tearing off, and let me concentrate on finding a proper path through this place. […] BASIRA: [ANGRY] I told you not to look in my head! ARCHIVIST: I didn’t. And I won’t. But you can’t hunt a monster that you refuse to see.

(MAG178) ARCHIVIST: That wasn’t a question. It was an instruction, we can’t… move on until you do. MARTIN: Jon, what are you getting at? ARCHIVIST: This isn’t just a journey through spaces. […] We aren’t finished here. […] I told you before, we can’t hunt a monster you refuse to see.

What is Jon’s and/or Martin’s journey? Basira has to learn to see/acknowledge the monster in order to hunt it; what is the mental process that Jon and/or Martin have to go through in order to be able to reach the Panopticon again? Is it about guilt, about their active responsibility (vs. what wasn’t their fault)? Is it about the line between victims and culprits not being that simple to establish, and them being unequipped to judge? Is it about their own fears?

- It felt like Basira made a lot of progress in this episode. She finally opened up and admitted how turning a blind eye had made her complicit. She implied that she had indeed tried to flee the responsibility of having to kill Daisy:

(MAG178) BASIRA: [QUIET] … I really am going to have to kill her, aren’t I? ARCHIVIST: There’s no way to bring her back. Not any more. At this point, if I tried to take away her fear… it would destroy her anyway. BASIRA: Am I even going to be able to? ARCHIVIST: Yes. BASIRA: And she stays dead? ARCHIVIST: In this case… yes. MARTIN: What about the powers? ARCHIVIST: Dream logic remember? She won’t come back. Trust me. BASIRA: … Does she want me to kill her? ARCHIVIST: She asked you to, didn’t she? BASIRA: No, I mean, right now. Is she suffering? ARCHIVIST: … No. Right now, she’s… She’s happy. MARTIN: [DEJECTED SIGH]

* Before this episode, Basira would probably have been unable to do it. Jon’s certainty contrasts with what he used to say about it:

(MAG164) MARTIN: What’s Basira going to do? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: She… thinks she’s going to kill Daisy. Like she promised. [STATIC DECREASES] But she’s conflicted. MARTIN: And will she? ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know, th–the future, th–that’s… that’s not something I can see.

So it feels like he, too, thinks that she’s now ready.

* I was wondering about whether or not Jon would be able to do anything to save Daisy with his powers: I was mostly waiting for him to explain whether he could or couldn’t help, I’m fine with this explanation (which makes sense in context). It also strikes me that… he had probably been mourning her for a while during that journey:

(MAG164) MARTIN: And Daisy? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: Bestial. Brutal. [STATIC DECREASES] [INHALE] Carving her way through the domains of other Powers, following the scent of blood. … Oh, Daisy, I’m sorry…

(MAG175) ARCHIVIST: Basira and Daisy. We’re close. MARTIN: Wait, what? Wait, really? B– Th–that’s brilliant! What are we waiting for, let’s go! ARCHIVIST: Uh, y–yeah, i–it’s… It’s not… it’s not going to be easy, things aren’t… good.

The fact that, despite Daisy’s murder attempt and the fact that it deeply traumatised Jon, they were able to form that friendship, feels so fragile and precious at the same time? Jon didn’t want to lose her. He’s not allowing her or letting her die because it feels like a fair punishment or the only way to deal with Daisy; it really feels like… it’s to honour Daisy’s last wish, as a person who wanted to be better and who got caught up by The Hunt.

* I’m a bit more curious about Jon explaining that Daisy would stay dead because of “dream-logic”: is it because of Jon’s own feelings influencing the world (if he feels like she’s dead for real, then she is)? Is it because, as long as Basira goes through that inner journey, killing someone in these circumstances can grant a “permanent” death unlike the domains? Is it because of their connection to The Eye…?

* é_è Basira’s last questions about what Daisy currently wanted broke my heart… and Jon’s answers did, too. It really feels like “Daisy” truly died in MAG158, uh? That what matters is what Daisy wanted while she was still herself, even though the beast she turned into is “happy” in this state. (And it requires a bit of faith: who is the real Daisy, which wish should be respected? The beast happy to hunt or kill? Or the assistant who was sorry about the harm she caused, withering while trying to “listen to the quiet”?

* Martin’s dejected sigh said a lot… Until now, he was mostly optimistic about the possibility of finding their “friends” back, of helping them. I don’t think he had envisioned that… no, Jon couldn’t save Daisy, could only “help” her by helping Basira to respect her last wish. (Martin was mostly withdrawn from that last conversation, and… yeah, it might have been a lot to internalise for him, too. Jon seems to have borne that knowledge for a while; it might even have contributed to his perception that he couldn’t improve the general situation whatsoever? While Martin, who was lacking the keys, had kept hoping that they could… do something good. Killing avatars, saving the children, helping their friends, maybe getting Daisy back. I wonder if the current circumstances are making him more susceptible to reach for Annabelle or answer her call a next time, since she had offered her “help” and Martin has been realising, lately, how powerless they are…)

- This episode was a Lot of processing and of sadness, and that last note…

(MAG178) BASIRA: Killing her won’t undo any of it. But… that’s not the point. ARCHIVIST: No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most! … Even me.

* Killing Daisy will be hard, and indeed. It won’t even change the harm she caused, won’t change the apocalypse. It won’t even be a matter of “retribution” or “justice”; but I’m glad that Basira is aware of that already, and that “the point” lies elsewhere. In this context, it’s really about respecting Daisy’s choice and what she wanted, to allow her to escape The Hunt one last time – even if it means killing her, and to prevent what she became to cause more harm. It’s about Daisy. (Which requires, to reach her, to go through what she had done: the person she had wronged and whose story had been hidden until now.)

* … I really loved Jon’s sad insight about this world. It is an unfair world, an unfair system, quite often echoing what the old world was: Daisy’s victims were, after all, already crushed and pressured by an unfair society, already pursued by their own fears (MAG177: “it’s the worry that everything is, is awful, and it’s actually… your fault. That, that you made it up […]. What, you think he ended up in Wonderland House at random? We’re just going to ignore it, and write him off as a ‘nasty piece of work’?”; and it’s meaningful, in the same way, that in this episode, Isabelle Moran was found in this factory, where people are pressured and pushed around and ultimately labelled as “useless”).

* I still really wonder what all this means about Jonah. He was initially afraid to die, or to be subjected to a different apocalypse, so is he also a victim of “whatever hurts him the most” in this new world…? (I still really wonder how Jon will behave in front of Elias. We’ve seen, again and again, how labelling someone/something as a “monster” doesn’t cover the whole reality of it: the “criminals” were mostly dragged down by society, the cruel “avatars” had often been preyed upon when they were vulnerable… I can still dig Jonah as TheWorstTM, the selfish asshole who doomed the world for his own benefit; but I also feel like it would be very in synch with this season to… mostly have Jon spitting to his face about how pitiful and afraid he had been, and how fear had motivated his actions way more than he thought?)

* What is “what hurts Basira the most”, then? Is it to have to kill Daisy? To see and acknowledge their past actions? I wonder what will happen to her next: will she be pulled back in into a domain? Will she be spared because of Jon’s presence, or because of her connection to The Eye because she’s still an assistant? (I’m thinking again about the possibility of Jon’s victims being in the Panopticon right now: the assistants were protected from the nightmares once they had signed the contract… but Martin, Basira, Melanie and Georgie had all given their statements to Jon. Would they happen to all be journeying towards his domains in a way, because they belong there because of the statements they gave…?)

* Big question being, of course… what is “what hurts Jon the most”. Is it the guilt of having launched the apocalypse and having to benefit from it despite his disgust (he’s not hungry anymore, he’s aware that it does feel good in a way that he hates)? Is it to have to be a passive voyeur in this new world? Is it to lose his friends, first with Daisy? Is it The Web dancing around Martin? Is it something he knows about their journey or about the Panopticon, and doesn’t want to tell Martin yet…?

- You could really see Basira’s progression through the episode, as she dealt with how Jon was leading the way:

(MAG178) BASIRA: … You’re sure she came through here? ARCHIVIST: Have I steered you wrong so far? BASIRA: I don’t know, do I? We haven’t actually found her yet. ARCHIVIST: We’re getting closer. BASIRA: Great. […] ARCHIVIST: Great. Well, in that case, shall we move on? BASIRA: After you. ARCHIVIST: … Right. […] BASIRA: … Can we move on, now? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Yes. I believe we can. This way.

From being distrustful of Jon to… being way more humble about it, and accepting that he knows what he’s doing and that it’s in her interest, too. From being suspicious and defensive, to cautious and strategic, to confiding and relying on him.

- Overall, I’m “!!” because this episode… managed to sell me on Daisy’s death, while I was really dubious about it?

I was pre-emptively a bit disappointed about the possibility of Daisy coming back as a Hunt beast just to get killed, because I felt that it was a bit pointless to make it drag for so long, while she… could have died on her terms in MAG158 instead. But here, where to reach Daisy, in order to fulfil her promise, Basira has to see, process and acknowledge the harm Daisy had caused and that she had herself enabled? It works for me! It finally unlocks Basira’s own development, that I was hoping for; it’s sad as hell; and it’s not portrayed as Daisy’s punishment or retribution. It’s about both acknowledging the harm and damage Daisy had caused (as the process to be able to catch up to her), and about respecting Daisy as an individual who was capable of growth, exercised it, was aware of the wrong she had done and firmly owned up to it, and didn’t want to return to that life – but was forced to by a power too big and crushing, and circumstances playing against her. It’s not done as an act of hate or revenge, or because Daisy’s crimes are too heavy for her to be allowed to live. It’s not a death sentence. It’s both about acknowledging Daisy’s crimes and how she had wrecked people’s lives, how she had been allowed and enabled to unleash her violence and unfairness, how Basira had willingly decided to ignore most of Daisy’s actions, and it’s because Daisy didn’t want to be a “sadistic predator” again, and asked Basira to stop her, respecting the fact that Daisy had improved as a person (to the point that she knew she couldn’t ask for “forgiveness”). So, I’m relieved about how things are heading: it’s sad as fuck, I’m going to be miserable, but so far, things sound incredibly satisfying, narratively?

(We know that The Eye might influence Jon to only see the worse or more painful side of things, so I’m not entirely ruling out that there could be a surprise, Martin doing something, or Annabelle, or Georgie&Melanie appearing with a solution? But I doubt it: I’m satisfied with the explanations given, how we’re prepared to say goodbye to Daisy, how respectful it is both of her victims and of her awareness of the harm she had caused, leading to her decision to be better… So, really, I’m fine. Crying in advance but FINE.)

MAG179’s title screams “Basira!” (but could technically apply to Annabelle or Helen, or Jon himself…). I’m not sure Daisy is getting killed this episode, but we might get a whiff of her? Or a cliff-hanger about her towards the end?

Domain-wise, mm… Could be a pause like MAG167, could be Hunt or Slaughter, Corruption? (It does feel like an anti-Lonely title, mostly!)

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #tma season 5 #mag178 #tma liveblog #long post/#tma spoilers/#the magnus archives

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multiphandomunnies · 5 years

Text

Mayday||Yoohyeon pt2.

Admin: Heather

Warnings: Spiders are mentioned. Very briefly but still ^^

Words: 4737

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“I see you didn’t change your mind.”

You didn’t even flinch, anticipating Handong to appear the second you stepped inside this building.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

The instructions were simple yet unusual. You have been requested to come to the mansion in real life and wait for everything to start. What was that everything? You had no idea.

Handong was looking at you from the mirror. Her demeanor was more serious today, not even a ghost of smile on her face. It mirrored the nervousness bubbling in your stomach. Entering the Dreamworld was not a stroll in a park. Nobody could predict the outcome.

Maybe that was the reason your heart kept pounding and you were getting goosebumps. Or maybe it was just Handong. What would happen to her if you failed? What would happen to all of them? Could you bear the responsibility for their fate? That is, if you lived to tell the tale.

“Go upstairs, Y/N.” Handong requested softly. “It’s almost time.”

You nodded and moved towards the stairs, getting more anxious with every step. What was waiting for you in Dreamworld? Yoohyeon? There was no guarantee that she was even there. She could have been wiped from existence forever or pushed into the deepest corner of reality.

The room designated for the ritual was spacious and almost hollow looking. Passed decades left their mark on the interior design, especially compared to how it looked in your dreams. It certainly didn’t have the unsettling emptiness, although the constant feeling of some presence also didn’t feel that amazing.

“Are you ready?” Handong asked gently from another mirror. You turned around to look at her with a slight shrug that was supposed to look convincing but probably made you appear pathetic. She frowned and crossed her arms.

“I really wish you weren’t a part of this.”

“Wow, thanks.”

She scoffed and cracked a humorless smile. Her whole expression was filled with exasperation and exhaustion. Anybody would be able to tell that she didn’t want to be here as well. But unlike you, she had no choice. To be fair, Handong wouldn’t get into this mess voluntarily. She was way too smart for that. You however were ready to jump into the Dreamworld no matter the consequences.

“Let’s just hope for the best.”

Not exactly the most optimistic statement, but still sufficient. You had no idea what was waiting for you on the other side. Nobody did.

Handong kept staring at you intensely probably waiting for some kind of comment, but there wasn’t much to say. Everything might have been a trap since the beginning. Could you trust these girls? Any of them might have been waiting for your mistake and drag you into the pits of hell. Or even worse.

“I’m glad we’re not on the same side of the mirror.” Handong suddenly spoke up and you looked at her in question. “Because I would have dragged you as far away from here as possible.”

She looked down as if to not see your reaction. Or maybe she was ashamed of her words. They weren’t very fitting for the nightmare aesthetic of their group. But if you thought about it, Handong always had this certain warmth to her. Of course there was still an aura of otherworldliness that served as a constant reminder you were dealing with a force you couldn’t fully comprehend. However in moments like that, you could see the side that has been buried under loads of secrets, fear and the inherent mystery.

“You’re staring.”

“It’s hard not to.”

A quiet chuckle was another crack in the intangible persona. It seemed as if it was on the brink of shattering and at this point you weren’t afraid of seeing what was waiting on the other side. Handong seemed so close and maybe if you tried hard enough you would actually be able to move past the mental barrier and get to her.

“Don’t.” her whisper made you snap out of the trance. You quickly moved back your hand that you unknowingly extended, almost brushing the glass with your fingertips. “I wish you could stay this way. It gives me the slightest chance to occasionally also feel like that.”

“Feel how?”

“Human.”

Before you got a chance to answer a sound of bell ringing interrupted the serene silence. You glanced to the side and saw that the clock froze just minutes before midnight. The lights flickered as a slight gust of wind passed through the room. If you saw that in a movie, you would roll your eyes at the predictability. Experiencing it first-hand made you reconsider making fun of horror film characters who went right into danger.

Handong broke the eye contact and turned a little. A shiver ran down your spine when one of the girls passed behind her in the mirror. You recognized Gahyeon who paid no attention to you and continued walking.

“Showtime.” Handong said with a sigh. “Be careful.”

The second she left, you felt all the courage starting to evaporate. Were you actually going to enter some unstable dimension with a mysterious Nightmare Weaver on the prowl? You turned around, only to catch a glimpse of Dami staring at you from the mirror on the other side of the room. She didn’t appear ashamed to be caught, nor did she look away. Almost like she wanted you to notice her in the first place, which surprisingly didn’t seem as creepy as it should. Her behavior didn’t make your skin crawl despite the constant lurking in the shadows and laconic manner of speaking. It didn’t seem as if she was stalking you. Observing, maybe. Definitely judging though.

Maybe she was trying to find any signs of hesitation in your face. Or the slightest inclination that you could possibly betray them and destroy everything they had been working on. Whatever it was, Dami seemed to be satisfied with what she noticed as she continued walking, disappearing from the mirror

A high pitched sound of bell rang through the air, followed with a brief flicker of the lights. In normal circumstances you could have blamed it on a faulty light bulb but the whole spectacle around you just screamed paranormal. Bordering on the typical horror movie aesthetic but it was a completely different experience when you weren’t just looking at it on a screen.

“Stand still and close your eyes.”

You flinched and look around at every mirror in the room. The voice belonged to Jiu, there was no doubt but she was nowhere to be seen, probably standing out of the view on purpose. You weren’t sure what it was but this girl always had a purpose and strong mastermind tendencies.

Deciding not to go against her, you closed your eyes feeling your breath hitch at the sudden gust of wind. Anything or anything could have been in this room with you and take advantage of your defenseless state. Maybe one of them was already waiting to pounce on you and claim your soul.

“Don’t open them.” Jiu’s warning came just in time as the nerves were getting the best of you. “No matter what happens, don’t open your eyes until I tell you to.”

Wow, she sure was a control freak. You quickly abandoned that thought though, just In case Jiu turned out to be a mind reader of some sorts. That wouldn’t be a big surprise at this point.

Another ring of the bell could be heard and the wind intensified. To your surprise it was neither cold or warm, completely devoid of any sensations other than the motion. You could feel it move your shirt and graze your cheeks but none of the brief touches lingered. As if it wasn’t tangible, just there.

The sound of the bell was replaced by a steady ringing that could be almost considered a hum, a bit similar to white noise that successfully made even the slightest background noises fade into oblivion. It struck you that every single one of your senses was getting dulled, leaving you with a strange feeling of disconnection from your surroundings. Even the wind stopped blowing some time ago.

You thought that maybe that was the reason Jiu didn’t want you to open your eyes too soon. Because there was literally nothing around you and it would be way too easy to get overpowered by that. The Dreamworld might have sucked your whole self into its depths and nobody would ever realize.

There was no way to tell how much time have passed before the silence was suddenly broken by a calm voice. Surprisingly you weren’t even startled by the unexpected interruption. The words sounded like they came from a distance even though you knew Jiu was just a couple steps away from you.

“Open your eyes.” She requested and you followed immediately, expecting to be blinded due to having your eyes shut for quite some time. To your surprise there was no sensory overload almost as if your insensitivity remained. You could barely even feel that your feet were on the ground. Everything seemed completely surreal but also made sense in a way that made you question your judgement.

“I know it’s a lot but we’re kind of on a deadline here.” Siyeon quipped from the side, earning a scoff from Handong.

“Let them process.” She hissed.

You looked at Siyeon first, finding her without the signature smirk or the dangerous glint in her eyes. She was deadly serious and probably growing impatient as well. The red suit only highlighted the determination displayed on her features. Another interesting thing was her positioning. Siyeon was standing with her arms by the sides of her body, not facing you and looking straight ahead.

It didn’t take you long to realize all of the girls were scattered around the room in a pattern that seemed random but was probably anything other than that. Their ritual probably required this type of odd setting, with each participant turned in a different direction. You were marveled by their ability to stay still without fidgeting.

Dami also didn’t make eye contact with you or even acknowledged your presence in any way, so you shifted your gaze to the side and gasped when you noticed

“Yoohyeon.”

She was sitting on a chair with her eyes closed and no expression on her face, looking exactly like when you last saw her. Although this time she was accompanied by Jiu standing closely behind her and slightly to the side so that Yoohyeon’s body wasn’t positioned right in front of her.

“Search for her.” Jiu didn’t explain anything to you. She was sporting the same dull expression like the rest of the group. “Just go and see what you can find.”

You didn’t comment that finding someone who was right in front of you seemed like a stupid command. There was probably some kind of powerful magic involved and your mortal head was in no way prepared to comprehend it.

“I can go wherever?” you asked to make sure there were no rules that could bring doom on all of you when broken.

“Let the Dreamworld unfold in front of you.”

“But don’t lose focus.” Handong had to quip in with a last warning. You hated that you couldn’t look into her eyes in search for some courage and comfort. It was time to focus on the task at hand.

Realizing that you were wasting time, you decided to leave the room through a door behind you. You couldn’t resist the urge to turn around one last time and the sight of Yoohyeon’s still figure gave you the last push you needed. She needed someone to save her. And you were ready to be that person.

Exploring the mansion in your new oneiric state turned out to be a completely different experience. You could feel the omnipresent energy vibrating in the air but it couldn’t touch you. Not quite. As if you were floating through a complex system of energy that softly opened in front of you, lightly touching you but never staying too long. You wondered what would happen if you allowed it to linger.

You pushed the thought away with some effort. Magnetic pull of your surroundings couldn’t distract you from the mission. Siyeon was right. You had to stay perfectly focused on your goal if this was supposed to work out.

In order to not drift away, you attempted to ground yourself in the moment by channelling all attention onto one of the objects in the room. It should have soothed your racing mind at least for a little while. So you approached an antique looking camera lying on the table. This type of equipment belonged in a house of someone roughly the age of your grandparents and had no actual purpose in this day and age. How long have these girls been trapped in their prison?

Something within urged you to turn the camera on. You felt as if you knew exactly how to operate it despite never touching this kind of thing in your life. The moment your fingers made contact with the smooth surface, the world swirled like it did when the ritual first started. You closed your eyes instinctively but this time the sensation was significantly weaker. When you looked at the table, the camera was gone but on the other side of the room stood

”Sua?” The girl tore her gaze away from a stack of papers to glance at you and nodded as if your presence here was the most normal thing on the planet. ”Where is the camera?”

Sua narrowed her eyes a bit and stroked her chin. Her casual answer made your blood run cold.

”Yoohyeon took it.” A slight smirk ghosted on her lips. ”It’s time for another shoot.”

The way her replied sounded assured you that you didn’t want to know what this “shoot” was supposed to be. So you nodded quickly and left the room in order to find Yoohyeon. It didn’t even concern you how she left the chair. Handong informed you that the Dreamworld consisted of many layers and parallel meanders that you could get lost in, not even getting close to what you were looking for

”Yoohyeon?” you called, turning to the right. How did you know it was the right way? Hard to say, but you had no doubt. However, there was no reply from the girl. You tried to search every room but you also had to keep moving. The fruitless search filled you with frustration but then you caught a glimpse of a black, flowy skirt in one of the rooms. You took a step back to enter but a familiar shift morphed your surroundings and you were once again standing with a group of six girls.

”Handong, they were doing a good job.” Jiu remarked with a hint of warning in her tone. You glanced at Handong only for her to sigh and shake her head slightly. She must have been responsible for the sudden shift, probably trying to keep you as safe as possible.

Once again you left the room to find a trace leading you to Yoohyeon but this time you felt a strange need to go the opposite way. Since listening to the intuition proved to be effective before, you moved along the hallway, trying to figure out what your gut was telling you.

It was an empowering feeling to know exactly where to go. As if someone was leading you by the hand the whole time and showing you the right path. This time your destination turned out to be a darkroom filled with scattered photos and broken glass. Further investigation proved that the lightbulb has been shattered, making developing of the pictures impossible. Was it an accidental damage?

You decided to examine the photographs on the table. Most of them were faded and dull probably due to the passage of time that seemingly took its toll on everything in the mansion except for the seven girls. There were some pictures of them too and it was unbelievable how much they contrasted with the people performing a ritual only a couple rooms away.

The first photograph showed the faces you were already familiar with but the difference in their expression was striking. There were no sights of fiery glares or the icy indifference. Dangerous smirks and stoic seriousness were replaced by innocent grins that brought lively sparkles to the soulless eyes you were so used to. The scribble at the bottom read Bora and Singnie accompanied with a little drawing of a heart.

Second picture must have been taken in the room that years later served as a makeshift workplace for the mysterious investigator. What used to be a sunny library got turned into a gloomy room full of evidence and coffee stained notes describing every detail of the mystery.

The girl in the photo seemed to be completely invested in the book in her hands. A rouge strand of hair fell onto her forehead but she didn’t seem to notice. She probably had no idea the picture was taken in the first place which allowed the photographer to capture a moment of uninterrupted peace. The caption stated “Yoob being a nerd” and you smiled slightly at the playful banter.

But the small moment of happiness quickly faded away and morphed into a bitter sense of injustice. Every innocent caption felt like being stabbed with no way to numb the pain in between each attack.

Gahyeonie in flowers

Sweet child with chubby cheeks in a flower crown with her nose scrunched in the most adorable way. Unrecognizable during the discussion two days ago.

Bora’s birthday surprise

Sua beaming at her friends and smudging icing on Yoohyeon’s cheek. The smile was nowhere to be seen at this point of you knowing her.

Siyeon’s first concert

Slight blush on her cheeks and hands still on the piano keyboard. Soft, innocent and as threatening as a little puppy.

Bora and Dongie with a cat

Handong curled into Sua’s embrace with a serene expression and a glint in her eyes as she played with the small animal. Was that spark still there? You couldn’t tell.

Sore loser being a baby

Siyeon pouting as someone ruffled her hair, a deck of cards lying on the table in front of her.

Each one of the photographs brought you closer to tears as you tried to understand why these seven cheerful girls had to get trapped by a curse and see their own home, a silent witness of so many happy memories turn into a trap bounding them as it decayed.

Minji and Yoohyeon

You froze. The caption was simple but you couldn’t agree more with whoever decided to phrase it this way. Maybe it was the way Yoohyeon’s smile lightened up the whole room. Or how Jiu’s eyes were filled with so much unspoken affection that it could be barely contained. Or it was something about the way their hands were intertwined and the distance between them so small.

It was love. As simple as that. You didn’t care about the nature of their relationship, you didn’t need that information. They loved each other and they loved deeply. Just Minji and Yoohyeon.

You put the picture away with trembling hands, the image burned into your mind permanently. How could you not help them find the missing piece of their puzzle after seeing this? How could you not want to see these girls happy again? Did Minji smile like that since they got cursed? Did she smile at all?

To distract yourself from these thoughts you picked up a random picture from another pile and gasped when you saw your face. However you didn’t have time to analyze the meaning of the discovery when suddenly the lightbulb was working again, drowning the room in red light. You weren’t alone anymore.

Siyeon was standing by the table, carefully examining a roll of film. Nothing changed for a while before she put it away and moved to take one of the photographs hanging from the string. She examined it with a slight smile and waved her hand as if motioning someone to come closer. Suddenly Handong and Gahyeon joined her, standing one on each side of the girl as she held the picture up.

You crept a bit closer and realize in shock that this was your photo. Just like the camera before, it was gone from your hand and right now the trio looked at it with unreadable but mischievous looks on their faces. What was the meaning of this? What have they done to you? Neither of the questions got answered before the picture burst into flames and your vision turned hazy again.

“Handong stop this!” Jiu was clearly getting angry. Her stoic expression was gone as she extended her hand to the side.

“Y/N is drifting away!” Handong argued without moving from her designated spot.

“You’re doing more harm than good.”

It seemed like Handong was capable of doing something that kept pulling you away from the next levels of Dreamworld. While you were grateful for her care, you could also feel your frustration growing. You could handle this, she just needed to let you do your thing in peace.

“Handong.” You said and her shoulders tensed at the sound. “It’s okay. Trust me.”

She didn’t say anything and you would have thought that she didn’t even hear you if it wasn’t for a tear rolling down her face. Or maybe it was the lighting and your stupid feelings messing you.

Jiu unclenched her fist and salt started flowing steadily to the ground. The lights flickered and suddenly a dark, shadowy figure emerged from Yoohyeon, looming dangerously over the room before it flew away. It took a split second for you to make a decision and bolt after it.

Overcome with a bitter sweet feeling of déjà vu, you chased the smoky creature through the hallways. Some twisted sense of satisfaction came with being a hunter instead of its helpless prey. This time nobody was on your tail. It was up to you to finish this once and for all.

Even when the shadow tweaked something within the Dreamworld you easily slipped into a higher plane, intuitively getting a hold of this. Gaining even the slightest bit of control over the powerful dimension filled you with endless satisfaction.

Eventually the thick smoke turned into thin air in one of the rooms. You vaguely recognized it from somewhere but there was no time to dwell on interior design. Not when Yoohyeon was standing right in front of you, bowing respectfully.

“Please take a seat.” She motioned to a stool on your left and positioned herself behind a camera. The same one you noticed before.

Deciding to play along, you complied and sat comfortably. Yoohyeon smiled at you encouragingly and you awkwardly mirrored her expression. She seemed satisfied and clicked the button, making the light flash. And then it flashed again. No, it wasn’t the camera. The lights flickered as the whole roomed was flooded with the eerie blue hue you know all too well. Yoohyeon looked at you with fear evident in her eyes as she slowly backed out towards the wall. An enormous shadow of a spider appeared for a split second and you closed your eyes when a bright light almost blinded you.

A scream died in your throat when you noticed Yoohyeon’s unconscious form lying on the ground. You quickly dashed to help her, but instead of moving in her direction, you darted through another layer of Dreamworld. There was almost nothing here. As if you reached the final level and were currently standing on the edge of the world. White snow covered the ground and the sky swirled in different shades of blue that shimmered from time to time. The only distinctive object was a stone ring, covered almost completely in spiderwebs. The space felt hollow and empty.

“What?”

You turned around in shock and your jaw dropped. Yoohyeon was there, wearing exactly the same thing as the motionless figure on a chair back in the mansion. Could that mean the ritual worked? Was there a possibility that the shadow monstrosity was finally gone and the curse got lifted? All the potential questions died on your lips when Yoohyeon grabbed your arm, tearful eyes bearing into your own pleadingly.

“Run.” She whispered.

“Huh?”

“Run. Just leave. Run as fast as you can. You shouldn’t be here. Tell them… tell Minji…”

You blinked and almost yelped when the familiar six girls appeared in front of you. However this time the setting stayed exactly the same. You were all occupying the hollow snow dessert. Even Yoohyeon was there, laying on a stone pedestal as the group made a circle around her form.

“Jiu?” Siyeon inquired, clearly astonished and a bit out of breath.

“Yes.” The leader whispered and looked up to the sky. “Y/N did you find her?”

“No.”

You flinched at the sudden interruption. For a second you were back with Yoohyeon, but the vision cut back to Jiu immediately.

“You can’t help.”

“Can you bring her back?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“She must be close.”

“I can’t.”

“Y/N?” Handong’s calm tone ripped you out of the dual haze brought upon you by Jiu and Yoohyeon overlapping. You looked at her, grateful for the intervention. “It’s almost over.”

And then you saw it. A vibrant blue glow illuminating the scene and highlighting the already divine physique of the girls in front of you. Slowly you turned around only to face a swirling stream of light that seemed to be gently pulling you in.

“The final part.” Jiu informed. You could barely hear her, mesmerized by the phenomena in front of you. Even after all these nights of paranormal experiences, the close presence of something so purely magical took your breath away. “She’s there. I know.”

You tore your gaze away and looked back to see their faces. It was impossible to judge what Siyeon and Gahyeon felt as they had their backs turned in your direction. But you noticed Sua and Dami looking at Yoohyeon, completely focused. However while Sua seemed detached, almost defeated, Dami seemed to be the calmest out of everyone. Almost as if she knew exactly what was going to happen.

The other two were looking right at you, both expressing two completely different desires. Jiu seemed to be wordlessly urging you to step through the portal and bring Yoohyeon back. Handong on the other hand was giving you a patient and understanding look, laced with a bit of desperation. She wanted you to back out. Even at the end.

“Sorry.” You whispered to no one in particular and crossed the magical barrier with closed eyes.

The other side looked exactly the same in an almost disturbing way. Something seemed off. Terribly off.

“Yoohyeon?” you called, frantically looking around until you caught a sight of familiar silver hair. She was running towards you and you almost laughed in joy that everything was finally coming to an end. And then you noticed her expression. A sinister smirk played on her features, making your skin crawl. In a second it switched into a conflicted mixture of fear, disbelief and hope as Yoohyeon extended her hand in your direction.

You hesitated. There was no way that terrifying smile from before was your imagination playing around. It was way too creepy. But then you remembered the small glimmer of hope in Minji’s eyes and decided to take the risk. Your hand was slightly trembling as you reached towards Yoohyeon.

And then a low rumble rolled through the air as you felt the air getting thicker, almost engulfing you like a blanket. The portal was closing. Panic flashed on Yoohyeon’s face and she quickened her pace, struggling to get to you on time. You reached out even farther when a white light blinded you completely and a yanking sensation rippled through the earth, forcing you to close your eyes.

Silence. Black spots attacked your vision when you finally opened your eyes again. You looked around dumbly as the clarity returned. The mansion. You were standing in the center of the room in the same spot as at the beginning of the ritual. But something felt different.

You were back to the starting point.

Alone.

#dreamcatcher #kpop #dreamcatcher scenario #dreamcatcher imagine #dreamcatcher angst #dreamcatcher yoohyeon #kpop angst #kpop scenario #kpop imagine #dreamcatcher au #dreamcatcher nightmare au

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