#she's never been inclined to nihilism

[ghulehunknown]

Clergy Headcanons - Proposals!

Rated G - Purely fluff! Gender neutral reader

How I think the head members of the Clergy would propose to you 😌

(inspired by Älva’s Papa engagement ring post!)

Primo

Very romantic

He asked a parental figure/someone important in your life for your hand (well, at least told your loved one(s) beforehand to give a semblance of traditionality)

Plans a picnic with all your favorite foods, and he brought your favorite roses and other pretty flowers from his garden. He actually secretly grew a special engagement bouquet just for you!

He doesn’t get down on one knee because of his arthritis, but proposes while you’re both sitting down

The ring is very traditional and likely passed down for generations in his family. He’s been waiting a whole lifetime to give it to you 🥺

Secondo

Whatever he has planned, it’s completely with your personality in mind - whether you are more inclined for something quiet or a something with a little more opulence

But it’s probably something a little more lowkey, like after a lovely dinner that he cooks for you. He may not be one for grand gestures but he does know how to make you feel very special

He has a very romantic, although not super long, speech before he gets down on one knee and hands you the most wonderful ring you’ve ever seen

The ring is beautiful, but dark - much like him. It’s probably got some black star sapphires in it or something, and the band is made from tungsten or titanium because it’s durable and lasting like his love for you

Terzo

He…may or may not have proposed impulsively one evening after a date because he got excited…then remembered he’s Terzo and vows to do better with a surprise later. (Eloping isn’t out of the question for him)

He plans a grand day out doing all your favorite activities before coming back to the Ministry which is decorated to the max and all your loved ones are there in attendance

He gets down on one knee and gives an elaborate, moving speech and promises you the world

The ring is GORGEOUS and extravagant and must’ve cost a fortune. But your love is priceless, so a silly little price tag doesn’t stop him (don’t worry, he paid full price and didn’t use the Papa discount; he makes sure you know that)

He definitely planned a flashmob for you with Siblings and Ghouls dressed in tuxedos and wedding dresses, but waves them off after he sees how overcome with emotion you are

Can’t wait for you to see the second part…alone in his room, because you have to “christen the engagement”

Copia

Oh god he’s nervous AF, he’s sweating and stumbling. He doesn’t want to mess this up because he’s been planning it for a long time. He knew you were the one the day he met you

He takes you back to the spot you had your first date. You can tell something is up because he’s acting a little funny

He definitely messes up his little speech he has prepared but he says something like: “You will never walk alone”

He’s so, so sweet and everything is perfect no matter how nervous you both are 🥺

He gets down on one knee and everything and you feel like the most special person in the world, because to him you are

He gives you a traditional, but absolutely beautiful ring. It’s probably got diamonds or your birthstone in it. He’s not a fully traditional man, but for things as important as this he doesn’t want to miss a beat

He’s ready to start planning the wedding!

Nihil

“Here,” and hands you the ring

He probably proposes immediately after you have an argument in attempt to makeup and show you he still wants you

The ring is simple, but durable. It’s probably solid gold, because to him you’re golden

Afterwards he takes you out to your favorite restaurant then a drive in movie (it reminds him of the good ol’ days)

Sister Imperator (bonus round!)

Very methodical and planned to a T

Lots of beautiful decorations

The speech is simple and to the point, as she often is, so there’s really no way to get lost in flowery language. You know what she wants, and it’s you and her forever

“We would be good together, don’t you think?” she’d say with her all-knowing smirk

She hands you a sturdy stainless steel ring and got herself one to match

[bandydear]

I’ve been reading your tlgbf tlgbl fic, and am absolutely obsessed!! Where did you get the inspirations for dyke Jackie? I love how you’ve written her and her queerness

So, I prescribe to the theory that Jackie had some inclinations about her homosexuality out there in the wild and that's why she's parading around in sweater vests and limp wrists. That the high femme presentation we see in the pilot is more of a gender and social performance than who she is. And, I explored the people pleaser elements that lingered behind in that.

She compliments Nat in the Pilot that she admires how true to herself Natalie is which means that Jackie is not true to herself. She feels the pressure of expectation and lives within that expectation instead of her truth. We are never given a "truth that could crash an airplane" from Jackie. What she says is that she used to sneak downstairs and watch The Color of Night so she could pause it at Bruce Willis's wang.

For research for the fic, I watched Color of Night (the shit I do for art...). Bruce Willis's flaccid dong is there for like, five frames. And, it's not impressive like she claims it to be. You know what that movie actually has a lot of? Naked women and lesbian sex. Jackie's gay.

I know a lot of butch/futch/even high femme dykes who began their journeys presenting heterofemme realness and rejected it when they made their way down the rainbow brick road. Jackie very much gives me those vibes. Like, she has gay energy, but also a very "useless gay man" energy.

I think that finding out "x amount" of her teammates are some kind of queer and that the Very Hetero Sport she's been shielding herself with is uhhhhh Not That is part of what leads her down the path of self-discovery.

She's also shredded. Jackie canonically has an 8-pack and that's interesting because in the 90's, muscle tone was seen as something undesirable for women. (Now, I know that the show is made Now, where the aesthetic ideals are different, but if it's in the text it counts.)

Anyway, this has all been said before in other tumblr posts about Jackie being gay. I'm sure you're asking about why I wrote her as a futch service top instead of say, a femme pillow princess?

It has to do with her character arc. In S1 of Yellowjackets, Jackie's arc is one of nihilism and regression. The only thing that is keeping her alive in this survival situation is her love for Shauna, and when she learns of Shauna's resentment, she loses the will to live. Literally. Dies of a broken heart.

Jackie cannot survive in an environment without love. And, she struggles with survival instincts in general. Which is what makes her a great foil to Nat, who cannot help but survive, and, ironically, dies in S2 of too much love. The moment Nat stopped being cynical and nihilistic she doomed herself.

Two characters in direct opposition cannot exist so therefore they must either kill one or the other other--or change each other to live in harmony. I chose the latter. Jackie softens Nat and Nat hardens Jackie. They meet in the middle. If Jackie becomes hard, and becomes someone who can survive, what does that look like? What's the funniest possible way to get to this point?

Make Jackie the one who builds the shelter. Take this ineffectual, limp wristed twink and show her the way towards self-sufficiency through trades. Her home was broken beyond repair, so she learns how to fix it on her own. The literal is metaphorical and the metaphorical is literal.

So, now that I've explained:

Why Jackie is gay

Why Jackie fixes houses

Now, "why a service top"?

I touch on it in the text, but I don't think she's solely that. I do think that even after coming out, if she was experimenting with people who weren't Shauna she wouldn't allow herself to be physically vulnerable with them. It would cause a panic attack. She has a very Protestant energy and receiving pleasure as a part of sex would probably give her like 5 different mental breaks.

Jackie doesn't enjoy sex with Jeff (oral and hand stuff count as sex) not just because she's gay, but because she's too self-aware of how she's being perceived to enjoy her body.

On the other hand, she is a chronic people pleaser--though Lazy, so I knew she couldn't jump into this with both feet. If Jackie had slept with the girl in chapter 1 it wouldn't have gone well, and it would have been super awkward and unsatisfying for both parties. It's the envy at seeing Nat enjoying herself, and finally being in a safe space to relax a little that allows her to explore sensuality. Still, I don't think she'd let herself be touched in the same way.

If she had, as planned, shared a room with Shauna at Rutgers, I could see her being in a much more comfortable sexual role. Because Shauna was her safe space. But, I could also see her bringing a lot of her own baggage into that situation, and it quickly becoming toxic. I don't think they'd work romantically out of their "platonic" relationship in school, because it had already broken and festered by the Pilot.

Anyway! That's the impetus for Jackie's dykery. I hope that clarified some things. There are other folks out there who have come away with other, valid, and cool conclusions, but these are the ones I came to with my own research and experience. Thanks again for asking!

[floripire]

what are your top five fandoms to RP within?

mun memes › @survivingpierce

p.ercy j.ackson was my first fandom and it's the one i come back to again and again, no matter how many times i step away from it. p.ercy j.ackson as a series / franchise is imperfect, certainly, but it was there during a time i desperately needed it, so i'm protective of it as a whole.

t.vd / t.he o.riginals / l.egacies: i saw the shows (minus s4 of l.egacies) from start to finish before i read the books - which i also very much recommend, they're very 90's and white and straight but the concepts and world building are awesome - but it just drew me in. it took me two tries to get through t.vd however because i couldn't stand e.lena at first. (it's much better now ;P)

make no mistake, though, i love to write in this universe but i will also be among the first to call it out for the fact that across the board, there were only three indian women (aimee bradley, gia and emma tig) and two of those were murdered by white people (aimee got killed by katherine at the masquerade ball for bullshit reasons and klaus killed gia to get back at elijah and in a show where people fake their deaths all the time, suddenly this time it was permanent, uh-huh, we all know why that is) and one of them was written out of the show (due to the actress having other jobs lined up) and never got the backstory or complexity she deserved.

those characters deserved to live and imho, g.ilijah should've been endgame.

(also, as much as i love h.ayley, i am not forgiving nor forgetting the fact that she killed a.ya al-r.ashid; i don't give a fuck that she did it to protect her family or whatever.)

m.arvel / dc: i love superheroes. always have, always will. i grew up on 2005's s.ky h.igh and i've watched t.he b.oys and g.en v as well as i.nvincible (though i personally vibe more with hopeful superheroes instead of nihilism and jerkwads).

s.tar t.rek / s.tar w.ars / sci-fi: i was born on international s.tar w.ars day so of course it'd stand to reason that i'd get into it. i got into s.tar t.rek a little later and that's mostly because of tumblr mutuals writing the characters. (i haven't seen r.ebel m.oon yet but that's only because i keep hearing conflicting accounts lmao.) my oc over at @dvarapala is pretty much a sci-fi based oc.

t.wilight / t.rue blood / i.nterview with a v.ampire / m.idnight t.exas / a.bigail / the i.nvitation etc: give me any and all vampires tbh! i operate under the umbrella of: all vampire lore is real and can exist alongside each other (with proper and prior plotting and some discussion to be had). the only one i do not like is a d.iscovery of w.itches because i watched a couple of episodes of that show and the main love interest vampire dude was such a creep and it's never properly talked about and then creepy vampire dude and powerful witch lady become canon???? ew! fuck that!

d.escendants / o.uat: that is to say, the grittier, darker, let's tear away the veil version of d.escendants because if you look close enough, you'll find that they're actually living in a warped dystopian version of the d.isney tales that we grew up with and i think that's fascinating. and also, the age old question of are you destined to be like your parent(s) or can you carve out your own path? and if so, which price will you pay for that, if any?

o.uat is on the list because i, unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on one's pov - grew up to become an o.uat girlie. i know it's not everyone's cup of tea and that's okay. i just find the lore of the universe fascinating. (also, added layer of pain: e.mma s.wan and flori's mom have the same fc and i did that deliberately ;P)

s.upernatural: i'm only at s2 still - i hope i can watch more this summer - but it's so easy to slot my preternaturally inclined muses in there. it's great fun.

t.een w.olf: big s.cott m.ccall stan here. always have been, always will be. it's also very easy to slot my preternaturally inclined muses into that universe as well. and, also, i love the lore. it's very cool. (though i will die on the hill that they should've also used t.een w.itch as well and created a whole t.een w.olf extended universe, but that's neither here nor there.)

b.uffy the v.ampire s.layer: i'm pretty sure i'm still at season 3 with that show but it's also very easy to drop my preternaturally inclined muses in there and take them for a ride.

[queer-starwars-bracket]

Queer Star Wars Characters (Round 4): General Bracket Match 8

Moran | Identity: mlm | Media: Jedi Survivor

Moran is one of the residents of Rambler’s Reach Outpost, which Cal can have many optional conversations with. He is available from the start of the game, where he sits at the bar, sadly drinking his days away. He is initially rude to Cal, seeing his attempts at rebellion as foolishness. As Cal talks to him more, he reveals more of his past and becomes better inclined to the player. He reveals that he used to be a Republic tax collector, a position he used to cover for a smuggling side business. There he met a man named Dreyo and fell in love with him. When the Empire came to power, Dreyo wanted to leave the business, and when Moran wouldn’t join him, he left on his own. Moran was eventually caught, and he had to flee to Koboh. There he became a fixture in Pyloon’s Saloon, with Greez even allowing him to store his stuff in the back. Cal eventually convinces him to send a message to Dreyo, letting him know where he is. Moran does so, grumbling all the way and letting Cal know that there’s a good chance the message won’t be received. However the prospect of reuniting with Dreyo makes him marginally more optimistic and kinder to Turgle. 

Kitrep Soh | Identity: gay | Media: The High Republic The Rising Storm

Kitrep Soh was the son of the Chancellor of the Republic Lina Soh. A shy person, he disliked how he had become a newsworthy person since his mother’s election as chancellor. He didn’t begrudge her for this, and saw her as a good mother and always making enough time for him. This was despite the fact she made him attend the Great Fair on Valo even though it was a media event. 

When the Republic delegation arrived on Valo, he was immediately drawn to the mayor of Valo’s son Jom Lariin. While he hated being dragged across the fair with his mother, once he got over his initial awkwardness with Jom, they were able to strike up quite the conversation. The next day, the two teenagers snuck away from their parties to board the Innovator (a ship on display at the fair) for a secret date. Unfortunately, the Innovator was one of the Nihil’s first targets when they attacked Valo. The two boys, an attendant, and a Quarren guest attempted to find a way to escape the damaged ship. The Jedi Bell Zettifar was able to rescue them and lead them and several other survivors to safety. After the attack on Valo, he spent most of his time by his comatose mother’s side, only leaving to say goodbye to Jom. He kissed Jom, not caring that cam-droids were recording. He would never play to the cameras, but now he wasn’t afraid of the public role he had been forced into. 

[obscure-imaginations]

Satan- the Demon of Righteous Wrath and Deserved Betrayal.

This is inspired by @gasolineghuleh 's Ides of March post, but is also a character study for Imperator. Enjoy!

SFW, singular mention of sex, drugs, alcohol. Implies that Nihil is/was abusive. Cut for length.

It had been so long ago, the taking of the Imperator title, that she did not remember her birth name. Not that it mattered- she had run away at seventeen to join the church and renamed herself after Elizabeth Bathory. Elegant, intelligent, vain, and precise- all traits that described both Imperator and her namesake. Both of them were drenched in blood.

Not at first, no. Elizabeth was once just another Sibling of Sin- attend classes, perform work duties, have hobbies, go to bed, repeat. But even as a teen, Elizabeth had her eyes set on power through position. She planned to work her way up, slave over texts and assignments night after night.

But the opportunity arose to get power through sex, disguised as love. Emeritus Nihil, newly appointed Papa, had his eyes set on her. He talked of how pretty she was, how smart she was, how she was special. And Elizabeth, a young fool, believed every word.

Nihil had two children and a third on the way. But those other women, his unsacred Prime Movers, those were just for the church. He actually loved Elizabeth, not the bearers of his children. He promised, he swore, he made oaths on his father’s grave. Elizabeth still believed him, even when the words were whispered to her skin after a fight. She still believed him when he gave her a diamond engagement ring. She still believed him when he was drunk and high and fucking his groupies. She still believed him when he whimpered apologies when he came home late, plans forgotten. She still believed him when his third son’s mother mysteriously disappeared. She still believed him when he wrote a song for her. She still believed him when she made plans to announce her pregnancy.

But, on that fateful night, her faith ran out. That night after leaving that venue and flying to some other country she forgot the name of, Elizabeth the Imperator lost her faith, and turned to Wrath.

Nihil desired her, that much was clear. Even when she returned a year later with an ‘orphan’ she found, he still believed she would never lie to him. Imperator ignored him and his advances, but Nihil wasn’t done using her. She discovered she could use his desire as her advantage and the rest was history. If she gave herself to him, like she wanted to, he would grow bored of her and toss her out like the rest. If she denied him what he wanted… he would follow her to the ends of the earth. The leash was short, but Nihil never saw it.

Copia was too much like his father, despite never actually knowing him. The first three brats were easy to dispatch at once, weaknesses on display too much like Nihil’s. Unlike the first three, Copia trusted her. Imperator never got to be his mother, but being his teacher was second best. Even when danger flashed in his face, he trusted her. Even when the newly hired Mr. Saltarian, with a coat too much like a Catholic’s, threatened him, he trusted her. He was like his mother- blindly trusting.

…

Copia had a party planned. Imperator would entertain him for now. Despite him being her son, she was growing more annoyed with him every day. He was too awkward, too nerdy, too rodent-inclined, too stupid. It would all end soon, she reminded herself. Her plans had all worked so far, and they would continue to work. There was nothing left around to change them.

Her eyes were on her book, she didn’t notice the distinct lack of light, the lack of guests, the markings on the floor. She didn’t notice until the book was ripped from her hands, surrounded by ghouls. It was too late to scream, the ritual dagger in her back scorching the air from her lungs. Imperator was gently lowered to her knees, the blurry face of her son appearing in front of her as the chanting started.

“I’m sorry, mother. It was the only way to bring back my brothers.” Copia whispered, his lips pressing to her forehead. 

The one thing Imperator never planned? Copia having a brain. She realized, all these years, he played the fool, but one thing was certain.

Copia was too much like his mother.

[imperatorium]

Reading the ask about Imperator finding out she was goning to have copia:

“That’s HER little boy, he’s something SHE created with someone she truly loves. NOTHING and NO ONE can ever take that love from her, even if it means she has to live every day not being able to tell him the truth and have it ruin her relationship with him. She would tear down heaven itself if it means he gets to be safe and be near her. She’s not motherly but she WANTS to see her baby grow up and have friends and see his first steps and see him mess up and recover from it and just wants to watch him and love him and dhahsdhhdjebdbfj, my heart”

(Ik it’s not ghost but that entire ask makes me think of the song “Youth” by Glass Animals )

The true tragedy is that I think for as much as she always fantasized about being Nihil's Prime Mover, it was always something that she viewed as a necessity. She wasn't yearning, by any means, for a child of her own. She's always known that she would not be a good mother, does not have the inclination towards it. She would have tried her best if things had gone the way she wished they could have, originally, but it's just not in her nature.

Copia makes her wish it was. He was such a miracle, coming into being after she'd long given up on that fantasy. He deserves so much more than he had to work with, growing up. And despite all that, just look at him. He's doing amazing, sweetie. There's a very quiet part of Sister's heart that wishes they could have been a more traditional family, that he could have had what she and Nihil never did, but he's already turned out perfect. She can't imagine him any different or better than he is, now, and honestly has that much more respect for him coming into his own despite the adversity. That means he's at least as strong as she and his father were.

Also, I didn't know this song before now, but I just listened to it and oh my god I'm crying!! T__T I have immediately added it to my playlist of songs that are about Ghost but not Ghost songs, thank you. ♥

[blujayonthewing]

here’s where Elyss’s campaign has me right now: I’m soul searching trying to figure out whether she would continue to rail futilely against cruel and pointless circumstances or if, like me, she feels like there’s not much point anymore

[buttercuparry]

Day 14: Identities

I don't think I will ever cease to be amazed by the fact that Grrm chose the name 'Mercy' for Arya. It's almost as if a personification was done to the concept- as if Grrm means for Arya to embody a certain spirit of 'mercy'.

Now of course that shouldn't imply that other characters are incapable of being merciful or even that it is only Arya who is best inclined to it; but there is something to be said when Arya's identity of 'Mercedene'/'Mercy' gives us an impromptu nudge towards considering Catelyn Tully's similar and yet contrasting epithet of Mother Merciless. It certainly sets up the ground for a conflict between the mother daughter duo, indicating that the abject cruelty of blind revenge is not what Arya advocates ( ironic since this is what the fandom posits her to be).

There is a tendency in the asoiaf fandom to allot the themes of violence and only violence (often times mindless at that) to Arya's povs. They either don't or can't see beyond their mantra of "gone too far". While we are certainly shown the grotesque violence of war through Arya's own experiences, it is not done so that Grrm may preach Nihilism. Rather the violence is made known in a realistic detail so that this hero of ours may know better than to walk the same path as the rest of the classist nobles of Westeros.

Death, too, then is not always a representation of violence in Arya's story. It is also considered as being a gift of 'mercy'. This has been a reoccurring theme since the Stoney Sept when Anguy bestows on the Karstark Men the release of death ( only after Arya shows them a last act of Kindness by giving them water), when the Hound gave another northman the gift and finally by the teachings of the Faceless Men (their history where the slaves were given the final freedom from their torment). It is also assumed that in future, it would be Arya who would finally put Lady Catelyn to rest.

There is also a passage in AFFC:

In the center of the temple she found the water she had heard; a pool ten feet across, black as ink and lit by dim red candles. Beside it sat a young man in a silvery cloak, weeping softly. She watched him dip a hand in the water, sending scarlet ripples racing across the pool. When he drew his fingers back he sucked them, one by one. He must be thirsty. There were stone cups along the rim of the pool. Arya filled one and brought it to him, so he could drink. The young man stared at her for a long moment when she offered it to him. "Valar morghulis," he said.

"Valar dohaeris," she replied.

Even unknowingly, Arya offers this person the gift of mercy. 'Valar Dohaeris' (to serve) as she calls it. How is it then that these instances are all ignored to retain only a false idea of a cold, emotionless Arya ( never going to happen as she is not going to give up her identity) or a violent one whose only solution to every problem is to carry out an assassination ( unlikely as she has nightmares from killing even people like Polliver)?

It is true that Arya has killed both in self defense and to bring justice- but to ignore that she has also been taught of 'mercy' or herself has brought 'mercy' would only limit one to the shallow understanding of Arya Stark as just an "uwu murder baby".

There is also the other side to Arya's relationship with the concept of Mercy. While she has certainly been merciful, she has also withhold it just the same. And it has a twofold facet. In ASoS she leaves the Hound without the mercy of death (perhaps for Mycah):

Do you mean to make me beg, bitch? Do it! The gift of mercy . . . avenge your little Michael . . ."

"Mycah." Arya stepped away from him. "You don't deserve the gift of mercy."

And in Twow when Raff realizes that he is bleeding out, he says:

His leg was drenched with blood from the thigh down. When he tried to put his weight on it, his knee buckled and he fell. “Help me,” he pleaded, as the crotch of his breeches reddened. “Mother have mercy, girl. A healer… run and find a healer, quick..."

It is ironic since Lommy never got any from Raff, making Arya enact the same for him.

So what I am trying to get at is, Grrm has deliberately chosen the identity of 'Mercy' for Arya. And while she may eventually shed this name to finally come into her identity as Arya of House Stark, the theme would still persist.

[thevindicativevordan]

what're your thoughts on the Crime Syndicate as Justice League villains? Ultraman as a Superman villain? And how exactly would Conner and his team go about saving a parallel world that has the inclination for evil as the norm built into that universe's DNA?

Enjoyed them greatly in Morrison's Earth 2 and Johns Forever Evil stories. They're entertaining foes, but unfortunately are rather shallow foils for the Justice League.

Think I'll save a deep dive into Ultraman for when I write a post about "evil Superman" in general, but as a whole? The Crime Syndicate doesn't really offer any deep insights into the characters with the exception of Owlman and Grid. Hal Jordan is fearless, Harold Jordan is a coward. Superwoman isn't even an "evil Wonder Woman" given she's never been "Diana" per say, she's moreso an evil Lois Lane, or currently an evil Donna Troy of all characters. Barry is a cop, Johnny Quick is a criminal. Go down the list and the same basic concept of "X but evil" is the entire sum of their characterization.

Owlman is one of two exceptions because he at least isn't just "Batman but evil". He's been used to explore Batman's love for his parents via contrast under Morrison and Johns, Owlman wants a family the same way Bruce does, except he's willing to forcibly create one via orchestrating trauma as written by Johns, and both the Crisis on Two Earths animated movie and current origin for Owlman position him as a vehicle to explore the nihilism that affects Batman's world. Both Batman and Owlman recognize that life is random, cruel, and without inherent meaning, but Batman decided to create his own meaning while Owlman succumbed to nihilism. Really dig his current origin of at first being on the road to heroism until he found out his beloved parents were criminals. Learning that his whole reason for being was a lie, and letting that corrupt him makes for a nice contrast with Batman especially since many other Batman stories also cast the Waynes as morally ambiguous or villains. Bruce realizes that being a hero and helping others is all the motive he needs regardless of how good his parents were, whereas Thomas Jr. can't bring himself to care about anyone else without the ideal version of his parents to guide him. The other exception is Grid and while he's *just* an evil robot, I found Johns conception of him as searching for the same humanity within himself as Victor to be a promising angle. Sadly it was never really explored further and probably won't be now.

As for Conner, that's sort of the whole point isn't it? Conner's inner struggle ever since Johns revamped him has been asking himself if he's fated to end up going evil because of his Luthor heritage. Sending him to the universe that seemingly has evil's inevitable victory built into it's DNA allows him to confront an entire universe built upon his greatest fear, and see if he can overcome it. Additionally it lets him be Superman in a different way because to be a hero on Earth 3, he'll have to actually lean into that Luthor heritage if he wants to take down the Crime Syndicate.

[septembersghost]

i just think dean winchester ----

essie and i were having a conversation about the self, it really was not about dean, but also, we are who we are, so beneath the delicate surface, there he was anyway.

and she said to me, about fiction, and the trouble with this trend of empty nihilism within it lately, of going through struggle and tumult and trauma and suffering, to come out the other side and off the edge, only for recovery to be killed where it stands, of the cop-out excuse of saying, “the story writes itself/it had to be this way/we go where it takes us”: “being creative is taking power back from the uncaring reality.” 

and i’m thinking...we’re doing that, here, actually, all of us who love him, love the story, love whatever characters and aspects of it that we love - we are taking power back from the uncaring reality.

we were talking about our inclinations and juxtapositions, the beautiful frills and the chill in the gloom, and she said: "in fact it’s ABOUT that contradiction, it’s about the ways they interact and gnaw pieces out of each other, it’s about the monstrous being less monstrous in the light and the soft being less soft in the dark.”

i can’t consider contrasts like that and not think of dean, the reason why i call him a poem of opposites, why i’ve spilled the virtual ink of thousands of words in meta and poems and graphic posts and tags for years, in writing that never was posted anywhere, in lines of reflection and story which exist only in my head. why she makes her wonderful art, or why someone else writes fic, or someone else creates whatever they create.

i said: this is why he laid claim on us, and we looked at him and saw a kindred flame, and thought, "of course, of course it's you." it always was.

that september night, fifteen and a half years ago, when i was lost and desperate for any guiding force, any source of light, true star or trick of it, to lead me to a shore, he emerged from the shadows in that dark. and i’m such a girl, which was part of why we were having this conversation, aspects of that in ourselves, whatever that even is, intrinsically or simply presentationally, and the differences therein. it doesn’t have any bearing on what we connect to or feel, or what characters resonate in us, but for me, it speaks a bit to the curious, necessary vitality he instantly had, and which never wavered. me, that odd little girl who loved pink and fairytales and roses and vintage lamps and antique boxes and twinkling lullabies, who was soft and maybe too sensitive and maybe too free with her kindness, but also the odd little girl who was drawn to the moon, and spooky, rundown houses, and the faint rustle of leaves when no wind should be blowing them, and the ghosts at the windows of our homes and our hearts, and the flash of silver in candlelight, and the vampire who allures even when you can see the danger of their fangs. it would not have been predictable, on the surface, that it would be him. it also could never have been anyone else. (rough on the surface, but you cut through like a knife; as if you were a mythical thing...) i’ve described it before, the secret garden of all i love, the room in its center where he exists, but to say it again - there was an empty room in my heart that i didn’t even know was there until he walked into it with a lit match. a glancing brush across a hand, and a touch of trigger pressure, and a whisper of bravery, and green eyes in the sunlight and a silhouette under cover of stars in the night. it was there, waiting for him, it simply had to be unlocked.

and she wrote: “the thing inside me that loves him existed long before i knew him but when i found him it had found itself a name. there was always a space in me that he fits into wholly and perfectly. he is me just as he is you, and all of us who feel that way about him. that’s why he can’t die, not until the very last of us is gone. and even then, we know nothing ever really disappears from the internet, and all the love for him we’ve poured poured into it, it may stay for longer still.”

which just, unsurprisingly, made me start to tear up. whether if it was fifteen years or five years or four months or two weeks ago when we met him and embraced his story, if we, if anyone, keep the door open that let him through, he is never going to walk back out again. he is there, incandescent and contrasting, devotion and danger and reason and mystery, all the pieces that make him who he is reflecting in the pieces that make us who we are. he can’t be killed in us, and thus he really can’t die at all, because as much as he never truly lived in our world, he’s actually always alive in it. we have a name for a niche in our souls that we would not have without him, and a snatch of melody in a heartbeat that he allowed us to hear. everything we create, all we share, the love we so ferociously, tenderly give, not only to him, but to one another because of him, is only alive because he existed. the facets of ourselves that we’ve polished and come to understand, he helped to reveal.

annie said to me the other day: “he really is magic, no wonder it connected us all.”

if this story was about love - and i maintain, always, that it was - love as home, love as defiance, love as a weapon in our arsenals, love that is consuming, love that is healing, love as the only true act of free will and agency, love as a force so radically human it becomes sacred and divine - that exists and lives and blossoms, and we move through the world with it surviving every day. we don’t enact it in any other realm, we make it real here. he comes alive and stays that way a little bit each time we do, and every piece of it we leave here is everlasting.

[kudzuflower]

F, J, N, U

F - FRIEND - What kind of friend are they? How do they judge potential friends? Where do they draw the line between platonic and romantic relationships? How far would they go for a friend? How do they handle conflict in relationships?

A steady friend in the sense that she is always there, and that it is almost impossible to drive her away. A distant friend in the sense that she is just so incredibly old, she has become disconnected from the plights of people living within a more reasonable lifespan. She understands, she has been there, but it was so long ago she has grown distant from the raw, blinding emotion that comes from suffering something for the first time. Sympathy is stirred easily in her, but empathy has become truly difficult for her.

She almost compulsively pursues friendships (or at the very least, some sort of lasting relationship) with underdogs. Anyone she sees who is at odds with society to any great extent--whether because they are awkward, a weirdo, or just an asshole--is latched onto like a lamprey, because to her the underdog exemplifies those whose emotions burn too brightly to be contained. That's what she tells herself, at least; the truth is just that they remind her of herself, and that endears them to her.

Sefka also goes to great lengths for those she cares about--but with the exception of Kjat, it is pretty much on her terms, on her time. She's much more inclined to lay out long, elaborate schemes to guide someone towards what she deems to be the most beneficial solution. Everything is 4D chess with her. But if you asked her to water your plants while you're out of town, she probably wouldn't...

Conflict isn't great with her. She doesn't get mad. She doesn't even get irritated. Outside of very, VERY rare occasions, she almost never loses her cool--for better or worse. She is much more like to laugh off criticism of herself rather than take it to heart. To her mind, almost everyone around her is just too young and unknowing to Understand that nothing matters. She's optimistic in her nihilism, but it's still nihilism; at the end of the day, her response to everything more or less boils down to "nothing in life matters, so why are you upset about this?"

J - JOKER - What’s their sense of humour like? Do they enjoy slapstick comedy? What kind of humour do they enjoy in others?

Sefka laughs. A lot.

She has an abundant sense of humor. She finds the most humor in absurdity and chaos; things she hasn't seen or heard before because they aren't born of social patterns and expectations. She is very prone to laugh (raucously) at things nobody else seems to find funny, often mid-conversation. But she also appreciates dry, withering sarcasm. So much so that it might well be a requirement for romantic partners.

N - NAVIGATOR - What’s their sense of direction like? Do they have a set path in life that they’re planning on following? What do they do if they’re knocked off course?

Sefka has a keen sense of direction, but it's not put to use much, considering she lives pretty much exclusively within Ul'dah.

Her set path is a secret I'm hesitant to write about her solely because she's a very RP-focused character that exists to push storylines with other characters. Suffice to say that she wants to thrive, and that is nearly her sole motivator in life right now. But she is also not terribly concerned about being knocked off course, because time means next to nothing to her.

U - UGLY - What traits to they find unattractive in others? Do they have any of those traits themselves?

There is nothing Sefka finds more unappealing in others than a dedication to (what she views to be) arbitrary order. It wouldn't be completely accurate to say that she holds tradition in contempt, but anyone who commits themselves to it is on thin ice with her from the get go. Religion, government, etc. all stand against everything she knows to be true and good and right, and the respect she holds for a person is directly proportionate to the respect they hold for these things.

She does indeed have these traits herself in the sense that she has a very specific way she believes the world and universe works, and you would be hard-pressed to pry her from it. She would never acknowledge her system of beliefs as a system, though.

[dreadfutures]

What does Ixchel think about kids? Does she like them? Want her own? Does she think she would make a good parent?

Thank you so much for this, wow, loaded question for Ixchel for Plot Reasons, you have no idea. Unless you definitely have an idea.

I think about this a lot.

Because Ixchel is good with kids. We don’t get to see her working with them a lot, but she loves kids. Kieran, as weird as he is, and Cole, as special as he is, and the many children in Skyhold. The many Dalish children and alienage children she’s met over the years. She humors them and takes them seriously and accepts their trinkets with reverence. Children are the only creatures that can really get her to let down her walls and be happy. Happy without thinking. Joy, just from participation in a child’s existence.

(At a certain age though I think her temper’d get the better of her. See: Valorin’s stupid ass.)

So here is where she was at the start of her second go around:

But she was angry. She was angry that [Solas] had turned her into this dark, twisted woman who denied herself everything she wanted because of her duty. She was angry that he had made her aware of such terrible world-ending secrets. Once, she had wanted children of her own. Once, she had wanted to apply to the universities in Orlais on one of Celene’s rare scholarships. Once, her highest aspiration had been to wear the vallaslin of a Dalish Clan and provide for her people in little ways: hunting, singing, translating. All that had been lost in the face of the two apocalypses he had brought upon her world. Even now, guilt ate at her for dallying here and satiating her more fanciful desires—guilt he had placed in her with his ever-looming threat in the back of her mind.

Much like my own feelings about climate change and a lot of things about the State of the World, having children is really just. Not in the picture. There are too many other Things on my mind and I am too scared of the future to bring someone into the present. There’s also a big aspect of...Ixchel knows there’s something inherently inclined to depression within her, and tbh I don’t think they really have a concept of genetics, but there must be a visceral fear of passing down her nihilism and angst if only by exposure.

But here’s another thing. Ixchel can’t have children of her own. She has known this about her body for years at this point. Her first life, she was with the Inquisition for years, and they did not fully understand the dangers of red lyrium, or walking bodily in the Fade, or any number of terribly dangerous things she did. She was a malnourished orphan during the Blight, maybe it started there. Maybe it’s because of the beatings she’s taken over the course of her short lives. Like, she’s been gutstabbed, probably. You don’t survive a fight with Samson unscathed. Maybe it’s the strain of fighting twelve dragons, or the stress of being the Hope of Thedas, but she’s known she’s not going to have her own for a long time.

Ixchel’s happy ending has never been about The Man and The Children and the Home. It’s always been about family, in whatever form. A found family of friends. (God, can you imagine how much different her life would have been if Cole had remained a Spirit the first time and stayed...?) And I think there’s a lot she could still offer to children entering that family. She’s going to be a great aunt to Dorian’s adopted children, and to Cullen’s, at the very least. And definitely, a child doesn’t need to be her own for all of these things to be true.

But the fact is that the apocalypse was never just Solas’s apocalypse. And she has been learning that the world is always ending. People are always awful.

“Telanadas, I have told you. But this is the inevitability. We are an endless entropy towards self-destruction. And yet…” 

And yet.

“And the world is at risk, and all the little worlds within it are, too. Except this one.”

[persephonememes]

* (  LEGACIES SEASON ONE /  SENTENCE PROMPTS.

These may have been edited for clarity or length or to better apply for roleplaying.

❛ You're not very scared of me, are you? ❜

❛ What's going on up there? ❜

❛ Who the hell are you? ❜

❛ I'm sure I can handle whatever it is. ❜

❛ I just have this feeling that everything is going to work out just fine. ❜

❛ Are you okay? ❜

❛ I was recently dead, so I think I'll mend. ❜

❛ Worst. Spring Break. Ever. ❜

❛ It's kind of hard to miss. ❜

❛ You and I, we can’t talk like this anymore. ❜

❛ Tell me where he/she/they is before I blow your head off. ❜

❛ No one should ever have to be alone like this! ❜

❛ Okay, I need your help. I'm going for Meghan Markle tasteful. ❜

❛ Oh, look, it's Satan ... in a crop top. ❜

❛ Come to burn my world down? ❜

❛ What do you want? ❜

❛ Hey, I didn't see you at breakfast. ❜

❛ Trusting you is what got us into this mess. ❜

❛ What's with the performance anxiety? ❜

❛ I was making an entrance, mop head. ❜

❛ Aren't you supposed to help? ❜

❛ Why should I believe you? ❜

❛ Everybody lies. ❜

❛ Some people just want to watch the world burn. ❜

❛ We’re gonna give these townies a taste of what we’re really made of. ❜

❛ We are a school for the supernatural, which covers a lot of territory. ❜

❛ If you had it I wouldn't have to say it. ❜

❛ People in town said it was for troubled rich kids. I see the rich part is true. ❜

❛ You're the one that's always telling me I need to get out more. ❜

❛ I tell you that you need to stop locking yourself in your dorm room binge-watching Cutthroat Kitchen. ❜

❛ Do you think I'm broken? ❜

❛ She was the best person I knew. Pretty much loved her in that way that they say only exists in movies. ❜

❛ People who say that are the people who have never had their hearts crushed. ❜

❛ This isn't much of an after party. ❜

❛ I see you've decided to double down on your nihilism this morning.

❛ I'm trying to be rich with honesty. ❜

❛ Hot tip: next time you burn your ex's hair off, make sure she can't rock a lob. ❜

❛ Consider this a life lesson; people disappoint. ❜

❛ As fun as this hurricane of toxic masculinity is, I have to get to class. ❜

❛ I'm sorry. Is the fact that I'm not openly hostile to you make it seem like we're back to being friends? ❜

❛ So do you want to play good cop or bad cap? Because I don't think emo cop is a thing. ❜

❛ You know, you're not going to lose the election over an outfit. ❜

❛ What did I ever do to make you hate me so much? ❜

❛ It's not about you. Shocking, I know. ❜

❛ You've left her with no room for herself. ❜

❛ She doesn't have time for a relationship because you are a black hole of time and energy of love just sucking it all up, never giving any of it back. ❜

❛ She won't ever burn your world down, so I will do it for her. ❜

❛ If you could just put down the crossbow, my freak out level is about eleven right now. ❜

❛ You're messing with me. ❜

❛ So what, you're just going to stay in your room alone while everybody else is out having fun? ❜

❛ When are you going to take care of you? ❜

❛ This world needs the selfless and the selfish to keep spinning. ❜

❛ You seem morally inclined enough to do something stupid. ❜

❛ Bad liars look away when they lie to their kids. Good liars look them straight in the eye.❜

❛ I hate that you always see me when I’m weak. ❜

❛ You’re not weak. You’re a survivor. And that makes you one of the strongest people I know. ❜

❛ You gotta stop beating yourself up about this. ❜

❛ You've never had free booze before. ❜

❛ Please keep these two from trying to kill or die for each other. ❜

❛ You do not get to be the martyr. That was my job. ❜

❛ So you think you're a superhero or something? ❜

❛ They say revolution is messy, and I'm okay with that. ❜

[overheardatthecontinental]

John Wick had a problem.

Helen would tell him he had many problems.

But for now, he was concentrating on one. What had started as weekly tradition of breaking into his therapist’s home had quickly increased to every day he was in New York. Then he was making excuses to run into the city so that he could watch her sleep. And now… it had been more than a week since John spent a night in his own bed.

In the early hours of the morning, John would either make his way to the Continental or home, where he would shower and sleep, confident in the knowledge that Helen was at her office. He would work, or find something to occupy his waking hours, until the clock struck eleven. And then he would, inevitably, find his way back to her.

His obsession with his therapist was getting out of hand.

But he couldn’t resist. He craved the very sight of her. It was like his body hummed with frustration and anxiety whenever she was out of his sight, only to be eased by the image of her in bed, the smell of her lotion, the soft sighs that escaped her as she shifted in her sleep.

It was a problem.

But he couldn’t bear to stop.

And unlike his other problems, he couldn’t just talk to Helen. The idea was laughable.

He can picture it now, as he sits in the parking lot outside her office:

“What would you like to talk about today, John?”

“Well, I can no longer go twenty-four hours without being in your presence, except, we only meet once a week, so the other six days, I break into your house and watch you sleep.”

Yeah. That’s not happening.

He stares at the clock on the dashboard, watching the minutes slowly dance by until he can see her. At 3:50, he watches her previous client leave the building and the remaining five minutes creep by. By 3:54, he’s had enough. He turns off his idling car and heads into the building, no longer caring about how it looks to arrive so early to a session.

Her door is open, as usual, and she is standing over her desk, leaning over so she can type on her laptop. Her seldom-seen glasses are perched on her nose as she does, and John has to stop the barrage of thoughts that come from seeing her in such a position.

Her sweater dress could so easily be pushed up her thighs and…

No. Entertaining these thoughts is doing nothing to help him and every day, he feels himself slip more and more into his obsession.

“Come in, John.” She says, only then glancing up from the screen. “How was your day?”

“Alright.” He says, and Helen closes the laptop and takes off her glasses. A pity, he thinks. She really is so pretty in those glasses.

She grabs a Keurig pod from the basket over her desk before checking, “Planning for a late night?”

Always, now, he thinks. John nods and Helen slips it into the coffee maker and quickly turns it on.

“Oh! Before we start, can I ask a favor? I need to use your body.” He nearly chokes at her phrasing but immediately relaxes as she points to the air conditioner in her window. “I tried to take it out earlier and I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

John glances at her outfit. “In heels?”

She sends him a half-hearted glare. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it before I came in today. But I heard on the radio that we’re supposed to get a frost this weekend. Usually I’d ask Mike, the building super, but he’s not answering his phone.”

“No problem.” John says, slipping out of his suit jacket and laying it on the chair. “Where does it go?”

“The floor is fine; I just want it out.”

He gives her a look and repeats himself, something he would never do for anyone else in the world, “Where does it go?”

Helen rolls her eyes good-naturedly, “There’s a storage closet down the hall.”

It’s already unplugged so John tucks away the wire and lifts the window off the machine. “Hold the door.” John tells her as he tugs the unit free of the window. It occurs to him how easily an air conditioner, if properly timed, could be used to make a murder look like an accident. A push at the right moment and a crushing death for whoever awaited below…

He follows Helen into the hall and down to where the closet. She quickly unlocks the door and points to the metal shelves where it goes.

He sets it down gently on the shelf, “Good to go.” He says, straightening his vest.

“You’re the best.” Helen tells him.

“Next time,” John says, “Just call me. I’m usually in New York. No near-death experiences with air conditioners. It might be… difficult” impossible “to find a new therapist.”

Helen smacks him on the arm as they walk back to the office, “You’re ridiculous.”

He inclines his head as they slip back in. Helen finds a cover for the coffee, which has finished brewing, and hands it off to John.

“What have you been up to this week?”

Killing, stalking, and watching you sleep.

“Nothing new.” He answers, taking a sip of the coffee as he finds his seat.

“Did you have many cases this week?”

I took extra so that I would be in New York, just so I had an excuse to check on you.

“A few. Nothing too extreme.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask for your definition of extreme.”

His lips twitch.

“Have you given much thought to what we discussed last week?”

“Which part?”

“Your identity. The age-old question that we all must ask of ourselves: who am I?”

Of course, he has. He is now fluent in Erikson’s model, killing the daylight hours with reading things she referenced. Taking delight in the fact that, after his mention of Godwin, he had found the anarchist’s texts on her bedside table.

A silent exchange.

Neither of them will address it but he knows that it has happened. That she cares, in whatever way she does. And he loves her for it.

“A bit.”

“And what did you think about?”

John sinks back into his chair, “My house.”

Helen inclines her head, “Oh?”

“It’s, uh… it’s a nice house, a nice property but it’s just a house.”

“It’s not a home?” She asks, trying to clarify his meaning.

And John nods. “If you were to walk through it,” ah, what a thought, “you probably wouldn’t be able to tell it was mine. I still have the furnishings and the art that came with it. And I don’t have a lot of… stuff. Aside from my clothes, and my books, there’s nothing really there that’s mine.”

“Possessions don’t always reflect personality.”

He thinks about her home. The throw cushion on her couch that says choose happy and the fleece blanket she wraps up in while watching television that’s covered in daisies. The potted plants that advertise the presence of a nurturer, the pictures taken with her friends. There is framed artwork on her walls that seem to highlight her softness.

He thinks of Aurelio’s place, littered with spare car parts. John had once gone to sit on Aurelio’s couch only to land on a steering wheel. There were pictures of his family. A neon sign that Aurelio claimed to have stolen from a pub in Queens. Old magazines on his kitchen table, beer bottles piled next to an overflowing recycling.

Even Winston, who John regarded as a fairly private person, displayed a collection of old chess sets. He proudly put a collection of knives under a glass that he claimed belonged to the third Elder. While there were no pictures of friends or family, he had a taste of the extremes. Large leather couches and glass tables. A collection of top-shelf liquors sat next to an antique globe.

“That’s true,” He says, “But I see other people’s homes and spaces, and they almost seem to belong to them. And mine is as empty as a hotel room.” John pauses in thought, “I’m well aware that my personality is… bland but—”

Helen cuts him off, “Bland?” She repeats, amusement etched onto her pretty face.

John shrugs, “I was recently compared to a block of wood.”

“By who?” Now, there is disbelief in her voice.

“Santino. One of my,” he cannot think of a better word, “colleagues.”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, I expect that you tend to close off around your,” she uses quotations, “’colleagues’.”

John opens a hand in well, what are you gonna do kind of way. “It’s hard to trust trained killers. The less they know about me, the better off I am.”

“We’re going to circle around to that.” Helen tells him, “But I do want to try to understand your thoughts surrounding your home.”

He isn’t quite sure what to say, “I don’t know. I suppose I have a tendency towards utilitarianism.”

Helen is nodding, thoughtfully. “Yet, you’re far past the time in your life when you weren’t able to afford the things you want. Which makes me think that it’s a choice you’ve made, to leave your own space barren.”

“I’ve considered as much.”

“And?”

John shrugs, “I’ve come to several conclusions but no real answers.”

“Tell me.”

“The first, is the most obvious. I grew up without having anything that was mine. I shared blankets, when we had them. Food. Clothing. I learned to live without superfluous things.”

She considers that, “A possibility, and certainly a contributor, but many people who grew up in poverty who, for lack of a better term, rise above their circumstances do the opposite. They buy everything they were never able to have as children.”

“If there’s something that I want, I’d get it. There’s just nothing that I want.” Except for what I can’t have, he thinks.

“When was the last time you bought yourself a little luxury? Nothing related to clothes or food or hygiene. Nothing for work. Just something for you?”

He bought himself several books on and by Erikson, the psychologist she had referenced the week before, but he doesn’t want to tell her that. And, now that he thinks of it, his last several purchases were books she had either mentioned, or he had seen on her bedside table and picked up for himself. Just in case it ever came up in conversation.

“Just books.” He tells her. “A few months ago, I bought a new coffee machine. Does that count?”

She smirks, “I would consider coffee a necessity.”

He grins back, “I’m sure you would.”

“So, nihilism aside…” John snorts at that assessment, but Helen continues, “You said you had other theories?”

John nods, “I also have to consider my Romani heritage. Even the orphanage moved around a lot. Nothing was permanent, until I got to New York. And then, I ran away. And then I was in the military, where we weren’t exactly able to bring things with us. Maybe I just can’t put stock into the idea of permanence.”

Helen seems to sigh, quietly. Empathy burns in her eyes and John can feel it, in turn, burning into him. He’s not quite sure how to deal with it.

Helen offers him a smile and it’s weighted in emotion as she teases, “Keep making connections like that and I’ll start to think you don’t need me anymore.”

“I’ll always need you.” It slips from him before he has a moment to think better of it.

A moment passes, his words lingering in the air and John hopes against hope that she can’t see just how enamored with her he is.

He desperately tries to think of something to say to fill the silence, to take back his words without taking away the meaning behind them.

“Good.” Helen says softly and, just like that, it’s over. “Now, going off of that idea of permanence, I wonder how much of it is habit, like you were saying, and how much of it might be a reflection of the loss you’ve gone through?”

“My experiences have conditioned me for loss?” He interprets.

And Helen shrugs, “Haven’t they?”

John thinks back. The Romani had kept him alive as a child, but they had shipped him off without so much as a goodbye. And while New York had been an improvement, there was still nothing that was his save a stolen Bible. He had left it behind when he ran away to Mexico.

In Mexico, he had shelter. He was a child, but he still had his own tiny place carved out in the world. His own blanket, his own clothes. A worn copy of 1984 that he had stolen from a passenger on the train. It had all been burnt when his village had been razed, leaving him only with the clothes on his back.

The years that followed weren’t much better. He was forced back into the Underworld and while it was far from perfect, he preferred the freedom of it rather than being forced into social services. Being forced to make up some kind of lie to protect his Romani brethren. No, the Underworld was not perfect, but it was all he knew.

He was paid terribly because they could pay him terribly. He was given shit jobs but he took them so he could eat. And once he started growing, he needed new clothes. Over the course of two years, he grew a foot.

When he finally escaped that world again, he took only what he could carry with him. A small duffle full of clothes, a spare pair of shoes, and two knives that didn’t fit on his person.

When he joined the army, he didn’t take anything with him aside from a single book.

And it wasn’t until years later, when he decided enough was enough, and rejoined the fold that he had the ability to settle down.

“I can understand why that may be a part of it.” John admits, “But I think, mostly, it comes down to the fact that I just don’t care about most things.”

“Once again, nihilism makes an entrance.”

John shrugs, “I have more money than I ever dreamed of. And permanence doesn’t matter when I could afford to buy things a thousand times over. The only priceless possessions I have, I keep in my car. Just in case.”

She seems to brighten at that, leaning forward with interest, “And what does John Wick consider to be priceless?”

Not much, he thinks.

Her business card, which she had given him that first day in the café, with her cell phone number etched on the back. He keeps it tucked away in an envelope and locked in his glovebox.

A revolver gifted to him by Marcus. The only present he had ever been given without an expectation of reciprocation.

The copy of Walden he had taken from the little library at the military base where he trained. His only constant companion through three tours of duty.

He decides not to mention the first. “A gun given to me by an old friend. And a copy of Walden.”

“Thoreau.”

John nods.

Helen sits back, “I don’t associate you much with a love for nature. Is it the isolation aspect that attracts you, the civil disobedience piece, or that idea of self-reliance?”

“I would say all of it, although the self-reliance was what first pulled me in. It…” He hesitates, unsure of why he feels the need to share such a little thing with her, “It was the only possession I brought with me everywhere when I was in the army. And when I returned home.”

“It really stayed with you.”

John nods, “I suppose, it helped me learn to think a bit more critically. To challenge the automatic assumptions that came with growing up in the Underworld.”

“I imagine there was a sort of irony about reading such a text while in the military.”

He can’t stop the smile that crosses his lips. He doesn’t have to explain his bizarre humor or reasoning to Helen. She just gets it. “I’ll admit, that was part of the charm. Imposing those shades of grey into my life that were absent in the Underworld and, again, missing from the marines.”

She smiles back, “You pursue that duality in life. Toeing the line of arbitrary rules and ethics, while simultaneously embracing the meaninglessness.”

“Nihilism and Walden have been my constant companions.”

“Let’s add absurdism there for good measure.” She jokes and John finds himself laughing. Something he only does in her presence.  

He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.

He knows it, he feels it so deeply within him, but he can’t act on it. He won’t.

He knows she deserves so much better than him.

“Alright, back on topic.” Helen says with a small smile, “You said something last week that I’ve been considering in relation to this discussion.”

Grateful for the segue, John asks, “Oh?”

She nods, “You were talking about the idea of a normal life. A life away from the Underworld that you wanted, or at least considered, but identified as being out of reach.”

John nods back.

“I wonder, and please feel free to tell me if I’m off the mark, if those desires intersect with your decision to keep your house bare?”

He blinks, taking in her meaning.

His house is empty, in more ways than one. Just him and he doesn’t need anything. And the things he wants, well, he can’t have them. So why bother to fill his house with things that don’t matter? Why fill his house with trinkets when they’ll only serve to remind him of himself? Of the life he lives alone.

And John swears, “Fuck.”

Helen waits, in silence, as she always does while John works through his thoughts.

She’s right, to a degree, but it’s deeper than that.

He wonders if she realizes how much more it is. If she was truly asking him a question or manipulating him into figuring out for herself what she already suspected.

She was good at that. At breaking him down in ways that thousands of assassins never could figure out. He’d survived hundreds of attempts on his life but one question from Helen and he was ready to fall to his knees.

Fuck.

Minutes pass before Helen asks, “John?”

He swallows heavily, “I hate it when you’re right sometimes.”

“Epiphany?”

“Epiphany.” He echoes, “I think…” He hesitates.

She was right. Both today and last week, she had pinpointed the cause.

“I think you give me too much credit.” He had said softly.

“I don’t. But then, we’ve discussed your issues with self-esteem before.”

John rolled his eyes, “I don’t have poor self-esteem.”

“Oh, I agree. You have no self-esteem.”

Self-esteem just didn’t seem like an important thing. His reflective thoughts about himself didn’t affect his ability to work or to kill or to function.

And so, he had written them off as unimportant. Whereas Helen had been telling him, for weeks it seemed, that his sense of self mattered.

He tries not to look at her. He doesn’t need to look to know that she is staring at him kindly, non-judgmentally. Ready to listen and offer comfort.

“It’s okay, John.” She says softly, “You know you can say anything here.”

Anything, he thinks, except the words he swallows back every night.

He lets out a breath, “You’re right. About the self-esteem thing.”

She nods once, waiting for him to continue.

“I… don’t understand it, fully. I don’t get why it matters how I see myself but, I guess it does. At the end of the day, I don’t deserve a normal life. And I don’t deserve the things that come with it. Even if the things are just small tokens of normalcy.”

A moment passes that feels like an eternity to John.

“I want you to know, I’m unbelievably proud of you right now.”

He doesn’t want to look at her after that confession, but her words force him to raise his head in stunned disbelief. She can’t be serious…

But she’s staring at him in earnest, smiling softly, looking at him with kindness and gentleness and yes, with pride. She’s looking at him with pride in her eyes and he can’t quite figure out why.

And, as if she can sense his confusion, she adds, “You’ve been coming here for seven months and, for most of that time, you’ve been fairly resistant to actually being vulnerable.”

“I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone.” John argues.

“I know. And I appreciate your trust in me. But there’s a difference between trusting me with legalities and learning to trust yourself enough to admit to these feelings. You’ve been sitting on these emotions for the better part of your life, John. Keeping them hidden or ignoring them. We joke about your nihilism when I think we both know that it’s easier to pretend nothing matters when we start to feel things too heavily.”

He sits with that.

God, is that what he’s been doing?

Ignoring his own self-hatred by ignoring anything that has to do with himself?

Filling his free time with work to keep him busy or reading, filling his mind with rationality and bullshit intellectualism rather than dealing with the emotions that linger below the surface?

But what else was he supposed to do?

Emotions were ignored most of his childhood, when fighting for survival was the precedent. And he just never learned.

Fuck.

Helen assesses him carefully, “What are you thinking, John?”

He’s not even entirely sure what he’s thinking but he settles on, “Life seemed simpler when my only focus was survival.”

She nods, thoughtfully, “I’m sure it did. Thought some people might argue that emotions offer a lot of evolutionary benefits.”

“Like what?”

“Well, anxiety warns us when we might be in danger. Anger helps us to protect ourselves. Sadness can help us to process complex events. Happiness and joy help us bond and create social alliances.”

She lets him mull that over before adding, “Your emotions are as much of a tool as your eyes and ears looking and listening for potential enemies.”

He considers that, too.

He gets her point. He really does, but his eyes and ears have never fucked with him the way his emotions did.

“I think it comes down to control.” He says thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“I can close my eyes. I can choose not to listen. But my emotions…”

“You can’t shut them off. And ignoring only works for so long.”

“Yeah.”

Helen nods, “Our emotions are, arguably, one of the most complicated things to understand. And you’re right, they are one of the hardest things to control and while there are ways to change our thinking and challenge our automatic thoughts, we often can’t help what we feel.”

John knew that well.

He couldn’t help the hopelessness and the loneliness he experienced as a child.

He couldn’t help the intense anger at watching his first real home be burned to the ground.

He couldn’t help the contempt he felt for himself whenever he looked to deep inside himself.

And he certainly couldn’t help the intense obsession and other unnamable emotions that arose in him whenever he thought about Helen.

It wasn’t like he had tried to change any of it, though.

“Sometimes,” he admits softly, “I think that I force myself to feel the bad emotions. To force myself to suffer.”

Again, she nods, “Earlier you used the term deserve.”

“I don’t deserve anything.”

Fuck, did he really just say that? Out loud? To her?

He probably sounded like a whiny teenager. But Helen doesn’t look at him with annoyance or contempt.

She just inclines her head, “You know, I have a lot of clients who come in here and use the same language. I deserve this. I don’t deserve that.”

“I doubt most of your other client have killed people.”

In fact, he knows they haven’t. He had a background check run for every single person on her caseload to make sure she was safe in the hour she spent with them each week.

Helen, however, ignores him. “For most, it’s based on the Just World Theory. A sort of westernized karma that subscribes to the idea that the world is a fair place. And I know that you know, more than most, that this world is not a fair place.”

“No.” He agrees. “It’s not.”

Helen shakes her head, “We often bestow judgement. Upon ourselves, the people around us. Total strangers, even. And I’m as guilty as it as anyone,” he doubts that but she continues, “But you know what?”

“What?”

She shrugs a shoulder, “Doesn’t do a damn thing, offering judgement. It doesn’t change our past, our future. It doesn’t help us.” Her tone softens, “I know it’s not my place to offer an opinion…”

John shakes his head, “You know I value your thoughts.”

“I don’t know if God exists or if there’s a higher power. But I do know that we don’t get to decide who deserves what. We get dealt our hand and we do the best we can with it. And the more we fight that, the more we tell ourselves that we deserve better or worse, the more miserable we make ourselves.”

He hears her.

And he gets her point, he really does.

It’s not his position to make judgements. He doesn’t have a say in the twists and turns of luck that have amassed him a great wealth.

But it must be wrong because his most glaring example is looking into his eyes. He’s certain that he and Helen are not the same.

Helen is good, and kind, and gentle.

And John is harsh, and dark, and bad.

He’s not sure he can accept a world that views them on an equal playing field.

“You don’t have to believe me.” She tells him, her voice soft and understanding. He wonders, not for the first time, if she can read his mind. “But just consider it, okay?”

…..

He considers it. He spends the rest of the day considering it.

At the Continental, eating dinner, John found himself trying to challenge his automatic assumptions about the people around him.

Assassins, killers.

But did he really know anything else about them? Beyond rumors and hushed whispers? The same kind that followed him, that had turned John Wick into the Boogeyman.

He ponders her words: the more we tell ourselves that we deserve better or worse, the more miserable we make ourselves.

He was an expert at misery.

At best, he was a master of apathy. Hiding his misery under layers of not-caring. Like she said, it was easier to pretend that nothing mattered. It was easier to accept the self-hatred, or at the very least self-contempt, when he could just shrug it off.

Idly, he wonders what would happen if he just continues to ignore it.

Even as he thinks it, however, he knows it’s ridiculous. Helen could sit there and berate him for an hour each week and he’d still sit there happily.

With that thought in mind, he paid for his dinner and left the Continental. Tomorrow, he’ll come back in the early morning. Nap for a bit, then take a contract or two.

He wonders if it’s his obsession with Helen that will keep him in New York or his aversion to returning to his empty home after having that conversation. Neither seems to be a particularly healthy choice but he accepts it nonetheless.

He drives to her house and tries not to think of it as home.

He knows that something is wrong the moment he sees the house.

Helen is energy conscious. She rarely leaves a room without turning out the light. And right now, it is past her bedtime and the kitchen light is on.

He stops the car for a moment, just outside of her house, wondering if he’ll see a shadow move. Maybe he’s being paranoid. Maybe she just got up for water.

But nothing moves.

John throws the car in park. Normally, he’d hide the car a few blocks down and walk back to her house, but he doesn’t care. Quickly, he unlatches the glovebox to pull out his gun. He doesn’t even check it as he hurries out of his car.

The door is shut but the lock has been picked open. And not by him. No, whoever had done this didn’t have the skill to leave no marks in the metal. It was a rough, haggard job. And it was left unlocked.

Fuck.

He opens the door, gun-raised.

His head seems to be screaming a chorus of no, no, no, no, no, no as he clears the kitchen. He should clear the entire first floor, but his fear is outweighing his senses.

Emotional mind Helen would call it.

Her bed is empty but slept in. It wasn’t made and it looked as though she had thrashed about.

Someone had taken her from her bed.

He was shaking.

John was unsure if it was rage or fear that was pounding through him right now, but someone was going to pay.

A phone rings and it takes John a moment to recognize it as his own.

The screen has her name. Her work cell.

John accepts the call and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello, John.” The voice is male. He doesn’t recognize it but there is a slight accent that he can’t quite place.

“Where is she?” He asks trying not to sound as desperate as he feels.

“Safe. For now.”

“Put her on the phone.”

“I’m afraid Miss Kingston has been sedated for the time being.”

“If you’ve hurt her…”

“I believe that now is not the time for you to be making threats.” His unknown opponent interrupts.

John tries to control himself. He can’t act until he knows more. The disgust pours from his voice as he forces himself to ask, “What do you want?”

“Very good.”

John closes his eyes and tries to focus on what it will feel like when he guts this man alive.

“Lorenzo D’Antonio will be in New York from tomorrow night through Monday.”

John can already tell where this is going. Lorenzo D’Antonio was the Camorra’s current leader. He held a seat at the High Table which made him virtually untouchable. No contract could be taken out against him or the Continental, and the High Table, would respond with force. To be caught even conspiring was to be dead.

“And you want him killed.” John finished.

“Not just Lorenzo. His heirs, as well.”

John let out a noise of disbelief. With Lorenzo dead, followed by his children, the Camorra would collapse.

Christ.

John had never given a flying fuck about Continental politics. He followed their rules to gain their services but this…

“And you’ll let her go?”

“Right into your waiting arms.” The man taunted.

John felt his nails digging into his palm as he struggled to maintain what little control he had left. “I want proof that she’s all right.”

“Fine.”

The line drops.

[bubonickitten]

MAG 167 spoilers

I am once again back to obsessing over Gertrude and Jon as narrative foils!!

And just – the narrative does such a great job of using that foil to illustrate Jon’s neverending struggle with his own humanity. Because although Gertrude didn’t embrace her Archivist powers in the same way that Jon sometimes does, she was arguably monstrous in her own way -- in ways that Jon ultimately isn’t. 

I keep thinking back to Jon’s conversation with Gerry, in particular this bit:

GERARD: Well, she could make people tell her stuff, sometimes. They’d suddenly get real talkative, and lay out whatever she needed. She didn’t do it often though. I don’t think she liked it.

JON: Oh, er, I can do that, too.

GERARD: Huh. Do you like it?

JON: I – I don’t know. I never really thought about it. Yes, I… I suppose I do.

GERRY: Hmmm.

I think after his coma, Jon has a much more negative view of his abilities, but early on, he admits that there’s a part of him that does like being able to compel people. It fits, honestly – of course someone like Jon, so intolerant of mysteries, so prone to overthinking, so full of questions and so voracious for answers, fresh out of a paranoid episode that left him unable to trust any answer that anyone offered him, would like having the option to ask a question and receive a guaranteed answer and to know that the given answer was the truth. At least until he no longer has control over it, finds himself accidentally compelling people and unable to stop knowing things even when he doesn’t want to.

But even if Gertrude was further from the supernatural aspects of the Archivist role, she was still ruthless in her crusade. Her conviction and boldness made her a badass, certainly, but at what cost? The answer depends heavily on how you feel about utilitarianism as an ethical philosophy.

Gertrude Robinson would have a clear answer to the trolley problem and not apologize for it. Jonathan Sims would agonize over all the potential choices and outcomes until he’s paralyzed with indecision. (Annabelle Cane knew exactly what she was doing when she gave him that statement about the nature of free will in a moment where he was struggling so profoundly with self-doubt.)

People are always comparing Jon to Gertrude, telling him that he’d be better off behaving more like her, urging him to accept the premise that ruthlessness is a strength in a world that offers only fear and pain, and that humanity is a weakness and a liability that he doesn’t have the luxury to indulge.

And in Season 4, he tries that philosophy on for a brief while. The Eye drives him to compel people to tell their stories; he starves if he doesn’t obey that instinct. He feeds the Eye the trauma of innocent bystanders, and now he’s the monster haunting the dreams of his victims. (And, to his credit, that’s what he ultimately refers to them as: victims. He uses that word. That’s significant.)

When Basira witnesses him do that and calls him out on it, Jon replies by pointing out that Basira (among others) told him that he should be more like Gertrude: “She got the job done and didn’t care about the cost.” 

Basira responds, “But I thought you did.” 

And that highlights the fundamental difference between Jon and Gertrude! He’d temporarily forgotten that – he’d lost touch with that piece of himself, of his humanity. It makes sense; everyone around him saw him as a monster, and it’s hard to believe in your own humanity when no one else does, when everyone around you is building a self-fulfilling prophecy for you.

It takes Martin reaching out in the only way that he can – urging the others to talk to him – for Jon to wake up and admit that what he’s doing isn’t right and that he needs to do something to stop it. He goes back and forth with himself for a bit – Does he have any control? Is he doing it on autopilot? Is the Web influencing him? – but ultimately he decides that, no, he has to hold himself accountable. Helen asks him if he’s sure he didn’t want to do it, and he takes that hard-to-swallow pill and engages in some introspection and comes to the conclusion, Yeah, while supernatural influence is at play here, I made a choice.

BUT if he made a choice, it means that he can make a different choice going forward. He doesn’t have to be the monster that everyone else expects him to be. He doesn’t have to traumatize others in the same way that he’s been traumatized. (And, eventually, maybe he can learn to see himself as Martin sees him.) And he changes his behavior accordingly!

I keep thinking of Jon’s comment on Gertrude sacrificing Michael to end the Spiral’s Ritual:

“I thought moving away from my humanity would have made that seem more acceptable. That sort of sacrifice… But it just makes me sad. I remembered Gertrude’s notebook. We found it alongside the plastic explosives, but it rather got lost amongst the business of… saving the world at the cost of two lives.”

And this comment, from one of Jon’s many navel-gazing arguments with himself over the nature of humanity and how he fits into that:

“Why were we chosen? …Is there destiny here? Bloodlines, and prophecies? Or did we just – stumble into this. Maybe… maybe we’re the opposite of Agnes. Maybe our doubts are exactly what we need.”  

What keeps Jon in touch with Jonathan Sims, human and distinct from The Archivist/The Archive isn’t just an anchor/reason (Martin) or his own intense guilt, but that capacity for doubt. I mean, it does feed into his self-loathing and it’s unhealthy for him in a number of ways, but that doubt is also what saves him from fully becoming the thing he fears, in a way?

It’s interesting how that doubt and questioning feeds into his innate curiosity. That incessant need to know, even if his discoveries might destroy him, to go with Gerry’s definition of Beholding, is Jon’s fatal flaw, and it’s what makes him so well-suited to the Eye, but it’s also so very human.

That, along with Jon’s choice to change his behavior throughout the story is, imo, the strongest argument in favor of his humanity.

From where Jon is standing, every other Avatar has become so divorced from their prior self that they barely resemble humans anymore. But the question of free will is nebulous for most of the Avatars. 

Some of the Avatars seem to have sought out the power that overtook them, or at the very least openly embraced it. Jude Perry sought to destroy others to make herself feel more alive long before she met Agnes; the Desolation just lent her the power to do so to a greater degree, and she leaned into it. Jared Hopworth was already a bully; becoming the Boneturner just gave him a new way to express that preexisting pattern of behavior. 

Some of the others stumbled into it out of sheer bad luck, or in some way attracted a certain power. They were initially afraid, and typically resisted, but eventually were overtaken – or… gave in? Because that’s the recurring question: How much choice is involved?

Take Oliver Banks: 

“The thing is, Jon, right now you have a choice. You’ve put it off a long time, but it’s trapping you here. You’re not quite human enough to die, but still too human to survive…. I made a choice. We all made choices. Now you have to.”

Or Daisy: 

“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.”  

Even if some of the Avatars could have done something differently to avoid their ultimate fate, they didn’t necessarily deserve that fate. Helen Richardson could have not opened the door, but opening a door out of curiosity shouldn’t be a punishable offense.

And when the Distortion and Helen ‘become’ one another, it’s interesting that there’s still enough of Helen left (at least at first) for her to feel guilt and doubt over what she’s becoming, in much the same way that Jon does: 

“I took a man, wandering the halls of an old tenement…. It was nourishing, but… I didn’t like it. I feel… wrong.” 

(Side note: I understand why Jon feels like he can’t trust the Distortion, but it does make me wonder what might have gone differently if he’d maintained an open dialogue with her re: humanity vs. monstrosity, similar to the sort of understanding Jon and Daisy have after the Buried.)

The story has been asking these questions all along, but MAG 167 put it back under the microscope in an important way. It really doesn’t matter as much what Jon is, because what he does is a much better measure of humanity and goodness. 

Jon looks at his own choices, looks at Gertrude’s choices, looks at the things that neither of them had control over and looks at the things that they did, and comes to a final conclusion: 

No, he doesn’t want to be like Gertrude. Human connections are important. He needs an anchor. He needs companionship. Trust and communication don’t come naturally to him, but it’s worth confronting that vulnerability in the end, because it’s what keeps him in touch with his humanity, with who he is and who he wants to be. 

It really complements Martin’s philosophy, too. I’ve gone on and on about it before, but I still think the line that most exemplifies Martin’s character is his response to Simon Fairchild’s brand of flippant, fatalist nihilism: 

“I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.”

It would be so easy for Jon and Martin to just... give up. Give in to self-loathing, to guilt, to loneliness, to a world gone horribly, possibly irreversibly wrong. Early on, Jon is inclined to do just that. He tells Martin that “this is no longer a world where you can trust comfort.” But what does Martin do instead? He comforts Jon. He puts comfort into a world where it seems like none can exist. It doesn’t matter if that gesture is significant in the grand scheme of things -- however you want to define significance on a cosmic level. In that moment, Martin cared, and that mattered to him, and it mattered to Jon, and that fact won’t change, even when they’re both dead and gone. 

It’s... really the same stubborn sentiment that Jon offered in the Lonely, and Martin is mirroring it back when Jon needs it most. 

They make an active choice to build a relationship, to try to make a change for the better. Even if it ends in failure, the fact that they tried is still significant. Jon looks at how Gertrude lived her life, compares it with his past and current choices, and (rightly imo) comes to the conclusion that, yeah, it hurts to trust and to care, but it’s worth it, and it’s necessary if they want to survive (and, of course, he also doesn’t just want to survive). It’s just... a very brave, very compassionate, and very human way of confronting the end of the world. 

[imperatorium]

I don’t know if you’re ok with ask headcanons but if so I’ve been listening to twin temple a lot and can’t stop headcanoning sister imperator sometimes writing songs and nihil helps her figure out instrumentals for her to sing along to and it’s like a little hobby they do together and the songs are in the same genre of music/topic matter as twin temple (I’m thinking of songs like “let’s have a satanic orgy” and “Let’s hang together” type songs)

Yes! In the same way that I love sharing my preponderance of thoughts with everyone else, I love when people share theirs with me, too!! ♥

And, friend, this is so very cute. I've never imagined Sister as being someone who is very musically inclined (other than having Good Taste In Music, obviously) in any direction, but I am incredibly besotted with the idea of this being a little couples' activity that they have.

She's not a very strong singer, but she does have a way with words and I like thinking that maybe one of the billions of times Nihil was hovering over her shoulder while she worked, he picked up some little prayer or verse she'd scribbled down and started singing it to a little tune. She doesn't even have time to get too embarrassed about it because he grabs a guitar and starts working something out. And before she can (very not seriously) chase him off for being a distraction, he's already getting her into it by singing her words back to her in a way she never would have heard them before.

And when he says to her, "Hey, this is really good," Satan help her, she knows he means it. So maybe she slips him another verse or two and, before long, he's found the right way to say, "You know, this part would probably sound better with a female vocal," and she's like, "Well, fine, let me get one of the Ghoulettes," but then his fingers are pressing into the inside of her wrist and his eyes are so lit up and he tells her, "But you're already here and I want you," so she downs the rest of her wine and tries to hide her flushed cheeks and little smile behind the sheet music when she says, "Fine, but you'll need to show me where I come in."